Death of a Suitor #18

Chapter Eighteen

Myrtle turned. "Oh, hi Nicole."

"Is everything all right? That bag looks heavy."

Myrtle nodded. "The bagger double-bagged it though, so it won't break."

"I was more worried about you being able to carry it home," said Nicole. "It doesn't look like you have a car here or that anybody dropped you off."

"That's very sweet of you, my dear. But I'm really just fine. How are things with you?"

Nicole shrugged. "I guess things are moving along. Probate is taking forever. One of my clients mentioned that I should just go to the bank and take out a small personal loan and go ahead and move to Atlanta."

"I see. So then, when probate goes through, you can pay off the loan. It does make sense. Are you going to be sorry to leave the salon? Or, actually, this type of business altogether? I know you mentioned you'd be pursuing fashion."

Nicole said, "Of course there are parts that I'll miss. I'll miss my clients most of all. But I've always had a flair for the dramatic that I just can't satisfy with manicures and pedicures. I used to do a lot of acting when I was a kid—there were summer camps and drama clubs at school."

Something struck a chord in Myrtle, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "So you spent time in the theater," she said slowly.

Nicole gave her a funny look. "That's right. Have you heard anything from Red about the case? And—speaking of the theater—has he been asking Allen about the car tires?"

"Oh, Red won't tell me a blessed thing about the case," said Myrtle vaguely. Then she thought about a flair for the dramatic. Her soap opera. And tea. She leveled a serious look at Nicole. "So you can be pretty dramatic, is that right?"

Nicole's funny look grew a bit more strained. "Sure. I mean, not all the time, but I can be."

"Does it happen when your emotions get all riled up?" asked Myrtle conversationally.

Nicole gave a short laugh. "I guess so."

"Like when you lose your temper. Over something, perhaps, like a potential windfall from a real estate deal that your dad refused to cash out on."

Nicole's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Miss Myrtle?"

"Just that flinging tea at someone seems to fit in with the personality of a person who has a flair for the dramatic." Myrtle gave her a serious look.

Pasha growled from a dark place nearby.

"Tea?" Nicole was now apparently trying to backtrack and act as though she didn't know what Myrtle was talking about.

"I know all about the tea, Nicole, as you clearly do, too. Eloise, bless her, spilled that bit of information to us before Red cautioned her not to mention it to anyone. You may not know this, but Wanda is my friend."

Nicole didn't say anything. Pasha came out of her dark hiding spot and stood near Myrtle, still making that rumbling growl to express her displeasure at what was unfolding.

"Wanda is a psychic," continued Myrtle. "And she mentioned tea. And, actually, drama. Plus, there was my soap opera."

Nicole said in a low voice, "Miss Myrtle, you're not making a lot of sense."

"Yes, but isn't that precisely what happens when everything starts tying together? All these little bits and pieces of information and images and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place. It's a truly amazing process. But the sad fact of the matter remains—you killed your father." Myrtle tilted her head to one side. "I wonder, though, if it might not have been intentional. Was it an accident? You were clearly very wound up at the time. Jax was a stubborn man and he wanted to stay in his house on his land. You're a young person with no ties who wanted to start a new life somewhere else."