Death Pays a Visit : Myrtle Clover #7

Chapter Nineteen

The ride home wasn't a bit treacherous, despite the residual ice on the roads. When Miles pulled onto Magnolia Lane, he said in a perplexed tone, "I can't believe my eyes. Your wayward housekeeper appears to be cleaning your home. Without your badgering her or even being there. Has Puddin had a mild stroke?"

Myrtle frowned. "That Puddin. She turns up like a bad penny. No, she wouldn't be there if it weren't for Dusty. I guarantee you that Dusty is at Erma's doing something. Remember? She's gotten it into her head that Dusty is running around on her with Erma."

Miles made a sound that was halfway between a chortle and a coughing fit as he pulled into her driveway. When it had subsided, he said, "There are so many things wrong with your last statement that I don't even know where to begin."

"Then let me help you unpack it," said Myrtle smoothly. "Dusty couldn't possibly be attractive to anyone but Puddin. Erma couldn't possibly pose a threat as the "other woman" in any relationship. Dusty doesn't ordinarily, however, put himself out to do yard work for anyone, so how on earth is Erma luring him there as much as she is? Erma doesn't care a flip about her yard—evidenced by her crabgrass infestation, so why is she intent on having Dusty there? Yes, I know, it's all baffling. The only part I understand is that Puddin is pretending that I need her over to clean so that she can spy on Dusty."

Miles shook his head. "It's even more complex than our soap opera's plotlines." He stared at Erma's yard. "Wow. She's got Dusty picking up limbs that broke from the ice storm. That's pretty amazing."

Myrtle nodded and opened the passenger door. "Here, let me check the mail real quick before going in to calm Puddin down. I've got to keep their marriage intact, you know. If Dusty runs away with Erma and Puddin divorces him and remarries ... what on earth will I do about my yard and house? Red will stick me in Greener Pastures for sure." She reached in her mailbox and pulled out a couple of bills and some junk mail. "I don't see anything here," she said, disappointed. Then she flipped through the junk mail and a postcard fell out. "Hold on. Looks like we received another cryptic missive from Wanda."

"What's it say?"

"I guess Wanda is obsessed with money," muttered Myrtle. "This is yet another hint that it's financially-motivated. Wanda's preoccupation probably has something to do with having all of her utilities cut off. It says: it's all about the muney."

"Not very helpful of Wanda," said Miles morosely. "She could at least give us a name or something."

"She claims it doesn't work that way, remember? But this really takes the cake. This could point to just about any of our suspects, especially if we bring blackmail into it," said Myrtle in disgust.

"There's nothing else on there?" asked Miles. He sounded disappointed.

Myrtle squinted at the postcard. "Well, there is a smudge or something near the bottom. Like an afterthought. Wanda's penmanship is ghastly and she's misspelled everything she's written so far." Myrtle tilted the postcard in the sun. "I can't make it out without my reading glasses."

Miles opened a glasses case that had been resting on his dashboard and put his glasses on. "Here, let me have a go." Myrtle handed over the postcard and Miles studied it for a minute. "It appears to say, not whut they seem.'"

"For heaven's sake!" spat Myrtle. "Wanda can't even use pronouns correctly? What's the help in saying they? She can't use he or she and at least point us in the right direction?"

"Somehow, I don't think Wanda got much instruction in the dos and don'ts of pronoun usage," said Miles. "At least she's trying. So what are you going to do now? Check on Red?"