Cleaning is Murder : Myrtle Clover #13

Chapter Two

Miles pretended to be so completely absorbed in arranging tiles back on the Scrabble board that he didn't notice.

Myrtle sighed, located a tissue box, and thrust it at Puddin. "What in heaven's name is wrong? Clearly this has nothing to do with knickknacks and books."

Puddin sulked through her tears. "Them didn't help, though."

"Whatever," said Myrtle. "Now what's going on?"

Puddin said vindictively, "Havin' a bad day. Yer creepy friend called me this morning."

"Creepy friend? Erma? And if you do mean Erma, please cease and desist using the word 'friend' to describe her." Myrtle shuddered. Erma, her vile next-door neighbor, was most decidedly not a friend.

"Naw! That witch." Puddin gave her a scornful look.

"Wanda? She called you?" Myrtle and Miles exchanged glances.

Miles said, "How did she even know your phone number?"

Myrtle said, "You're not paying attention again, Miles. Wanda is a psychic." She turned back to Puddin. "What did she say to you?"

Puddin angrily swiped an errant tear off her cheek. "Said I was in danger."

"Sounds likely," agreed Miles. "Those words represent ninety percent of what constitutes conversation from Wanda."

Puddin gave him a blank look.

"Miles means that Wanda frequently warns people they're in danger. Usually me. But I'm still around, aren't I? What else did she say?" asked Myrtle.

"Nothin'. I slammed down the phone," said Puddin.

"Avoidance. Your usual strategy for dealing with life's unpleasantries. Well, I can't imagine that a two-minute phone conversation with Wanda is responsible for this display of emotion," said Myrtle.

She waited while Puddin blew her nose and appeared to be trying to decide how much she wanted to share with Myrtle. Puddin finally spat out, "It's that Amos Subers."

Miles lifted his eyebrows. "I know Amos."

"What about Amos? Do you clean for him?" asked Myrtle.

Puddin said, "Not for long, if he don't pay me."

Myrtle said, "Not pay you? For how long?"

"For the past month. No money!" Puddin made a wild motion with her hand intended to depict abject destitution.

Myrtle said, "Hm. Well, that probably means that he only owes you for one cleaning. You're not exactly consistent with your housekeeping, are you? Amos doesn't look the sort to put up with any shenanigans, either."

Puddin curled her lip. "Ain't been no shenanigans. I done cleaned for him. He owes me money!"

Miles cleared his throat as he carefully arranged tiles on the gameboard. "Have you broached the topic in a professional manner?"

Puddin gave him an uncomprehending stare and then turned to Myrtle for a translation. "How did you ask him for the money, Puddin? Did you screech at him that he owed you? Or did you mail him a bill with a deadline for payment?"

Puddin's eyes narrowed. "Told him upfront. Ain't scared of him!"

"What did he tell you? Is he planning on paying you?" asked Myrtle.

"He's cheap," said Puddin in disgust. "Said he'd pay me 'next time.' When I go in there 'next time,' he's going to be sorry if my money ain't there!"