Pretty is as Pretty Dies: Myrtle Clover #1

Chapter Twelve

The next morning Myrtle scraped her burnt toast over the sink. She slathered it with butter and sat in her sunny kitchen, tapping her pen against the newspaper as she struggled with the crossword. Ordinarily she could knock out the puzzle in minutes and was confident enough to wage her daily attack with an ink pen. Today's puzzle, however, had a wicked number of Russian geography clues. The red pen she used made the paper look as if it had been in battle, judging from the number of blots and scratched out attempts on the page. Myrtle finally pushed the paper away and stood to get another cup of coffee. She couldn't get the Parke Stockard murder out of her mind and there apparently wasn't room enough in her brain for both the murder and the crossword.

What she really wanted to do was to corner Althea and try to get some information from her. She'd never known her to be so exclusive and evasive. She had to know something. She couldn't forget the look on Althea's face when Red had asked what she was doing in the sanctuary. She'd had just such an odd expression, sort of a combination of guilt and fear. Either she had an idea who had done it and was covering up (especially since she'd had her own bone to pick with Parke), or else she'd murdered Parke herself. Myrtle couldn't really picture Althea whacking Parke over the head with a communion plate, but stranger things had happened and Althea certainly had been both distraught and angry about Tanner's death. She also wanted to hear more about Althea's conversations with her nephew Josh regarding his problems with Parke.

What did she really know about Althea, after all? Yes, she'd known her for the past 65 years, since Althea was a child. But Althea wasn't a contemporary of Myrtle's and wasn't exactly the most forthcoming person in the world. Althea's idea of a good time was probably to sit inside her old home on the Boulevard and dust the portraits of her dead ancestors. And she was as stubborn as her husband Tanner had been. She wouldn't have taken kindly to a suggestion that she leave her home. Tanner had grown up in the house after all. And she doubted that Parke had approached them with any tact. Parke had thought a lot of herself and apparently figured her considerable beauty was persuasion enough.

Myrtle hesitated for a minute, her hand hovering over the telephone before finally picking up the receiver and dialing Elaine. Althea might be trying to avoid Myrtle's snoopiness, but she would have no reason to avoid a visit with Elaine. Maybe Elaine could trump up some sort of book club excuse to drop by.

Fortunately, life seemed relatively calm at Elaine's. "Hi Myrtle! What's up?" She listened to Myrtle for a couple of minutes, then said cautiously, "Well, you know Red wouldn't like to hear about you doing this, Myrtle. Especially after your being thrown in the lake and everything."

"I was hoping," said Myrtle delicately, "that he wouldn't have to hear anything about it. Isn't there something you need to drop by Althea's? Maybe even a casserole, since she's so recently lost Tanner?"

"Well, but it's past the normal casserole-giving window. Besides, I've taken over a couple of chicken divans."

"Or something for book club?" pleaded Myrtle.

"No-ooo. That's not exactly a paperwork-heavy club, you know. And she hasn't missed any meetings."

Elaine was quiet for a second, then said reluctantly, "She has been asking me to bring Jean-Marc by. She apparently lived in Paris for a while when she was young. I think she wanted to talk to him about France."

"Bingo!" Myrtle dropped the phone in her excitement. "See how easy that is? Can you call and set up a time to drop by this afternoon? And I can just tag along with you."

Elaine wondered if Jean-Marc was inducement enough for Althea to suffer through a visit with Myrtle. She might just shut the door in all their faces. Althea sure had been keen on avoiding Myrtle at all costs lately. It could make for an interesting visit.