Myrtle Clover Mysteries Box Set 2

Chapter Five

Chapter FiveMyrtle had a somewhat adversarial relationship with her collection of cookbooks. They took up gobs of space in her small kitchen and looked appropriately food-doused and brown with age...it looked like a serious collection of books for a serious cook. But Myrtle blamed these books for the intermittent culinary disasters that plagued her. The directions in the books were obviously unclear or even out-and-out wrong. With some trepidation, she pulled out the books and started leafing through them.

The recipes were fairly unimaginative. There were tons of chicken and broccolis, chicken and rice, meat loafs, and beef casseroles. Joan was sure to get at least ten casseroles and Lucas just as many. Maybe a soup? Soup could be lunch as well as supper, and Myrtle could make it in her slow cooker and not scorch it like she had the last time she’d tried making it.

She peered at the ingredients. Wonder of wonders, she seemed to have everything she needed for the potato soup. And, with an entire package of crumbled bacon, it had to taste good. Who didn’t like bacon?

Myrtle was well into making the soup when her doorbell rang.

It was Elaine with Jack in tow. Myrtle pulled the door open. “Yay!” Jack said, beaming up at her.

“Yay!” she said back, leaning heavily on her cane so that she could give him a hug before he dashed inside.

“Are we interrupting anything?” asked Elaine. She had an armful of knitting paraphernalia with her and watched as Jack went straight to Myrtle’s coat closet to pull out his basket of toys. “I thought we might knit together while Jack plays. After the day you had yesterday, I figured that a very calming activity was in order.”

She turned and beamed at Myrtle. Elaine’s face looked positively thrilled. “Oh my,” said Myrtle.

“Red told me how excited you were to return to knitting!” said Elaine, beaming at her. “I’m so glad, Myrtle. I was hoping that you and I could spend more time together. We could keep an eye on Jack and knit and talk. It will be great!”

Myrtle sighed. Ordinarily, she’d interject that she hadn’t the slightest interest in the hobby. She’d proclaim her anti-crafting stance. She’d fuss that Red was an insufferable busybody who needed to be stopped at all costs. The only problem was Elaine’s complete and total delight. And the fact she’d mentioned that Myrtle could spend more time with Jack—one of Myrtle’s main objectives in life at this point.

“Won’t it?” she agreed weakly, looking at the basket with consternation. “Although, Elaine, you know I’m rusty. Quite rusty, since the last time I knitted was probably, oh, sixty years ago.” And under duress. Her mother had insisted that she learn.

“That’s not a problem. I’m really still learning, myself. I can help give you a refresher,” said Elaine with a smile.

Myrtle felt an unfortunate flare-up of heartburn again.

“I brought over a few different kinds of supplies for you to try out. I know I sent Red over with a few, but I wanted to give you more options. Some knitting notions are a better fit than others,” said Elaine.

Myrtle peered glumly into the basket, since she was clearly expected to show some interest in its contents. “These knitting needles are nice,” she said, pulling them out. They were silver, sharp, and about four and a half inches long.

Elaine grinned at her. “I might have known you’d pick those wicked-looking needles. The nicest thing about those is that they’re hollow, so they’re lightweight and easy to use.” Elaine bent to hand Jack another truck that had somehow gotten mixed up in the knitting supplies.

“Besides bringing the knitting stuff over, I wanted to let you know that Red was really pleased that you told him about Mary Marlson’s memory issue. Sure enough, the clothes that she swore were stolen from her clothesline were safe and sound in her closet.”

“I suppose she was all defensive about it and swore that fairies had put the clothes in there,” said Myrtle.

Elaine snorted. “Fairies? I don’t think so. But yes, she was defensive about it and Red said she didn’t even apologize for wasting his time.”

“She told me fairies had put her lost marble in her pocket,” muttered Myrtle.

“What? Oh, the lost marble. Yes, Red said something about that to me. No, no mention of fairies this time...which was probably a good thing, considering her age and all.”

“Yes. One serious mention of fairies could put you in the Greener Pastures Retirement Home at our age,” said Myrtle.

Elaine laughed. “I suppose so. Well, do you want to knit in the living room, or in the kitchen?”

Fortunately, Myrtle had an excellent excuse not to knit. “I’m actually cooking some food for Lucas Whitlow and Joan. But feel free to knit while I cook. Do you want Jack to bring the toys into the kitchen to play so we can keep an eye on him?”

“Oh, okay. That’s nice of you to make something for them. Keeping an eye on Jack might be a good idea. He’s been really getting into stuff lately. Jack, why don’t you bring your trucks in the kitchen?” asked Elaine.

So they settled into Myrtle’s sunny kitchen. It was a cozy scene with Elaine knitting, Jack making truck noises to himself, and Myrtle busying herself over the large slow cooker. She tossed in a bag of shredded hash browns. They were frozen, but she double-checked the recipe and it definitely said frozen. Unfortunately, she didn’t check the recipe before adding the entire envelope of ranch dressing mix instead of the one tablespoon the recipe called for. Although Myrtle did notice that it looked odd to have all the seasoning floating on top of the soup, so she stirred the mixture vigorously before putting the top on the slow cooker.

Unfortunately, that was all the cooking that was required. Myrtle sat down with Elaine at the kitchen table and reluctantly picked up the knitting needles that Elaine had given her, and the bright blue yarn. “Let’s see,” said Myrtle, frowning fiercely at the yarn. “I need to make the first row. Right.”

“Start with a slip knot,” said Elaine brightly. “Oh, I’m so excited about this.”

Myrtle promptly dropped a needle on the floor and then dropped the yarn as she was hanging upside down to retrieve the needle. She started to mutter a dire imprecation under her breath, but remembered how excited Elaine was and managed to come back up with both needles, the yarn, and a smile. The smile might have resembled more of a snarl, but she was definitely trying.

Since Myrtle had many decades ago discarded how to make a slip knot from her brain, she stared blankly at the yarn until Elaine showed her how to do it. “Then you cast on your foundation row.”

Myrtle gave her a despairing look. “Oh, Elaine. I just don’t know about this.”

“Myrtle, it’s so easy! Sooo easy. Let me show you on yours,” Elaine dropped her own knitting (which resembled a gangly scarf that was far, far too long), and worked with Myrtle’s knitting for a couple of minutes. “See?”

Myrtle did see, but she’d rather not see. “You know, Elaine, I think it was the crazy day yesterday. I don’t seem to have the ability to focus on anything.”

Elaine smiled at her. “That’s why knitting is so perfect. Once you get into the groove of it, it comes almost automatically. And it’s wonderful for people who have nervous energy.”

“I don’t know that I’m nervous—just distracted. Elaine, you probably knew Cosette better than I did. What did you think of her?”

Elaine continued knitting, smiling over at Jack every once in a while as the little boy drove his truck across the kitchen floor. “I didn’t know her all that well, actually. But I ran across her at the church and my service organization—places like that. She was hugely into volunteering you know. She was always in charge of something. Cosette could organize an event like nobody else.”

“So she was bossy,” said Myrtle, feeling like that summed it up the best.

Elaine laughed. “Well, she liked to do things her way. But her way was apparently the best way to do it, because all the events she’d organize—fundraisers, get-togethers, lectures, whatever—would go off without a hitch.”

“What was her relationship with her husband like?” asked Myrtle, watching as Jack made the truck crash into a toy car.

“Lucas always seemed like he was a real pushover,” said Elaine with a shrug, “although, he’s a very sweet guy. A few weeks ago at the church, I was struggling to carry a basket of old baby toys to donate to the nursery and hold Jack’s hand at the same time. Cosette swept right by as if she didn’t even see me, but Lucas stopped to take basket and help me out.”

“It doesn’t sound like Lucas had a choice about being a pushover. It was either he had to go along with whatever Cosette had planned, or get mowed over in the process,” said Myrtle. “She probably married him because he wouldn’t stand up to her.”

“Probably. She wouldn’t have appreciated any resistance. You know how I’m on different volunteer committees and things. Cosette tended to take over everything. Really. It’s amazing to behold. Of course, her ideas always worked out, so no one dared say anything. But even if she weren’t the committee chair, she’d usurp their position. She was really something. And I’ve heard her fussing at Lucas, too—complaining about his weight and how boring he was and how he wasn’t ambitious enough. He would always look so sad and simply nod his head as if he were agreeing with her,” said Elaine.

“I’m beginning to wonder how these committees are going to get along without her,” said Myrtle.

“I suppose that the women who were supposed to be running the committees will have to step in,” said Elaine, finishing a row of knitting. She looked up at Myrtle. “I know you’re trying to gather information on Cosette. Planning on doing some investigating? Are you on assignment for Sloan?”

Myrtle knew there’d been something she’d forgotten to do this morning. “No, I keep forgetting to call him up. I walk toward the phone, and then I get distracted by something and end up doing something else. But I’m sure that Sloan will want me to write a story once he hears that I’m the one who found the body.”

“Tell me what happened last night,” said Elaine. “I got the bare bones of the story, but Red wasn’t in the mood to elaborate.”

“He was probably dead tired by the time he finally got back home,” said Myrtle. “He seemed bent on interviewing everybody there, and that was a lot of people. So, when Miles finally was ready to drag me out of the party, we went looking for Cosette to thank her. We couldn’t find her—until we did find her.”

Elaine gave a small shudder. “Red said she’d been struck with a croquet mallet. That’s awful.”

It was always nice when Elaine accidentally confirmed information via Red. “Is that what Red told you? It certainly looked that way to me, yes.”

“Any ideas who might have done it?” asked Elaine. “Would there have been much opportunity to have killed the hostess of a big party? The whole thing sounds kind of unbelievable.”

“Honestly, I think anyone could have done it. There were lots of people moving around at the drop-in—folks going for more food, going to the restroom, moving around to talk to other people. You know how parties are. No one would have noticed if someone had slipped outside,” said Myrtle.

“But wouldn’t people have noticed that Cosette had stepped outside? She was the hostess.”

“Let’s just say that they probably wouldn’t have noticed her absence. If they did, they’d likely have chalked it up to the fact she needed to get more ice or something.” Myrtle paused. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill Cosette? Any of those committee women, for instance? Seems like they’d have been plenty upset about Cosette poaching on their territory.”

Elaine pursed her lips in thought. “Not really, Myrtle. Not that upset.”

“Have you heard anything about Sybil being mad at Cosette?”

Elaine raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Sybil was mad at Cosette?”

“Never mind,” said Myrtle with a sigh. “You’re sadly out of touch with local gossip, Elaine.”

“Jack keeps me so busy that I hardly know if I’m coming or going,” said Elaine.

Myrtle drummed her fingers on the table. “How about Cosette’s daughter? Aren’t y’all friends?”

“Joan? Oh, sure, we’re friends. Noah and Jack are the same age, so I do see more of Joan,” said Elaine.

“What do you think Joan’s relationship with her mother was like?” asked Myrtle. “It sounded like Cosette was fussing at her on the phone.”

“That would be normal for them. Cosette was always fussing at Joan, just like she always fussed at Lucas. Poor Joan was apparently nothing like Cosette thought she should be. She doesn’t dress very well, doesn’t get flattering haircuts, isn’t slim. Cosette always acted like Joan was a huge disappointment,” said Elaine.

“Maybe that’s why Cosette was pouring so much attention into Noah,” mused Myrtle. “Although clearly,” she said, beaming down at her grandson, “Jack is much more advanced in every way.”

After Elaine left, Myrtle peered into the crockpot at the soup. It certainly seemed done. She picked up the recipe. Yes, it had sat in there for two hours on high, so it must be done. And it smelled delicious. All those seasonings...they seemed to open up her sinuses.

Myrtle poured the soup into two disposable storage containers. She paused, looking thoughtfully at the containers. Ordinarily, she’d put something like this into a throw-away containers so no one would have to worry about returning it to her in their time of grief. But, if she used one of her own good containers, she’d have an excellent excuse for a return visit to both Lucas and Joan. She carefully poured the soup into her nice blue and white containers and marked her name on them with masking tape.

She’d stuck her head into the pantry to find a sleeve of crackers to send along with the soup when her doorbell rang.

Miles stood on her doorstep. “You left your sweater at my house last night,” he said, holding up the white cardigan.

Myrtle frowned at it. “I swear I’m turning into a comet...leaving bits and pieces behind me in my wake.” She took the sweater and tossed it at the back of a chair, where it promptly slid behind the chair and out of sight.

Miles sniffed the air cautiously. “You’ve been cooking?” he asked with some trepidation.

“Yes. Sympathy food for Lucas and Joan.”

Miles’s face did indeed show sympathy. Myrtle strongly suspected that Miles believed her to be a bad cook.

“Don’t look so grim—it’s not for you,” she said with a sigh. “But it would be lovely if you’d drive me over to make my deliveries.”

“Surely you don’t need a ride to Lucas’s house,” said Miles. “He’s right down the street.”

“Yes, I could walk it, Miles. I have excellent mobility, as you know.”

“Right. The cane is just for show,” said Miles, corners of his lips twitching.

“It lulls people into a false sense of security,” said Myrtle. “But the point is, that I have a hard time holding a container with one hand. Since I’m using my cane with the other, of course. And Joan lives pretty far away...I couldn’t walk to her house.”

Miles was already taking the containers from her and pulling his keys from his pocket.

They were halfway down the street when Myrtle barked, “Stop!”

Miles slammed on the brakes. “What? What is it?”

“Lemonade stand at the two o’clock position,” said Myrtle in a calm voice, gesturing to a card table with two young children looking hopefully in their direction.

Miles sighed.

“I make it a rule to always stop for a lemonade stand,” said Myrtle stoutly.

“Next time, could you alert me in a way that won’t scare me half to death?” asked Miles.

“Don’t be so cranky,” said Myrtle, fishing a dollar from her purse. “I’ll get you one, too.”

When they got to Lucas’s house, Myrtle carefully got out of the car and started to retrieve her container. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said to Miles, closing the passenger door.

But Miles wasn’t going to be so easily dispatched. “Knowing what a few minute’s means to you, I think I’d better go in with you. By the time you came back out, I might be fossilized. Here, give me the soup.”

Myrtle reluctantly handed over the container. “As long as you make sure Lucas knows that I was the one who made the soup. Not you.”

“I’ll be sure not to claim the soup,” said Miles with a small smile as he reached up to ring the bell.