A Body at Bunco : Myrtle Clover #8

Chapter Fifteen

The ride home wasn't nearly as harrowing as the ride to the funeral. Estelle, despite the fact that she chased storms for a living, appeared to drive at much more restrained pace than Florence. Once they'd left the cemetery, Myrtle got right to the point. "Estelle, it seemed as if you wanted to tell me something back there. Was it something about Florence?"

Estelle's hands briefly clenched the steering wheel. "Well, I hate to say anything. This is long-ago history. In fact, you may know it much better than I do. I've only heard it secondhand."

Myrtle frowned. "Well, you have whetted my interest. Although I can't say I remember anything about Florence from the past." There did seem to be some sort of faraway memory trying to poke its way to the surface, however.

"It's about Florence's favorite nephew. She doted on him, apparently. Seemed to care more for him than even her own daughter. And he ate it up. He was always dropping by and bringing her gifts and giving her a hand with her yard work or whatnot."

"And this nephew that she doted on had a connection to Mimsy?" asked Myrtle.

"Yes. He started dating Mimsy back in the day." She took her eyes off the road for a moment to glance over at Myrtle.

Myrtle said thoughtfully, "This is slowly coming back to me. So this young man—he had some sort of an accident, didn't he?"

"He apparently died tragically in a car accident," said Estelle.

"And Mimsy was driving? Surely, though, wouldn't she have faced some sort of charges of some kind?"

"That's just it, though. Mimsy wasn't driving. The nephew was. What's more, he'd been drinking. But at the time, Florence was inconsolable. From what I heard, she blamed Mimsy. The nephew had been a teetotaler until he'd started dating her. Mimsy's crowd was a little fast, Florence thought. She figured he'd still be around if it weren't for her," said Estelle.

"Hm. Well, she certainly doesn't run with a fast crowd now," said Myrtle.

Estelle read her mind and snorted. "Everyone changes, I guess. From what I gather, Poppy wasn't exactly in Mimsy's crowd back in school."

"Have you heard of anyone else who might have a grudge against Mimsy?" asked Myrtle.

"Everyone thinks she's wonderful," said Estelle with a shrug. "She's been nice to me since I've moved here. But why are you asking about Mimsy, Myrtle?"

Myrtle said, "Oh, just a hunch." She wasn't about to start blabbering on about psychics. Estelle seemed to be a woman of science, after all. If storm chasing were science. At any rate, she seemed to be on a first-name basis with science.

As Estelle pulled onto Magnolia Lane, Myrtle leaned forward and squinted through the windshield. "What on earth? Is that Miles?"

Estelle raised her eyebrows. "Seems to be. He's just doing a little yard work. Why? You seem surprised to see him."

"Surprised is an understatement. The man was practically on his deathbed yesterday and now he's pulling weeds? Just wait until I get my hands on him."

"Should I drop you off in your driveway? Or his?" asked Estelle.

"His. And thanks for driving me home, Estelle."

Myrtle got out of Estelle's car and walked slowly toward the oblivious Miles. He was sitting on the ground and busily pulling clover from a patch in his yard.

"Miles!" barked Myrtle.

Miles jumped, scattering clover wildly around him. "For heaven's sake, Myrtle!"