A Body at Book Club (Myrtle Clover Mysteries) (18 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Myrtle held out the knife in front of her and grabbed at her cane with the other. “Now that you’re in here, you can make a phone call for me. Give Red a call and tell him that I’ve solved his murders for him and that he can collect his perp from my house.”

A smile spread across Maxine’s face. “Clever aren’t you? But a horrible actress, Miss Myrtle. I could tell at book club that you’d found something out after you talked to Erma Sherman. It was written all over your face. But you’ve made the mistake of bringing a knife to a gunfight.” She revealed that she’d been holding a pistol under the dip and chip dish. “Now put that knife down.”

Myrtle reluctantly lowered the knife, but didn’t drop it. “This is stupid, Maxine. And you’re not a stupid woman. There’s no way you can get away with this. Your car is out in my driveway. I live directly across the street from the police chief who is a fairly observant man and likely saw you outside on my front step with my serving dish. If I end up dead from a gunshot wound, who do you think will be the most likely suspect?”

“It won’t be me. And you’re not about to die from a gunshot wound…the gun is here just to keep you in line. You’re going to die a natural death and I’m going to be someone who is extremely upset by your passing, because I’ll be the last person to have seen you alive. As I was returning your dip and chip dish. I have to tell you, Miss Myrtle, I really hate that you’ve put me in this position. I like you. I thought perhaps I’d met my match.” Maxine’s mouth twisted. “This isn’t my fault. It’s yours.”

“That’s an interesting method of switching blame,” said Myrtle with a short laugh. Her mouth was dry and her brain flew as she considered her options. “Did you do that for Naomi’s death and Rose’s? How convenient for you. To murder and yet remain blameless.”

Maxine raised her carefully groomed eyebrows. “A little venom in your voice there, Miss M. But to answer your question…yes, I do blame them. These women weren’t lambs to the slaughter, you know. Naomi Pelter was elbowing me out of any relationship I embarked on. If it weren’t for her, I’d be married by now. I wouldn’t be slogging through a boring day job and figuring out a household budget every quarter…I’d be doing what I wanted to do. And Naomi was a serial boyfriend-thief. She didn’t care a thing for any of the men in question. Her goal was simply to end my relationships.”

“It was a horrible way to die, though,” said Myrtle reprovingly. “You can’t think she deserved that.”

“No,” said Maxine thoughtfully. “No, I suppose she didn’t deserve it. But the garden club speaker didn’t do a very good job describing what the
effects
of eating
Destroying Angel
were.”

Myrtle said, “Well, clearly, the speaker stated it was a fatal effect.”

“Sure. But not that it was this drawn-out affair. I thought that perhaps Naomi would eat the mushrooms at the luncheon, go home, and be dead by the next day.” Maxine shrugged.

“Was it difficult to obtain the mushrooms and put them on her salad?”

“Are you joking? It was a piece of cake, Miss Myrtle. Our town is virtually covered with
Destroying Angel
mushrooms. And the menu for the annual garden club luncheon is always the same and sitting out on the tables when we walk in.”

Myrtle said, “What if they’d changed the menu for the luncheon this year? What would you have done then?”

“I did check online to ensure that the garden club president hadn’t had a burst of culinary creativity and changed up the menu. But she hadn’t. As usual, spinach salad with bacon bits, sliced hardboiled eggs, red onions…and button mushrooms. As the garden club speaker warned us,
Destroying Angel
mushrooms look just like button mushrooms. It’s uncanny. While everyone was gabbing with each other, I added mushrooms to Naomi’s plate. I took a few of the button mushrooms away, since Naomi seemed to have too many mushrooms. It worked perfectly.”

“And Rose?” asked Myrtle. “How on earth did Rose deserve her fate? Hit over the head with a fire poker? What a horrid way to die.”

Maxine tilted her head and her raven-black hair swept to the side. “Horrid? No, I don’t think so. Instantaneous. There was no fear, Miss Myrtle. She didn’t know what hit her.”

“There must have been some type of anxiety though. After all, Rose clearly knew it was you. She’d seen you switching place cards, hadn’t she? She knew that you and Naomi weren’t exactly the best of friends. When Naomi died, she must have realized that you’d poisoned her. Did she threaten to expose you if you didn’t pay her to keep quiet?” Myrtle gripped the knife tightly. Could she catch Maxine off-balance and make her drop that gun?

Maxine gave a wolfish grin. “Well, she didn’t exactly put it that way. Rose was too refined, you know. She couldn’t even blackmail like a normal crook. She said something along the lines of needing her retirement income supplemented. And if I could accommodate her by supplementing it, then there were certain things she might be persuaded to overlook.”

“Didn’t sound appealing?” Myrtle asked.

“Not particularly. Being blackmailed would mean that I was a victim, you see. I’m no victim. And who knows how long I’d be on the hook paying out? I don’t have much money, myself. That’s one of the reasons Naomi made me so furious. She was keeping me from finding a husband to help keep me afloat. I was tired of the day-to-day scrabble for money. And I certainly didn’t have enough of it to share with Rose Mayfield.” Maxine snorted at the idea.

“You tried to come after me the other night,” said Myrtle reproachfully.

Maxine sighed. “As I’ve already mentioned, Miss Myrtle, I do not want to have to do this. I really like you. The only part of you I don’t like is your nosy side. I knew you were starting to figure things out. I’d gone too far to get caught and spend the rest of my life in prison. You just kept
pushing
. And, really, if you’re going to investigate crimes, you need to work on your poker face. I could clearly see that you were getting too close.”

“You couldn’t get in, though,” said Myrtle a bit smugly.

“I thought
surely
you were one of those old ladies that slept with a window open or a door unlocked. I mean, really. You’ve lived in Bradley your entire, long life. Most of the people in this sleepy little village think it’s the safest hamlet in the whole world.” Maxine’s brows drew together in consternation.

“But, you see, my son is the police chief. And so I get a sense of what’s really going on in Bradley. It’s a very safe place. But it’s not safe enough to leave a window open. No place is.”

Maxine gave a sudden laugh. “Were you chasing me with pepper spray, Miss M? Because that’s what it looked like.”

“Absolutely. I have a seer who advises me,” said Myrtle haughtily.

Maxine laughed again and Myrtle, never one to take kindly at being laughed at, took the opportunity to lunge forward, extend the knife and slash at Maxine’s hand that held the gun. Maxine’s reflexes were too quick for her, though, and she batted the knife from Myrtle’s hand with the gun. The knife clattered to the hardwood floor.

“That’s enough,” hissed Maxine. “Now move into the bedroom. You’re about to die tragically in your sleep.”

Myrtle snorted. “Shows what you know. My son will never buy that, Maxine.”

“What do you mean?” grated Maxine.

“My son knows I never sleep. Ever. That will raise all kinds of red flags. And he is, after all, the police chief. If you smother me with a pillow, which is apparently what you’re planning on doing, he’s going to know.”

“You have to die sometime. Why not in your own bed? I think he’ll be more willing to buy that than you think. Get moving,” said Maxine, shoving the gun into Myrtle’s ribs.

The doorbell rang. Maxine and Myrtle both froze.

Chapter Nineteen

“Ignore it!” growled Maxine in a whisper.

But Myrtle cut off whatever else Maxine was planning on saying by taking her cane and hitting it as hard as she could on Maxine’s forearm. Maxine howled in fury as the gun hit the floor. As she reached for it, Myrtle bolted for the front door, yanking it open.

Myrtle towered over the very startled looking mustachioed older man on her front step. He wore a green golf shirt with a “Greener Pastures Retirement Home” logo embroidered on it. “Mrs. Clover?” The man gaped at the wild-looking old woman in front of him.

Maxine let out a furious, guttural cry behind them and Myrtle shoved her way past the small man, thumping with her cane as she headed as fast as she could for the Greener Pastures van that was outside her home.

A grating voice shouldered its way into her brain. “The key is in the van.”

She headed straight for the driver’s seat.

Myrtle climbed in, tossing the cane into the passenger seat. The van was left running and the keys were, as promised by Wanda, left in the ignition. Myrtle hit the lock on the door right as Maxine stumbled out onto Myrtle’s front step, frightening the Greener Pastures man even further, if that were possible.

“What in the dickens are you doing?” barked a ferocious voice behind her in the van.

Myrtle swung around to see a cadaverous old woman with a huge, beak-like nose.

“Are you quite demented?” demanded the woman.

“Put your seatbelt on,” she ordered as she pushed on the accelerator with her foot.

“You are demented!” gasped the old woman.

“Yes I am!” hollered Myrtle. “And if you don’t shut your trap and put your seatbelt on, you’re going to be sorry!”

Myrtle pushed hard on the accelerator again and the van’s engine revved loudly.

“Take it out of park!” screeched the old woman.

Myrtle grasped the gearshift, put the van in reverse, and took off backward. The old woman’s head bobbed violently. But she did put her seatbelt on.

Myrtle sped away down the street, heading for downtown Bradley.

“Where are we going?” asked the old woman peevishly. “I was supposed to be going on a tour of Greener Pastures.”

“Quiet!” said Myrtle sharply. “Aside from one, short, slow drive earlier this afternoon, I haven’t driven a vehicle for months. I need to focus.”

She peered into her rearview mirror and spotted Maxine’s car behind her, pulling out of her driveway and quickly moving toward the van. “She’s lost her mind,” muttered Myrtle.

“Must be catching!” carped her passenger.

Myrtle pressed harder on the accelerator and saw Maxine speed up in response.

“It’s Mr. Toad’s wild ride!” croaked the woman from the back.

But now Myrtle knew where she was heading. The square downtown—and the police station. And Red.

The dogwood-lined streets went by like a blur and Myrtle quickly reached the square downtown with its Revolutionary War soldier statue in the middle. And she saw that Red was just stepping out of the police station, sandwich in his hand, about to take a bite.

“A cop!” gasped the woman behind her and commenced to frantically beating on the van’s window.

Myrtle laid on the horn and Red dropped his sandwich on the ground as he took in the sight of the Greener Pastures Retirement Home van being piloted by his mother—her white hair standing completely on end—with a frantic hostage slamming her fists against the back window.

Myrtle lowered the passenger side window and yelled, “Red! Maxine is the killer! She’s behind me! With a gun!”

She hazarded another glance in the rearview mirror and saw Maxine catch sight of Red. Myrtle put the brake on, stopping the van in its tracks and blocking Maxine’s way. Maxine slammed on her brakes, and then tried to throw the car into reverse…but was blocked by Erma Sherman’s tank-like sedan, innocently coming up behind her. Erma had apparently felt she’d sobered up enough to be driving.

Maxine opened up her door and lunged out of her car, clearly planning to make a run for it. But Red was too fast for her. She’d only run a few steps in those heels of hers before Red caught up with her and grabbed her arms, jerking them behind her to put handcuffs on. Maxine jerked away and tried to run off, arms clasped behind her, but Red clutched her arm and yanked Maxine back, propelling her forward toward the police station.

“I’ve got a holding cell with your name on it,” said Red grimly to Maxine. “And then I think it’s time that I caught up with my mother a little. Mama, if you’ll wait inside the station for me?”

“Let me just park the van first,” said Myrtle, heading toward the vehicle. She saw Erma Sherman gaping in wonder at the scene playing out in front of her. The whole of Bradley would be hearing about this in the next few minutes. And whoever would have thought that Greener Pastures would prove to be Myrtle’s salvation?

The old woman squawked as she spotted Myrtle moving toward the van.

“That’s enough driving for today, Mama,” said Red in a firm voice. “I’ll move the van myself as soon as I put Ms. Tristan in a cell and put in a call to the state police. I guess I owe Greener Pastures a call, too.” He groaned as he pushed the still-resisting Maxine into the station. Red called out politely to the old woman in the van, “Ma’am? You’re welcome to come inside the station too while I sort all this out.”

The old woman said peevishly, “But you’re arresting the wrong person!  The kidnapper was that wild looking woman there. With the crazy hair. She’s the one who stole the van.”

“She’s no kidnapper,” said Red with a long-suffering sigh. “She’s my mother.”

As Red disappeared into the back of the tiny police station to the even tinier cell with Maxine, Myrtle followed a bit further behind. She spotted her editor, Sloan Jones, gawking at her from the door of the
Bradley Bugle
. Myrtle put her nose in the air and sailed past, walking directly into the police station and sitting down on the old vinyl sofa. She bet Sloan was sorry now for shutting her down. Serves him right.

The state police had arrived, Maxine had been transported, still spitting mad, from the tiny holding cell to a different facility. The old man had walked downtown to collect the Greener Pastures van and the old woman passenger had left, still shooting Myrtle looks like daggers as she went.

Red sat down across from her in the cramped station. “Okay, Mama,” he said in a weary voice. “I think I’ve managed to get all potential charges against you dropped. I do believe I finally convinced Mrs. Gladwell that you might, in fact, have saved her life by removing her from the vicinity of the gun-toting, vengeful Maxine.”

“Silly old bat,” muttered Myrtle. “Couldn’t see that I was the heroine in all of this.”

“She doesn’t appear to be silly at all. She was sharp enough to be considering all manners of charges against you, including kidnapping and reckless abandon.”

Myrtle furrowed her brow in concentration. “Reckless abandon? Is that even a crime? It sounds made-up to me.”

“I believe she made it up, but she stated that her son is a lawyer. He sounded, frankly, like one of those ambulance-chasing types. Let’s just hope she stays calmed down. I plan to bring Mrs. Gladwell a bouquet of flowers and a box of candy to try and make up with her. And to plead with her to ignore what happened.” Red rubbed his face with a big hand.

“Bring her a bottle of Tanqueray and you’ll probably be her best friend forever,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “I can tell a heavy drinker when I see one.”

“Can you? Can you tell that
I’m
about to become a heavy drinker with all the suffering you’re putting me through?” growled Red.

“Me? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t orchestrated an unwanted tour of Greener Pastures for me.” Myrtle gave Red her most severe, chastising look. “Besides, as you mentioned, I saved Mrs. Gladwell’s life, practically.”

“The poor woman was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time,” said Red. He reached over to his desk and took a swig from his coffee. He made a face. “That’s been sitting there long enough to turn into sludge.” He stared thoughtfully at Myrtle. “All right. We should stop fussing. I guess all’s well that ends well.”

But it hadn’t quite ended. It seemed as though it had because Red drove her back home and sternly told her to put her feet up and rest. But an hour later, the doorbell rang. Myrtle felt a tickling sense of déjà vu as she slowly headed from her bedroom to the front door. Pasha had hissed and slunk off. Myrtle peered through the side window. The only difference this time was that when she saw the visitor was her editor, she didn’t stop by the kitchen to get a knife before opening the door.

Sloan Jones stood there a little pink in the face. The corners of his mouth jerked upwards in a smile as Myrtle opened the door. “Mrs. Clover,” he said hastily. “Red told me all about your adventure today. And that you’d solved the murders.” Beads of perspiration appeared on his ever-expanding forehead. “Can I…may I come in?” He looked uncertainly at her.

Myrtle pursed her lips. “So, suddenly, I’m a good person to talk to. I suppose you’re wanting to interview me and write up the whole story yourself and put out a special edition of the paper? The answer is no.” Myrtle started to close the door.

Sloan quickly stammered out, “No! No, Mrs. Clover, that’s actually not what I want. I want you to write the story yourself. A whole, huge feature. I told Red just as much…that I
had
to get your story and that you were the best…the
only
person for the job. I’m in your corner, Mrs. Clover.”

Myrtle relaxed a bit. “Well. That’s nice to hear. I’ll take you up on that, Sloan. I’ll email your story in the next couple of hours.” She paused, noticing for the first time that he held something in his hands. “What’s this?”

Sloan looked down in surprise at the dish, as if he’d forgotten about its presence, himself. “Oh. Yes. This is just a little something I whipped up at home. Sort of an I’m-so-sorry gift.” He grimaced. “It’s better than it sounds. I haven’t been a lifelong bachelor for nothing…I promise I can cook.”

“It sounds delightful, Sloan,” Myrtle said graciously, beaming at him. She was in much better humor now that her place as an investigative reporter had been re-established. “What is it?”

“It’s my specialty. A mushroom and rice casserole,” said Sloan with a happy smile.

Myrtle put the casserole into the fridge after ascertaining that Sloan did
not
pick his own mushrooms, but purchased them from the Bradley farmer’s market. She was just about to sit down at the desk to type up her riveting story for the paper when the doorbell rang once again. This time she was glad to see who was at the door.

Miles, looking quite sober and not at all hung over, walked in and sat down on the sofa. “I want to hear all about it,” he said, “every last word.” He was carrying a bottle of wine, two glasses and a corkscrew.

“I’m writing it up for the paper, you know,” said Myrtle with a playful look at him. “And haven’t you had enough to drink today?”

“Like I’m going to wait for the newspaper to find out how this ends,” said Miles grimly. “And…yes, I had had enough to drink…until I heard about this. So go ahead…spill it.”

As Myrtle told him the story his eyes grew wider and wider until he resembled an owl.

At the end, they sat in silence, thinking it through and taking small sips of their wine. “The funny thing is,” said Myrtle slowly, “is that I still rather like Maxine. I know she tried to kill me and everything, but I believe she genuinely thought she had no other option.”

“I suppose she’ll have a lot of free time now. Might come up with some better ways she could have handled the situation instead of resorting to murder,” said Miles.

Myrtle smiled. Miles always sounded a bit prim when he was being self-righteous.

The phone rang and they both jumped a little. “No one will leave me alone,” grumbled Myrtle, picking up the phone. “Hello?” she belligerently demanded.

She listened for a moment and then started smiling. Fumbling with the phone for a moment, she managed to put it on speaker.

A voice on the other end was droning, “…so, in light of the recent events, Mrs. Clover, and the complaints lodged by Mrs. Gladwell, we have no choice but to remove your name, at least temporarily, from the Greener Pastures retirement home waiting list.”