A Body at Book Club: Myrtle Clover #6

Chapter Thirteen

The figure froze. Myrtle froze. And then the figure took off running.

Myrtle hurried to the kitchen door, yelling, "Stop!" and gripping her pepper spray as if she'd never let go. She flung open the back door and hurried outside in time to see the dark figure running out her gate in the direction of the woods around the lake. She bellowed again, "Stop!" There was no way she could catch up with anyone moving that fast...and who was almost certainly decades younger than she was. But then the figure stumbled over a tree root and went down...and Myrtle started hurrying toward the intruder again.

A bit of movement near her legs made her jump and she looked down in time only to see an emaciated, dirty Pasha gazing up at her in terror with her fur raised. The running, the screaming...clearly the cat was scared to death. "Pasha," she gasped in joy. She thought no more about the figure bolting through the woods as she stooped down to reach out soothingly to the animal. "Here kitty," she called.

But Pasha was well and truly spooked and bolted away into the darkness, tearing off through the gate.

Myrtle stood still, hoping that Pasha would come back in a few minutes. But she didn't.

The next morning, after restless wakefulness for the rest of the night, Myrtle discovered that not only had the intruder escaped, not only had Pasha gotten away, but she'd tracked mud all over her house because her yard had been so soggy from leaving the sprinkler running. It was time for her luck to change, it really was. The only bright spot was that she had seen Pasha with her own eyes. The poor thing was alive, if not in the best condition. And that made her feel better.

There was no way around it. She was going to have to call in the troops to clean this mess up. Well, actually, it was one troop. Puddin. Puddin was a sorry housekeeper, but Myrtle couldn't get rid of her because her husband, Dusty, was the only yardman in town who'd cut her grass even if her gnome collection was in the yard. So Myrtle put up with all kinds of nonsense from Puddin just to stay in Dusty's good graces. Although, Dusty wasn't exactly a prize, either.

Myrtle picked up the phone and called their house. As usual, Dusty picked up the phone. "Too dry ter mow, Miz Myrtle!" he hollered as soon as he heard her voice.

Myrtle gritted her teeth. Dusty was the laziest yardman alive. You'd think he didn't need the money the way he carried on. "I'm actually looking for Puddin, Dusty, so don't worry. The grass has stopped growing because of the heat, sure enough." Although, the backyard was sure to start growing again soon with all the watering she'd done.

"Puddin!" yelled Dusty. And then he dropped the phone with a clunk onto whatever surface was near him.

Minutes passed. Finally, a sour voice muttered, "H'lo?"

"Puddin? It's Myrtle Clover. I need your help today with some cleaning."

"Ain't on the schedule," said Puddin aggressively.

Myrtle was starting to be concerned that her teeth would sustain permanent damage from all the gritting she was doing. And she was very proud of her teeth. "Today isn't on the schedule, no, but you were supposed to come last week and didn't—so today can be a make-up day."

"Because my back was thrown out!"

"Yes, I remember the medical basis of your excuse. But I'm sure you're fine now—that was nearly a week ago," said Myrtle with as much patience as she could muster.

"Wellll." Puddin mulled this over. Myrtle could just picture her sullen, pasty face. "I suppose. What kinda cleaning are you looking for?"

Myrtle glanced over at the mud-streaked floor. "Oh, just some light cleaning. You know."