Murder on Opening Night: Myrtle Clover #9

Chapter Nine

Impeccably on time, Miles rang Myrtle's doorbell at four o'clock. He still looked perky from his excellent night's sleep. Myrtle was starting to drag a little, which annoyed her. She covered her annoyance by briskly getting ready to head out for the theater.

"Miles, would you take the bag of squash, please? Should we divide it up into several plastic grocery bags instead of having it in the one bag?"

"If you're trying for the appearance of having even more squash than we do," said Miles glumly.

"I was thinking it would be easier for the cast to divide up that way," said Myrtle. She distributed the squash evenly, grabbed her purse and cane, and headed for the door.

As they pulled up to the theater, Myrtle leaned forward in the front seat. "Look! Perfect timing. There's Roscoe now."

Miles grunted. "I'd already spotted him. I may have to anonymously present him with a nice razor set."

"I'm sure there must be some people who find that scruffy look appealing. Probably most of the women in the audience," said Myrtle. "But try not to give him such a disapproving expression while we're asking him questions. We don't want him to think that we believe him to be the murderer, and that's what your expression is saying—that we disapprove of him."

"If I thought he was a murderer, I'd be looking more than disapproving at him," said Miles. "Although he does seem like a likely prospect, doesn't he? He is reported to have had an argument with the victim. He is supposed to have been romantically involved with the victim. And, having been part of the production, he certainly had the opportunity to kill Nandina."

Myrtle said impatiently, "Probably. But hurry, Miles! He looks speedy and I don't want him popping inside the theater until we can talk to him!"

Miles quickly pulled into a parking place. As soon as he had put the car into park, Myrtle was opening the door and getting out. "Roscoe? Roscoe Ragsdale?" called Myrtle.

Roscoe turned around with a slight frown. Since he hadn't grown up in the town, he didn't know Myrtle and stood there quizzically as she hurried up.

"Hi," said Myrtle a bit breathlessly. She decided to give up on the subtle approach with Roscoe since he seemed to be in a hurry. "I'm Myrtle Clover. I work for the Bradley Bugle and am writing a piece about the tragic death of Nandina." She hoped mentioning Nandina might work better with Roscoe. If she admitted straightaway that she was writing an investigative piece, she might scare him away. "I also wanted to offer my personal condolences. I hope you will take some home grown squash. I'll be giving some to other cast members, too."

She saw Roscoe relax a little bit and even push some dark hair off of his forehead. It occurred to Myrtle that perhaps he was thinking it would be a photo op. These show business people usually courted the press. Myrtle turned around to see Miles catching up with them. He was brushing a bit of invisible lint off his snowy white button-down shirt. "Miles," called Myrtle. "Are you ready to take the pictures for the piece?"

Miles looked startled, but covered it as quickly as he could. He patted his pants pockets until he located his phone. Then he pulled it out, fiddling with the device until he was able to find the camera application. Miles was not the type of person to take selfies or pictures of any kind and it was likely the very first time he'd ever used the camera at all. He looked proud of himself once he had it ready and gave Myrtle a thumbs-up.

Roscoe gave Myrtle an uncertain look. "Never mind the photographer," she said under her breath. "He's new on the staff. But he's a natural."

She started out asking Roscoe some soft questions to get him warmed up. "When did you first meet Nandina? What types of roles have you played with her in the past? What was your favorite moment with her?" Then she finally moved into, "The terrible night she was killed ...you were nearby. Did you see or hear anything unusual that night?"