Murder on Opening Night: Myrtle Clover #9

Chapter Ten

It took a bit longer for Veronica to surface than they'd planned—long enough that, after her large meal, Myrtle was beginning to feel drowsy.

When the back door to the theater opened, though, Myrtle was suddenly wide awake. Veronica came out of the doorway, smirking as she said something light to Roscoe, who was grinning back at her. She pushed a hand through her long, strawberry-blonde hair and it swished across her shoulders.

Myrtle said to Miles, "They seem very friendly, too. Do you think that maybe Josie was mistaken and Roscoe was actually having an affair with Veronica?"

Miles hiccupped. "Excuse me," he said with a sigh. He fumbled in his center console for his antacid. "Finishing off your chili cheese fries was a mistake."

"I'm going to stop speculating and just go ahead and talk with her. This cast is so intertwined that I can't tell a couple from a couple of friends," grumbled Myrtle.

"We'd better hurry," said Miles. "Looks like she parked pretty far away from us."

Myrtle leaped out of the Volvo and tore off through the parking lot, cane thumping furiously as she went. Miles hurried to keep up with her, hitting his key fob to lock his door.

"Veronica!" sang out Myrtle. "Veronica?"

"Lucky thing that Roscoe has already gotten in his car. He might find all these conversations a little suspicious," said Miles darkly. He gave another hiccup as they gained speed to try to catch Veronica before she got into her car.

"Veronica!" hollered Myrtle. Then, under her breath and panting a bit said, "Is the woman deaf?"

Finally, Veronica turned around. She gave them a doubtful look. "Sorry. Do I know you?"

"Most likely not," said Miles.

"We're with the newspaper," said Myrtle. "At least I am. Miles is sort of a ... cub reporter."

Miles shot her a dark look.

Myrtle quickly corrected herself. "Actually, it would be more accurate to call Miles a budding photojournalist."

He seemed somewhat more pleased by this description.

Veronica looked blankly at Myrtle. "The paper? I thought Sloan was with the paper."

"Exactly. Sloan is my editor," said Myrtle. "I'm doing a story for the paper on the theater." She pulled out a small notebook and a pencil from her large pocketbook as she hung her cane on her arm.

A distasteful look crossed Veronica's freckled face at the mention of the newspaper and Myrtle hastily seized on the excuse she'd given Red. "It's not on the tragic events of the other night. It's more of a profile of the theater and its place in the community. I'd love to get some quotes from you."