A Myrtle Clover Cozy Mystery

Chapter 1

“I have to say you sound cranky, Miles,” said his octogenarian friend, Myrtle. “I don’t think you’re quite getting into the tree trimming spirit.”

Miles, who was indeed cranky, muttered, “That’s because it was quite a hassle getting your plastic tree set up. There were myriad limbs and none of them seemed to want to go in their intended slot.”

“It’s something of a pain, I know. I probably should have tried to get Dusty out to take care of it, except I already have another project in mind for him.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “Does the project have anything to do with gnomes?”

“It certainly does. Plus, I went to the dollar store and got the most adorable Santa hats. They’re intended for children, so I believe they’ll fit my gnomes’ heads very well.”

Miles’s already-raised eyebrows soared even higher. “That must have cost you a fortune. You have a ton of gnomes.”

Myrtle said, “But they were three to a pack. And I didn’t get enough for all the gnomes. Just some of the more-visible ones out near the front of the pack. I do believe it would be fun to string lights among them, too, to highlight their dear little faces.”

“Red will be sure to love it,” said Miles dryly. “What sort of infraction did he commit this time?”

Myrtle’s son Red was not only the police chief in the small town of Bradley, North Carolina, he was also the official thorn in her side. “He’s been especially impertinent lately. Red seems to want me to surrender my driver’s license, of all things.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “I’m assuming that has to do with the incident last week when you borrowed my car.”

“It’s not my fault that everyone is in such a hurry when they’re driving. It’s better to drive carefully and look out for pedestrians and children and whatnot. Besides, speed limits aren’t a suggestion. It says limit for a reason.”

Miles said, “Red told me that other drivers were having accidents just trying to pass you.”

Myrtle shrugged. “As I told Red, if the state of North Carolina doesn’t have a problem with me driving, then Red shouldn’t, either. Getting on my nerves seems to be his hobby. But it’s Christmas, so I’ve been especially patient.”

Miles hid a smile. Patience and Myrtle were not necessarily two words that went together.

Myrtle reached into a box and pulled out an ornament, putting it on the tree. “Anyway, turnabout is fair play. I’ll help you put your tree up.”

“That will be easy. I don’t have one.”

Myrtle looked appalled. “What?”

“I did have one. But I gave it away last summer when I was reorganizing.”

Myrtle said, “I thought I’d seen a tree at your house these past years. Why on earth would you give it away?”

“It takes up a good deal of space and it was troublesome to put up, like this one.” Miles gave Myrtle’s tree a reproving look, as if it should try harder to cooperate next time. “I’m sticking with a wreath on the door this time.”

“How positively Scrooge-like of you, Miles. A wreath is no fun at all. You can’t even see it from the inside of the house.”

Miles was ready to change the subject. And fortunately, one of Myrtle’s ornaments was begging for discussion. “Speaking of no fun, this ornament is particularly frightening-looking. What’s the story behind this?”

Myrtle peered at it. It was a misshapen Santa head with wide, staring eyes and a crooked, rather sinister mouth. “Oh, that’s something Red made when he was a little guy. I always put it up on the tree.”

“You don’t have nightmares, looking at it?”

“Certainly not. It’s merely childish art,” scoffed Myrtle. “It reminds me of the happy days when Red was both little and manageable.”

Miles carefully put the ornament on the back of the tree, where he couldn’t see it from the living room. “Are you ready for the wedding tonight?”

Myrtle said, “I suppose I am. It sounds rather dressy, doesn’t it? The problem with dressy things is that one has to have something appropriate. My wardrobe is more geared to funerals than to weddings.”

Myrtle’s hairdresser, Faith, was getting married. It was quite the town event—a Christmas-time wedding. Faith’s aunt, who’d raised her, was giving it, and there’d been lots of chatter in the small town of Bradley about the event.

Miles said, “I’d think your black slacks and a dressy top would be fine. No one really cares what we wear, anyway. All eyes will be on the bride.”

“That’s true. Of course, you have it easy. A dark suit, which works for both weddings and funerals.”

“Perhaps we’d better stop talking about funerals,” said Miles nervously. “It might be tempting fate.” He picked up another ornament, studied it, and then put it back in the box, unused.

Myrtle was about to comment on Miles’s pickiness when it came to decorating the tree when there was a knock on the door.

“I hope it’s Dusty. I asked him to deal with the gnomes as soon as possible.”

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Dusty’s weather-beaten face she saw, but Wanda’s.

“Wanda!” Myrtle said to her psychic friend. “What a wonderful surprise. Did you know Miles and I were decorating?”

Wanda gave her a tired grin. “Kinda thought you might be.”

“Come on in,” said Myrtle, motioning Wanda’s thin frame inside. “Let’s get you a snack. You can help us trim the tree. Miles is being extraordinarily picky about it all, and I’d like to finish decorating this afternoon.”