Cooking is Murder, A Myrtle Clover Mystery #11

Chapter Ten

Sam the Artist looked calm as he put the finishing touches on his gnome-inspired masterpiece. He'd pulled just enough gnomes out of Myrtle's shed to make little vignettes in the yard. One gnome held up a sign that said, "Help me. I'm lost in a jungle." One appeared to be doing battle with the grass with a child-sized rake and hoe that Myrtle kept in her shed for Jack to play with. One lay on the ground, apparently overcome by Myrtle's yard. Sam had figured out a way for Myrtle's warrior gnome to be brandishing a weed trimmer at her surprised-looking gnome. Funny, poignant little vignettes of chaos that should jog Red's memory about Dusty's broken mower.

As soon as loud Erma had waddled away, Myrtle hurried outside with a handful of money. "Sam, it's perfect. You're a genius. It's exactly what I'd envisioned."

Miles just continued staring blankly at the scene from the car.

Sam beamed at Myrtle. "Thanks! I kind of hate to stop working on it. It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Maybe, if I have some more ideas, I can come by later to work on it."

Miles was now getting out of the car and walking cautiously toward them as if the gnomes might suddenly explode from Myrtle's yard and come at him with their yard equipment. "This is ... different, Myrtle."

"It's yard art," said Myrtle grandly. "What exactly would you call it, Sam? You're the art prodigy."

Sam absently wiped some dirt from his hands onto his black jeans. "I'm calling it post-modern: the art of yard art."

"Brilliant," said Myrtle. She handed the money to Sam. "Thanks so much. If you need a reference, let me know." She tilted her head to one side. "Do artists need references?"

"Maybe a blurb for my website?" asked Sam.

Miles seemed impressed that Sam had a website.

Several minutes later, Miles was driving Myrtle to Tippy Chambers' house. "Red is going to flip out, you know."

"What else is new?" asked Myrtle with a shrug. "I'd think that he'd be relieved that I was exploring my artistic side. Or, rather, outsourcing that exploration to Sam. What a talented kid!"

"He might look at it as evidence that you need to be yard-free. I'm thinking he's going to be making more inquiries at Greener Pastures retirement home regarding your possible admission."

"It's not like it would be the first time he's done that. Besides, if he's too busy to get Dusty a new lawnmower, he's too busy to get me committed to a retirement home," said Myrtle.

"Committed is a strong word. It's not an asylum," said Miles.

"Isn't it?"

They pulled in front of Tippy's large, columned house, next to one of the massive magnolia trees that shielded the house from the road.

They were about to knock on the door when it was suddenly pulled open. Tippy, chic as usual, was wearing a silky red blouse paired with immaculate white slacks. "Hello, you two!" she said, giving them both a hug. "I was getting worried that you'd both decided to quit book club. It's been too long since we've seen you."

Myrtle bared her teeth in a smile. "We've missed book club. Haven't we, Miles?"

Miles nodded unhappily.

"Well, you've both made my day that you're here."

They walked into a large living room filled with portraits of stiffly-sitting, scowling ancestors and brightly-polished silver.

"Oh no," said Myrtle. "Erma is here. I thought she wasn't ever really attending book club anymore."

"Another excellent reason to stop going ourselves," murmured Miles.