Chapter Eleven
But Myrtle didn’t get a phone call first thing. She shrugged, figuring Miles must have slept in. She poured herself a large bowl of granola and then fed Pasha when she jumped in through the kitchen window. She was just putting on her new funeral outfit when the phone rang. It was Miles.
“Do you think Elaine can take you to Amos’s funeral? I woke up with a raging headache,” said Miles. His voice was subdued.
“If she can find someone to watch Jack for her. A funeral is hardly the place for a preschooler. But never mind that. Are you okay?” asked Myrtle.
“It’s a migraine. I get them from time to time. I’m going to close my eyes for a while and hope it goes away,” said Miles fervently.
“Good luck. Take aspirin, too,” said Myrtle. “I’ll check in on you later.”
“Great,” said
