Chapter Seventeen
Myrtle phoned Miles early to fill him in. He came right over and poured himself a cup of coffee. He and Myrtle sat down at her kitchen table.
Miles looked morose. “A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.”
“Would you stop quoting Wanda?” asked Myrtle, glaring at him.
“I thought I was quoting Aesop,” said Miles. He gave a big sigh. “I’m sorry about Louvenia. I rather liked her, even though she could be a bit hyper,” he said. “But at least your cooking is off the hook.”
“My cooking was never on the hook. Food doesn’t make people appear intoxicated.” Myrtle sighed. “What an abrupt and tragic ending to our cooking class.”
Miles said, “And I suppose Louvenia isn’t our killer, after all. Considering she was murdered, too.”
“It would seem tha
