Death at a Drop-In (2 page)

“Anything else?” asked Red.  “You may as well get it all out of your system now.”

“She’s all prickly and pointy.  Sharp features, sharp chin, bony elbows and knees.  Sharp tongue, too—she’s always fussing at her poor husband.  He’s still got quite a limp from his knee surgery, but that doesn’t stop her from running him ragged.  Yes, sharp all over. When I look at her, I think
ouch
.”

Red chuckled. “If you say so, Mama.  All right, I’m heading out the door.”  His glance fell on the knitting needles and bag of yarn.  “Enjoy your knitting.”

Myrtle eyed the bag with distaste.  “I certainly won’t.  Much as I love Elaine, I’ll be handing over this knitting stuff as soon as I see her.  She knows me better than that.”

“Elaine probably thought it was an activity that y’all could do together. Granny knitted, as I recall, and she had you knitting right alongside her,” said Red mildly.

“Many years ago,” said Myrtle with a sigh.  She paused.  “Knitting makes me feel old.  It made me feel old when I was twenty and doing it.”

“It’s supposed to be relaxing,” offered Red.

“It stresses me out.”

“It couldn’t possibly,” said Red stoutly. “Everyone says it’s relaxing.”

“Maybe everyone doesn’t end up with whole rows out of place.  Or maybe they don’t end up with really tight stitches.”

 “Just think, Mama: knitting will provide you with an excellent cover. Folks will be lulled into a false sense of security.  They’ll see an old lady in her eighties innocuously knitting away, and they’ll spill all kinds of secrets.  Think of all the undercover snooping you can do.  I know you like to snoop.”

“Well, I like to snoop more than I like to knit, that’s for sure.”  She paused.  “Is Elaine
good
at knitting?”

Red rolled his eyes and he and his mother shared a look of rare solidarity.

“I suppose you and I will be wearing dreadful knitted hats and scarves this winter,” said Myrtle with a shudder.

“I’m praying for another warm winter,” said Red fervently as he walked out the door.

Chapter Two

That afternoon at the grocery store, Myrtle once again ran into Cosette Whitlow.  There she was, right in the dairy section, with her stodgy husband Lucas at her beck and call, as usual.

Red had driven her to the store, as promised. He said under his breath, “Here’s Cosette now.  Isn’t she the focus of your current fascination?”

“Fascination and repulsion, all at once,” muttered Myrtle.  She reached for a bag of dog food.

“Here, I’ll get that,” said Red briskly. “It must weigh twenty pounds, Mama.  Wait.  You have a
cat
, not a dog.”

“I’m donating dog food to the Bradley Animal Shelter.  I read in the paper that they were running low.”

“Okay. Well, remind me and I’ll take it by while I’m on patrol.  We don’t need you lugging twenty pounds of dog food on foot.”  He glanced up.  “Looks like Cosette is coming over,” he muttered.

“Oh
hel-
lo, Miss Myrtle!  Getting your pantry stocked up?” asked Cosette with a condescending smile on her face and the kind of tone reserved for small children or imbecilic pets.

Myrtle gave her a tight smile in return.  “That’s right.  And while you’re here, I wanted to let you know that I’m coming to your party tonight.  I’m going with Miles.”

“Isn’t that
won
derful?” sang out Cosette, giving a broad wink to Red.  “I simply love it when our senior citizens still enjoy a love life.  It’s so very important, don’t you think, Lucas?”

Lucas quickly nodded, beaming at them.

“Vital, I think,” said Red, nodding and patting his mother on the back.  “Helps them live longer, better, more meaningful lives.” His lips twitched as if longing to break into a grin.

“Miles and I are
not
having a relationship as you well know, Red Clover,” snapped Myrtle.

“That’s something else I admire about your mother,” said Cosette, blinking flirtatiously at Red.  “She’s just so plucky! Cute and plucky!”

Myrtle glared at her and Red made a sneezing sound that Myrtle guessed was his attempt at holding back a laugh.  It was most annoying when people treated the elderly as if they were children.  Myrtle had never been cute.  And she preferred
capable
or
courageous
to
plucky
.

Myrtle smiled through gritted teeth.  She would try to be patient. “How funny to see you and Lucas here, Cosette.  I see you everywhere I go, I think.  You must be the busiest woman in Bradley.”

Lucas said shyly, “She is. Excuse my bragging, but Bradley couldn’t do without her.  She’s in charge of the Women’s Club, the Bradley Garden Club, the historical society, and volunteers for several committees at church.  That doesn’t include all the things she does at the house—Cosette keeps the house meticulously clean, and cooks like a professional chef.”  He gazed proudly at his wife.

 Cosette simpered in response, “Are you still active around town, Miss Myrtle?”

Myrtle shrugged.  “I write a column for the
Bradley Bugle
.  And I do special investigative reports for them sometimes, too.”

Cosette was momentarily distracted as Lucas pulled a bag of chips from a nearby end cap.   She said harshly, “Lucas—put that back.  You’ve got to lose weight.”

She quickly turned back to Myrtle. “You write stories for the paper? Isn’t that sweet!” beamed Cosette.  “I should recruit you for some of the organizations that I’m heading up.  You could do some real good in this town, you know.”

Myrtle frowned at her.  “I’ve already done plenty of good.  And I’ve been in all those clubs, off and on, for about sixty years.”  Cosette appeared to be opening her mouth to try and enlist Myrtle again so Myrtle quickly said, “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have some shopping to do.” She hurried toward the milk.

She could still plainly hear Cosette Whitlow talking to Red in a hushed voice.  It was amazing the things people would whisper in Myrtle’s presence because they assumed she was going deaf.  It was an incorrect and potentially hazardous assumption to make.

Cosette said, “I know your mother is a handful.  But I’ve got my own dear mother in Greener Pastures Retirement Home and it has been a real blessing. She’ll simply love it. They have darling activities—themed Bingo nights, variety shows, and sittercise for the wheelchair bound.  And now Mother isn’t calling me up all the time and asking me to change her light bulbs.  They take care of her there. It’s just a lovely, lovely place for our precious older adults.”

Myrtle’s back stiffened as she listened.  The gall of the woman.  Why didn’t it surprise her that she’d stuck her mother in a retirement home when she got on her nerves?

“Thanks for the recommendation, Cosette. I’ve been considering Greener Pastures for years.  Although I have a feeling that Mama isn’t quite ready to transition there yet,” said Red politely. Myrtle turned to shoot him a murderous look and Red grinned at her.

“You don’t have to wait for it to be her idea. Do you know what I'd do, Red?  I'd march straight out to the Greener Pastures Retirement Home right now and I'd beg them to take your Mama."

Red's voice sounded doubtful. "Well… Mama isn't real keen on Greener Pastures. She still likes to putter around in her house and yard an awful lot."

"Putter? Fall down is more likely.  I've seen her balance on that cane of hers...very precarious she is too. Believe me, once she gets used to it out there, she'll love it.  I volunteer there all the time and it's just a
lovely
community."

Myrtle was tired of pretending that she couldn’t hear them. “Maybe I’ll go there…once I get old.”

“Well, anytime you change your mind, sweetie,” said Cosette in a louder voice to Myrtle, “you let me know.  I can drive you there for the day and my precious Mama can show you around.”

Cosette’s voice dripped with sugar until she abruptly barked at her husband, “Lucas! What’s this nonsense that you’ve put in the cart?  Put it back.  We don’t need that.  What were you thinking?”  Her berating of poor Lucas continued as they wheeled their shopping buggy out of sight.

Myrtle hadn’t been particularly creative with the hors d’oeuvre she brought to Cosette’s house.  It was merely a spinach and artichoke dip with crackers alongside.  She’d seen Miles eye it with suspicion, however, as they walked up Cosette’s driveway.  “It’s a basic dip, Miles.  It’s not going to leap out to poison you.”

“Won’t it?” asked Miles.  “I’ve eaten your cooking before, remember?”

“That’s rude.  Besides, you really can’t mess up spinach and artichoke dip,” said Myrtle with a sniff.

“Can’t you?” asked Miles.  He didn’t sound at all convinced.

“Now don’t hang all over me at this party,” said Myrtle.  “For some reason, Cosette seems to think we’re an item.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” said Miles, rolling his eyes.  “That’s all I need.”

Myrtle squinted at Miles to see if he was being ugly and stumbled, catching herself with her cane and nearly dropping the platter she’d been determined to carry herself.

“Here, give me that,” said Miles, removing the platter from her hand.  “For heaven’s sake.”

Since they’d carefully devised not to be the first guests on the scene, there were plenty of other people there.   Most of the neighbors who lived on their street seemed to be in attendance—including Erma, Myrtle was sorry to note—as well as couples from the church and other organizations. It was a full house. 

Miles was still awkwardly clutching both Myrtle’s platter and the bottle of wine that he’d brought.  “Here, we should put those things down somewhere,” said Myrtle loudly over the din of conversations and laughter. 

“The food seems to be laid out over there,” said Miles, nodding his head over at the dining room where trays of food were visible on the table and sideboard.

Myrtle scanned the crowd.  The coast was clear. No annoying Cosette.  She might be in the kitchen, getting drinks or more food.  “I think there’s room for my spinach and artichoke dip, but let’s put your wine in the kitchen.  There isn’t enough room for it in the dining room.” Perhaps she could sneak in and deposit it without Cosette’s cloying comments about
precious older adults
.

Miles frowned at her.  “Not enough room for a small bottle, but enough room for a dip platter?”

But Myrtle was already making room for her hors d’oeuvres, pushing aside a tray of Buffalo wings and dressing.  “There.”  She wove her way through the crowd of people toward the kitchen and Miles slowly followed her. 

The house was a typical three-bedroom ranch, like the other homes on their street.  But the inside was quite lavishly decorated.  It wasn’t only that the furniture looked both very fine and brand-new, but that the house itself had been renovated.  There were parquet floors (what Myrtle could see of the floors, anyway, with so many people there) and crown molding.  And, once she finally reached the kitchen, she could see it was filled with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.  A lot of money had been poured into this fairly simple house.

As feared, Cosette was in the kitchen, but she appeared to be engaged in an argument with someone on her phone.  This provided perfect cover for Myrtle to quickly put down the wine. She had her back toward them, and didn’t see as they entered the room.

Miles immediately started backing away.  “Myrtle,” he hissed.  “Come on.  Let’s put the wine down in the dining room.”

 “The least you could do is come over here, Joan,” said Cosette in a shrewish voice that sounded nothing like the saccharine tones that she always bestowed on Myrtle. “I’m your mother and I don’t ask for much.”  She paused.  “No, I don’t!  I brought you up with the finest education, gave you a debut, and made sure you had every advantage, young lady.  How have you repaid me? By marrying a plumber and then divorcing him a couple of months before your baby was due.  The least, the very least I expect from you, is to make an appearance when I have a soiree.”  She abruptly hung up and threw her cell phone across the kitchen.

This time when Miles motioned desperately to her to leave, Myrtle did.

“Did you understand all of that?” asked Miles as they headed back into the noisy dining room.  “It sounded like the storyline on one of your soaps.”

“My soap would know better than to run a tired plot like that,” said Myrtle.  “And yes, I did understand it. I forget that you’re a relative newcomer to Bradley.  Cosette has always thrown lavish parties.  She has doted on her daughter ever since she was a baby—buying her the most ridiculously expensive baby clothes, sending her off to private school, throwing a huge sweet-sixteen party for her,” explained Myrtle.

Someone jostled Miles’s arm on their way to the chicken wings and he grimaced. “Where did Cosette get the money for that kind of stuff? It seems like they live in a pretty modest house. Isn’t Lucas an accountant or something?”  He put a couple of deviled eggs and some spicy cheese straws on a plate.

Myrtle had already fixed herself some crackers with a pepper jelly and cream cheese spread.  She munched for a moment, and then said, “That’s right.  I always wondered about the money, but then they’d start living their usual, modest lives again.  But lately, Cosette seems like she’s been really spending with a vengeance. Renovations to the house, cruises abroad.  I guess the money must be burning a hole in her pocket again.  Now she’s giving Joan a guilt trip about not being here.”

“What’s Joan like?” asked Miles.  “I don’t think I’ve ever met her.”  He made a small plate of mini ham biscuits and he and Myrtle shared them.

“You probably wouldn’t have had the opportunity to.  She lives on the other side of Bradley, for one.  And she has Noah—Cosette’s grandson.  I think whenever she goes anywhere, she’s going to things that other young mothers would go to. She’s nothing at all like her mother. She’s a bit chubby, has mousy-hair, is inordinately fond of workout clothing for someone who clearly doesn’t work out, and wears thick glasses.”  She heard the front door and frowned.  “Can anyone else fit into this house?  I can’t imagine what the fire marshal would say.”  She squinted.  “Is that Sybil?  And Felix.  Felix looks rather unhappy.” Sybil spotted them and waved, long brown hair swishing. Everything on her swished, actually—she wore a ruffled peasant dress, as usual, with swinging hoop earrings that were large enough to brush her shoulder.