Death at a Drop-In (7 page)

“Yes,” said Miles, glancing with concern at Myrtle as if he thought she might start debating Cosette’s sweetness, “she certainly was, wasn’t she?  Well, we hope that Lucas will be all right.  It must have been a nasty shock for him.”

“It was.  Honestly, I was so very worried about his heart after a shock like that.”  Hazel started a ten-minute bout of babbling about Lucas’s sensitive nature and various health complaints that he’d suffered in the past.  Myrtle and Miles shared alarmed stares.  What if they never escaped from here?

They both tuned back in to Hazel when she said, “...and it didn’t help that Joan is misbehaving.  That’s making Lucas just about as sad as Cosette’s death.”

“How is Joan misbehaving?” asked Myrtle.

“Oh, I know people respond differently to death.  The grieving process takes many forms, doesn’t it?  I suppose I’m rather matter-of-fact about Cosette’s death, myself, although I did get quite teary-eyed at the start,” said Hazel.

Myrtle was hoping to deflect another dip into the psychology of grief.  “Certainly understandable.  But what about Joan?”

“She’s acting relieved,” said Hazel with a confusing knitting of her brow.  “In fact, she
said
she was relieved.  This was rather hurtful to Lucas, as you can imagine.  His own daughter basically saying that she was glad that her mother was dead!”

 Hazel looked as if she might tear up.  Myrtle said, “Did they not have a good relationship, then?”

“Cosette always had a family get-together when I was in town, so we had one for my most recent visit.  Noah was playing with Cosette and Joan looked rather surly, I’m afraid.  She didn’t say much.  She was always such a hard person to get to know.  A very quiet child, a remote teenager.  Joan was given every advantage, every privilege and she seems to have squandered them.  Or at least, has certainly not appreciated them,” said Hazel, looking bewildered.

Miles said carefully, “Yes, I wondered about that.  It seems like Cosette and Lucas must have sacrificed a lot over the years. Myrtle was telling me that Joan had a big debut and a big wedding.”

Hazel sighed. “Yes, and they also provided Noah with every opportunity, too.  Sacrifice is definitely the word.  Lucas has told me,” said Hazel in a gossipy whisper, “that he’s in rather dire financial straits. They showered money on Noah—money they didn’t have…which is why he’s such an advanced little guy.  What a wonderful child! I treasure the time I spend with him.”

Myrtle was now truly worried that the conversation would veer off into ‘extraordinary Noah’ territory.  She quickly said, “Joan wasn’t interested in being a society woman, I take it?”

“She never appreciated the scrimping and saving her parents did to give her every advantage they could. Instead, she’s almost thrown it back in their faces.  It must really have hurt Lucas and Cosette, I’m sure. And—bless her heart—but she’s nobody’s pretty child. Maybe that’s why she was so dreadfully awkward at parties.  Still, Cosette and Lucas kept right on giving everything they could to Joan and Noah.  Did you hear about the special tutors that child has?” asked Hazel, face brightening.  “It’s really extraordinary how they’ve found teachers to help encourage his gifts.  He’s already a wonder on the piano, and picks up languages in a second.”

It seemed like there was nothing else of substance that they were going to get from Hazel today.  Miles looked over at Myrtle and said, “So sorry to interrupt, Hazel, but I think it’s time for us to head out.  Myrtle and I have more soup to deliver.”

Myrtle fumbled for her cane and was already out on the doorstep when she turned to thank Hazel for the milk and cookies.  She raised her eyebrows when she saw Miles leaning over and whispering something in Hazel’s ear.  He seemed to be gesturing in the general vicinity of the kitchen.  Myrtle refused to be paranoid, although she had the sneaking suspicion that Miles might be maligning her soup.

“Soup? That’s awfully nice of you,” said Joan, pushing her thick glasses up her nose and giving Myrtle and Miles a shy smile, stepping aside to let them into her home. “I’m sure the soup will really hit the spot.  I was beginning to get tired of the chicken divan that the church ladies were bringing over.  What a nice change.  I’ll pop this in the fridge and then we can have a little visit.  Noah is napping, so it’s the perfect time to talk.  Have a seat.”

Joan went off to the kitchen, humming as she went. Yes, people did react to grief in different ways as Hazel had mentioned, but it sure seemed that Cosette’s death had put a spring in her daughter’s step. 

Myrtle and Miles glanced around the small den for a place to sit down.  Most of the furniture was covered with toys of all types and descriptions.  The furniture itself, Myrtle noticed, looked to be both new and expensive, especially for a single mom on a preschool teacher’s budget.  Had Cosette and Lucas pitched in for the furniture, too? It seemed like a given that the toys came from the doting grandparents.

“I thought we might want something to drink,” said Joan, coming back from the kitchen holding a small tray with tall glasses full of cola.

She’d already poured it, so Myrtle felt she couldn’t really turn it down.  A visit to the powder room might be in order shortly, considering they’d had lemonade starting out on their visits, and then milk at Lucas’s house.  Miles and Myrtle took the glasses with a smile.  Then Myrtle cleared her throat. “We’re so sorry about your mother,” she said, trying to summon the appropriate concern.  She didn’t want to overdo it, either, since Joan herself didn’t appear very distraught.  “I was trying to think of something I could do to help you out.  Could I watch Noah for you?  Give you a break one afternoon?”

Joan said, “That’s really sweet of you, Miss Myrtle.  People always offer help, but so rarely offer something specific.  It would be wonderful if you could watch Noah for me during Mother’s funeral.  I believe it will be a couple of days from now.  I’d hate to have to bring him to the funeral.”

Myrtle gulped, but nodded.  Now she’d really done it.  She’d thought that her babysitting offer would be a good way to see more of Joan and get another shot at questioning her later.  But she’d had every intention of being at that funeral and to see if anyone looked guilty, gossiped, or gave her any new leads.  “Of course,” she said weakly.  “I’d be delighted to watch Noah.”

Joan slapped her forehead.  “Oh, wait a minute.  I must be losing my mind.  I forgot that Elaine already offered to keep Noah for me so that he and Jack can have a play date.  But thanks for your offer.”

Myrtle relaxed.  “Well, is there another time I can help you out?”

Joan said, “If you don’t mind, I did tell my dad that I’d help him go through Mother’s things.  I’d called him yesterday and he mentioned that the thought of going through her clothes was making him even sadder.  If that’s possible.”

Myrtle said, “That sounds perfect.  Give me a call and let me know when you want to bring him by.  Maybe I can even have Jack over then to give them the chance for another play date.  That way, I could help Elaine out at the same time.”

Joan laughed, “They’re really both at the age where they’re doing parallel play instead of interacting with each other.  You’ll see Jack pushing his truck around and Noah pushing his, but the trucks will never intersect.  But I think they enjoy being around each other, anyway.”

“It’s settled then,” said Myrtle, beaming at her.

Miles said, “Joan, I’m glad you’re helping poor Lucas out.  We tried to visit with him before we came here, but he was too upset to come out.”

“He’s definitely taking it hard, but then Dad has always been crazy over Mother.  I’ve never really been able to figure that out, since she was always fussing at him.  Always telling him to tuck his shirt in more, or to stand up straight, or to lose weight.”  Joan looked ruefully down at her own pear-shaped figure. “I heard the same stuff.  I do know one thing, though.  He’d never have laid a finger on her, no matter what the police think. He worshipped the ground she walked on, no matter how she treated him.”

Myrtle said, “Is there anything you can think of that could help the police find the murderer?  Redirect them to another suspect? I have insider connections, you know.” 

“Red has been great, Miss Myrtle. But I have a feeling the state police think that Dad is behind the whole thing.  There should be plenty of good suspects, though.  Mother was hard to like.  But yes, there was one thing that I need to tell the police about,” said Joan.

Myrtle leaned forward in her chair.

“Since I’ve gotten divorced,” said Joan, “I’ve needed help around the house and yard.  The yard has been especially tough for me to stay on top of, so I made a call to a yardman that I found in the phone book to get an estimate for weekly yard work.  As a matter of fact, he lives right across from Mother and Dad.”

Miles frowned.  “Tobin, is it?”

“That’s right.  Tobin Tinker.  He came right on time and gave me a good estimate.  But he was completely preoccupied with my mother and the problems he was having with her as a neighbor.  He listed all kinds of stuff—she had too many parties and her guests blocked his driveway with their cars.  That the parties were too loud and kept him up at night.  And he said that she kept putting her excess trash in his garbage can…he was particularly upset about that.”

Myrtle hoped that maybe she had some more information than they did.  “Extra trash?”

“Well, you know how we’re supposed to put
all
our trash in the roll-out cans?  No bags on the ground?  Mother had lots of extra trash sometimes because of her parties.  She’d apparently stick the extra bags in Tobin’s trashcan.  He lives alone and I guess he doesn’t have enough garbage to fill up his own can,” said Joan.  She rolled her eyes.  “It was kind of ridiculous of Mother to do that, but I can see her doing it.”

“But why was he telling you all of this?” asked Miles.  “Sounds like he was just dumping on you.”

“I suppose he thought I had Mother’s ear and that she’d actually listen to me.  He looked crushed when I told him that Mother had made a point of never listening to anything I said.  Anyway, he made me so uncomfortable with this anger he was displaying that I decided not to call him back to do the yard work.  I don’t really want someone with a temper hanging out around Noah,” said Joan.

Myrtle said, “Makes sense to me.”  She was still thinking back to the big bag of overflowing trash that had been on the Whitlows’ front porch.

“Do you know any yardmen who could help me out?” asked Joan.

Myrtle laughed.  “I like you too much to foist my Dusty on you.  And Miles still manages to do his own yard somehow.”

“Dusty isn’t all that bad,” said Miles.  “At least he’s not as bad as Puddin.”

“Yes, Dusty’s wife, Puddin, cleans my house for me.  Although
cleaning
is an exaggeration.  She never actually accomplishes more than pushing the dust from one side of a table to another.  But Dusty does a fair job on the yard when he actually comes.  It’s hard to get him to come over, though.  When you call him, he yowls that it’s too wet to mow, even if it hasn’t rained in months.”

“Sounds like a problem I don’t need,” said Joan with a grimace.  “I’ll keep looking out for somebody.”

Myrtle was trying to figure out how to get off the yardmen conversation and back to the murder when Joan suddenly looked penitent.  “Oh, shoot.  I completely forgot to make sure
you’re
doing all right, Miss Myrtle.  I hear that you were actually the person who discovered the body.” She said it very matter-of-factly, looking steadily at Myrtle behind those thick lenses.

Myrtle’s eyes widened over the use of the word
body
instead of
mother
.  “Yes, I’m afraid I did.  Along with Miles and your father, of course.  It was quite a shock.  But I’m so glad that you weren’t the one to discover her, Joan.  We saw you arrive there, but knew you’d left.”

Joan flushed.  “I didn’t behave very well that night.  Mother and I have never been close.  She never really understood me.  She thought I should have been the Magnolia Queen, snagged the perfect, wealthy husband, and started being some kind of society matron.  Instead, I married a plumber for love. The love didn’t last for very long.”  She shrugged.  “I was a huge disappointment to her.”

Myrtle wanted to pooh-pooh that statement, but she knew it wouldn’t ring true.  “But you did come to your mother’s party when she asked you to.  And I know she was proud as punch of Noah.”

“I didn’t want to go, though.  I had a million things to do at home, instead.  I had to cut out construction paper shapes for my preschool kids the next day, do laundry, clean the kitchen—and run errands, too.  I was out of bread, and Noah and I always pack sandwiches for lunch.  But this time Mother really pushed me to come.  I went, but I decided to take advantage of the fact that I had someone to watch Noah for me and I ran off to at least get the stuff I needed from the store,” said Joan.

“And you never made it back to the drop-in?” asked Myrtle.

“Well, I had refrigerated items, so I ran back home to put those things away.  While I was there, I thought I could get started cutting out the shapes for preschool and doing the housework.  I know it was bad of me, but Mother made me so angry.  The next thing I knew, someone from the police was at my door, telling me about Mother’s death,” Joan shrugged, looking away. 

Miles gave Myrtle a quick glance that told her he was thinking the same thing she was—Joan was keeping a secret.

Chapter Seven

The next morning, Myrtle picked up the phone and called Sloan Jones, her editor at the
Bradley Bugle
.  It was time to find out more about this reporter he’d been talking about at the drop-in.

“
Bugle
,” drawled Sloan, sounding as if he might be munching on his lunch.

She said, “Sloan, it’s Myrtle.”

Sloan’s voice became more alert, as it always did whenever Myrtle addressed him.  Myrtle had been his English teacher many years ago and he’d never managed to put the experience behind him.  He’d had a terrible time remembering to turn in his homework that year, and never could recite that soliloquy from
Hamlet
to her satisfaction.  He’d passed the class by the skin of his teeth and she’d been relieved to be done with him.  She’d been pretty appalled when he’d ended up as editor and publisher of the town’s newspaper, especially considering his background in English.  Red had persuaded Sloan to give Myrtle a weekly helpful hints column for the paper—mostly to keep Myrtle out of trouble.  Sloan had let Myrtle write investigative stories for the
Bugle
a few times, too.