A Body at Bunco : Myrtle Clover #8

Chapter Ten

 As Myrtle walked outside, she saw Miles slumping against his Volvo looking even greener than he had earlier. "Miles! Are you all right?"

"I'm...not so well. And my car won't run."

Myrtle said, "Won't run? The engine won't turn over, you mean?"

"No, I mean that it won't drive me anywhere. The transmission has been slipping some lately. I've been good about having the transmission fluid serviced, but there still have been issues."

Myrtle's forte was not automobiles, and as usual, she tuned out the specifics as soon as Miles launched into them. "So, what's the bottom line here, Miles? That the car won't take us home?"

"That's right. Because the gears won't shift at all. The transmission is shot. We'll be walking home." He gave the car a dirty look. "I knew this was going to happen one day, I just wish it had happened in my driveway. And when I wasn't feeling ill."

Myrtle said, "So you need a tow, I suppose. And then you'll get it repaired?"

"No, I think the part is probably worth more than the car at this point. I've had the Volvo for a while now. I'll likely just get something new. But no more Volvos. They seem to stand out here. However, I certainly don't want a truck, which seems to be the official vehicle of the town of Bradley." Miles's voice was fretful.

How fortuitous that everyone was going car shopping! Myrtle planned on steering him toward Roger's Automotive when it was time for him to shop. But now he clearly needed to get some sleep. She reached out and briskly laid her hand on Miles's forehead. "You're burning up, Miles! Let's start walking home. Maybe we can hitch you a ride on the way and get you there faster."

"It's not as if it's far," said Miles.

"Right. But it's going to feel far in your condition. Let's go."

As they were walking slowly toward home, Myrtle leaning on her cane as she supported Miles with her free arm, Sloan Jones from the paper drove up from behind them in his old pickup truck. Myrtle immediately flagged him down and he rolled down his window. "Sloan, we need a favor. Could you drop us back home? Miles isn't feeling well and his car has broken down."

Sloan looked as if he wished that he could wear a protective suit and mask. He hesitated before quickly saying, "Of course, Miss Myrtle. Hop on in."

Although Miles was able to climb rather nimbly into the cab of the truck, Myrtle had the distinct impression that her own ascent would be problematic. This was one unfortunate issue that occurred to a person in his or her eighties. "Never mind about me. I'm going to walk off those pimento cheese dogs. But Sloan...could you run by my house for a minute after you drop off Miles? There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Now Sloan's face was even more dismayed than it had been at the prospect of riding next to germ-ridden Miles. "Of course, Miss Myrtle. See you then. Will you ... well ... will you be home by the time I drive there?"