Murder on Opening Night: Myrtle Clover #9

Chapter One

"I'd no idea you were such a theater buff, Myrtle." Miles eyed the ticket that Myrtle brandished in front of her as if it were a poisonous snake.

"I'm not. But this is a freebie. Who can resist a freebie? These tickets are free and by-golly, I am going to use them!" Myrtle's voice was fervent with emotion as she waved the tickets in the air like someone who'd just won the lottery.

"How did you come about these tickets again?" Miles had every appearance of someone who'd planned on spending a quiet evening at home and was peeved that his plans had been hijacked.

"From Elaine," said Myrtle. Elaine was married to Myrtle's son, Red. "She volunteers at the community theater, but they couldn't make tonight's production. Their babysitter fell through," said Myrtle.

"I thought you were their babysitter."

"Their other babysitter," said Myrtle with the patient tone of someone who was dealing with a rather dense child. "The one that's unreliable. I offered to step in, but Elaine said she was just as happy to have an early night."

Miles said, "What's the name of this production? It's nothing fanciful, is it? I haven't been in the mood for something fanciful for quite a while."

"It's not Midsummer Night's Dream, Miles." She squinted at the ticket. "It's something called Malaise."

Miles made a face. "That sounds ominous."

"I'm convinced that you've got malaise. I've never seen anyone so reluctant to enjoy an evening out. Never mind, I'll find someone else to go with me. The problem with you, Miles, is that you've gotten too accustomed to lowbrow entertainment. Your soap opera watching has corrupted your taste."

"You're the one who got me hooked on the soap!" said Miles hotly.

"Only because Tomorrow's Promise provides a fascinating slice-of-life study. I know the characters in soap operas are caricatures, but they hit home so very often. We're all driven by passions." She paused meaningfully. "You're driven by the passion to organize your pantry alphabetically, which is likely what you'll be doing tonight instead of going out. It's all right. I'll introduce Wanda to a bit of culture."

Perhaps the bit about organizing his pantry hit too close to home. Or perhaps Miles simply didn't want to imagine Wanda at the community playhouse. It would have been a stretch for Wanda, Myrtle had to admit. Wanda didn't have an operational car. Myrtle would have to pick up the psychic and Myrtle didn't have a car, herself. Then there was the fact that Wanda may not be able to endure an entire production at the community theater without a cigarette. Wanda tended to agitate Miles and had done so since he'd discovered they were cousins. The resulting sense of responsibility had proven ... expensive ... for Miles.

Whatever his reasons were, Miles suddenly accepted Myrtle's invitation with alacrity. "Fine, yes. A night out. Okay."

"I'm bowled over by your enthusiasm," drawled Myrtle. "Shall we say seven-thirty tonight? Can you pick me up then?"

"If I'm not too busy clearing out my sock drawer," muttered Miles. He sighed. "This conversation has reminded me that there's something I need to talk to you about."

"What's that?"

"So ... I know Puddin drives you crazy," he said, referring to Myrtle's housekeeper.

"Is the sky blue?"

"Would you be at all interested in firing Puddin and hiring someone else?" asked Miles.

Myrtle stared at him. "Well, naturally. But you know as well as I do that I'm stuck with Puddin like a bad marriage. If I lose her, I lose Dusty. And I can't lose my yardman because he's the only one who'll mow and use the string trimmer around my yard gnomes. He and Puddin are a package deal."