Chapter Seventeen
Puddin was half-heartedly vacuuming Myrtle’s living room carpet when the phone rang. A look of relief passed over her face when Myrtle put a finger up to her lips and grabbed the phone. Instead of moving on to some other housework, Myrtle noticed that Puddin plopped down on the sofa to listen in.
It was Blanche on the line. “Since you’ve been involved recently with the United Methodist Women,” said Blanche (did Myrtle imagine the faint emphasis on ‘recently’?), “I wonder if you would be available to help out today.”
Myrtle hemmed and hawed. Had it come to this, then? Was she going to be stuck doing good works all over Bradley? “Well . . . ” she started in a doubtful way.
“It’s to help out Libba. Libba Caulfield?”
“What’s wrong with Libba Caulfield? Her cancer hasn’t
