A Body at Bunco : Myrtle Clover #8

Chapter Twelve

Myrtle was able to slip away and walk fairly briskly back toward her house before Red realized she was there. She had lots to think about and it was just as well that she didn't have to have a battle of wits or wills with Red. It was all bouncing around in her head, wanting to come out. The mention of an earring had reminded her that Mimsy had mentioned losing one at Bunco. Could the two be connected somehow? Ordinarily, she'd discuss her findings with her trusty sidekick. But, said trusty sidekick had been felled by a virus.

Myrtle was about to pass Miles's house when she hesitated. Perhaps he was in need of more help. Perhaps he even needed an appointment at his doctor's office and a ride in the car there. Myrtle walked up to Miles's front door and peered in the side window again. This time she didn't see him slumped in the recliner as she had before. She removed her key from her pocketbook once more and unlocked the door.

"Yoo-hoo!" she called out cautiously. Myrtle certainly didn't want to suffer any embarrassing encounters of Miles in some stage of undress. "Miles! It's Myrtle. I'm checking up on you."

"Coming," said a weak voice from the back of the house. There was the brief sound of water running from the bathroom faucet and some splashing around. Then a very somber and rather frail-looking Miles appeared, shambling toward the recliner.

"Goodness, Miles! You look horrid."

Miles climbed into the recliner and pulled the old, brown blanket over and around him. "I do," he agreed piteously.

"Do you feel as wretched as you look?" asked Myrtle with some concern. She knew that old men were not nearly as robust as old women when it came to illness. They could also be extremely dramatic and play up their misery for the crowd, but this time she thought that Miles possibly wasn't playing things up. And she wasn't in the mood for losing her sidekick.

"It's been a miserable last twelve hours," said Miles. He made a small waving gesture to encompass the saltines and the water next to him. "Thanks for this. I don't know when you came in, but I know you must have been the one who put out food and water for me."

He didn't seem to want to dwell on the idea of food, however, and Myrtle saw that the crackers were untouched. "See here, Miles—I think we need to take you to the doctor," blustered Myrtle.

Miles levied a horrified look at her. "I don't want to go to a doctor while I'm feeling like this! I need to be near a restroom."

"Here's the important question. Have you been able to keep fluids down?"

Miles just turned greener in reply.

"I'll take that as a no. You might be dehydrated or headed down that path. The doctor could prescribe you something to help repress the nausea. Miles, I'm going to take it upon myself to make an appointment for you at your doctor's office," said Myrtle briskly. There clearly would be no discussion of the case's developments while Miles was like this.

"You don't know his number," mumbled Miles.

"It's Doctor Phillips," said Myrtle, flipping through the phone book. "You've mentioned him casually before and I have an excellent memory."

"I shouldn't drive in this condition."

"You certainly shouldn't. I will drive you to see Doctor Phillips. In a borrowed car," said Myrtle.

Miles gaped foggily at her.

"You have no car right now, remember? Last I heard, you're transmission-free. Excellent memory, as I mentioned," said Myrtle, tapping her forehead. She dialed the physician's number, made an appointment, and then hung up. "All right, so I'm going to let you rest for a couple of hours before your appointment, during which time I will be procuring a car for us to take to the doctor."