Chapter SixteenAt some point in the middle of the night, Myrtle woke and realized she was still in her armchair and a cheery-voiced announcer was doing an infomercial in front of a very receptive studio audience. She stumbled into the bedroom, not even bothering to undress as she climbed into her bed.
The next morning, Myrtle cursed herself for not having taken an ibuprofen before returning to bed. Getting out of the bed was going to be a nightmare. But the longer she lay in bed, the more agitated she felt. It really had shaken her up to fall on that ramp. She was now feeling every single muscle in her body hurt. Myrtle felt a twinge of doubt. Was she too old to be investigating this murder? Everyone kept telling her that she was—maybe she should listen. She didn’t feel that way yesterday
