A Dyeing Shame (12 page)

“A DUI? I’ve never even seen Prissy Daniels drink root beer. And the DUI, if there was one, didn’t happen in my jurisdiction.” Red rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes. “It’s the end of the world if Miss Prissy is an alkie. What next? Bootsie Davenport was abducted by aliens?”

“According to Tammy, something a lot more human abducted Bootsie. She supposedly has some young man she’s seeing. Someone mentioned to me that she thought it was Connor.”

Red grunted noncommittally, but raised his eyebrows.

“Agnes’ son is the only lothario I can think of,” added Myrtle, studying Red. He looked like he might know something about Bootsie’s love life.”

“Connor must’ve had his hands full with Tammy.”

“Tammy was enough to keep anybody busy,” Myrtle agreed. “I don’t know if Connor was cheating on Tammy or not. I don’t know whom Bootsie is seeing, but Tammy seemed pretty sure it was
someone
.”

“I really don’t see Connor being interested in Bootsie,” said Red.

Myrtle felt a touch of guilt over Kat. Had she sent a pink-haired lamb to the slaughter? What if Connor were some kind of lady-killer…for real? “I guess you’re right. He’s probably just not ready to settle down.

This conversation with Red wasn’t going as well as it should. He was giving her some hints as to whom they were interested in investigating closer, but she was talking too much. What she needed was some fresh information. And another cop. “Red, I was thinking, why don’t you invite Detective Lieutenant Perkins over to supper tonight? He’s a visitor to Bradley, after all, and it would be the polite thing to do.”

Red peered at her through squinty eyes. “You’re not planning to pump him for information, are you?”

She looked down her nose at him. “Of course not. We should extend our hospitality, that’s all.” Thunder rumbled ominously outdoors and Red frowned at her suspiciously.

“Well, I don’t know. It’s kind of last minute for Elaine.”

Myrtle said, “I’ll call Elaine’s cell phone real quick—she was going to finish up her errands at the store. She could pick up some food from the grocery store deli; fried chicken, coleslaw, potato salad, fruit. I’ll even pay for it!” She felt very benevolent. “Oh, and Miles can come, too. You know how he enjoys going out for dinner.”

Red sighed. “I guess so. Thanks for hijacking my quiet evening.”

Myrtle acted as demure as a very big-boned woman could. “You know, Red, I’ve been meaning to drop by and visit with Prissy for a while. Just to see about volunteering to read for the preschool classes,” she hurried on as Red opened his mouth to object. “After all,” she said with a sanctimonious air, “it’s important to give something back to the community.”

Red politely overlooked that his mother had been immune to the need for community involvement for the past eighty years. “You’re messing with a hornets’ nest.”

“I’m visiting
Prissy
, that’s all. She’s hardly a homicidal maniac. Besides, she’ll actually
talk
to me. When you were there, she was probably too stunned to even say anything.”

“Be careful, Mama.”

It was the second warning she’d received that day. But humming the hymn put the warning right out of her head.

Prissy’s cottage was
just a short walk from Red and Elaine’s house. Myrtle strolled down the sidewalk through downtown Bradley. The old street was divided by a grassy median with a row of dogwoods down the center. The streetlights flanking the road were hung with American flags. What could have been hokey in another town was perfect for Bradley. She gave an appreciative sniff as she passed Bo’s Diner, packed with the lunchtime crowd. She walked by the small city hall with the fountain in front and took a left down the next street.

Prissy’s little yard was plucked, pruned and manicured with luscious zoysia grass, yellow Jessamine enthusiastically climbing her fence and English ivy scaling the shady side of the house. Steep concrete stairs climbed to the cheery red front door. Myrtle took a deep breath and carefully mounted the steps. They were even steeper than they’d looked and she gasped for breath as she leaned against Prissy’s buzzer.

Prissy answered the door, bleating in distress as Myrtle wobbled on the porch. “Myrtle! You shouldn’t climb those stairs. If you’d called ahead, I’d have met you in the yard…” and so on while pulling her inside with hands much stronger than they appeared. To Myrtle’s dismay, Prissy was yelling at full volume. Myrtle remembered that she’d claimed deafness in the beauty parlor.
“
Got my ears in now, Prissy!”

Prissy ushered her into a prim parlor where Prissy’s dead ancestors glared reprovingly from the walls. The scent of lemon oil polish competed with a faint smell of mothballs hanging in the air. A well-worn Queen Anne chair and an old-fashioned settee gave a half-hearted welcome. Myrtle gratefully plopped on the settee, accompanied by a screech of springs. Prissy, still fussing, perched her cadaverous figure on the edge of a chair.

This didn’t need to be a
long
visit. She’d just launch into her spiel. “I wanted to see if you needed a storyteller at the Little Lambs Preschool. I know you’ve mentioned it a few times at the beauty parlor. I could volunteer once every week or two and read to the children,” said Myrtle.

Prissy’s face brightened at her offer. Now Myrtle felt guilty. She’d go to the church and read to the little urchins, after all. Maybe she could check out the program while she was there and see if it might work for Jack.

While Prissy extolled the virtues of storytelling, the preciousness of the preschool and of children in general, Myrtle stole glances around the room. It was painstakingly neat with a Spartan lack of clutter. Myrtle was disappointed the parlor’s tables weren’t littered with love letters, poison pen mail or smoking guns. Myrtle gazed longingly through a door that appeared to lead to Prissy’s bedroom and bathroom.

Myrtle interrupted Prissy’s reverent monologue. “Prissy, I hope you don’t mind, but I need to use your powder room.”

Prissy said, “Of course, Myrtle! The bathroom connects to my bedroom.”

Myrtle walked through a narrow hall to a small bedroom. At first, Myrtle saw nothing interesting about the room. The bed was covered in an attractive old spread that looked like an heirloom. A handmade quilt from the same era was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. There were two clutter-free bedside tables. Myrtle was about to give up in disgust at the anonymous neatness of the room when she spotted a desk in the corner of the room with a computer on top.

She was halfway across the room when she heard the squeaking of floorboards in the hall and hurried to the bathroom instead. She shut the door quickly behind her and flushed the john. Then she washed her hands in the porcelain washstand, drying them on dainty finger towels hanging next to the sink. Was Prissy hovering out in the hall, making sure Myrtle wasn’t snooping?

Myrtle made sure the coast was clear before hurrying back into the bedroom. Prissy called after her, “Miss Myrtle? Everything all right?”

She’s checking up on me. “Just fine, Prissy. As I
told you
, I needed to use your powder room all of a sudden. No reason for alarm.”

There wasn’t enough time. She’d have to find a reason for a follow-up visit. And a reason for a second bathroom visit.
Plus
a way to distract Prissy for a longer time. As she walked back into the living room, Prissy gave her a weak smile. Myrtle felt reassured. Prissy had no reason to suspect her, after all. She was in the bedroom legitimately and hadn’t touched the computer.

“Prissy, I’m so impressed! I’d no idea you were computer savvy. Red and Elaine have one of those contraptions, but they’re young people. I just don’t have a clue on those machines.”

She’d expected Prissy to preen at the praise and register that supposedly computer-illiterate Myrtle wouldn’t be hacking into the thing, but instead Prissy turned a mottled red color. She must really have some dirty stuff on there. Myrtle threw Prissy a lifeline. “You use it for school email and that type of thing?”

Prissy spluttered out gibberish. Since she obviously wasn’t going to regain her composure anytime soon, Myrtle promised to check into reading to the preschool children and, carefully balancing on her cane, slowly descended the steep stairs. She felt Prissy’s eyes burning into her back as she left.

D
ETECTIVE LIEUTENANT PERKINS
was no fool— a fact that was very irritating indeed. Myrtle very delicately brought up a couple of questions, and he’d said, “No offense, Mrs. Clover, but I’d rather enjoy this delicious supper and forget about work tonight.” Myrtle finally gave up in disgust and concentrated on the fried chicken and the crumbly corn bread muffins.

Elaine and Red gamely made conversation with the stern-faced Perkins. After a few minutes, he loosened up and quick intelligence and dry humor surfaced. Too bad he took his work so seriously.

After supper and dessert, Myrtle excused herself and went into the den to play with Jack. Red nodded his head towards his mother and said to Detective Lieutenant Perkins out of the corner of his mouth, “Don’t let Mama fool you. She’s smart as they come. Buys those New York Times crossword puzzle books by the dozens and knocks them out in minutes. Took the Mensa tests for fun and blew the top right off of them.”

“Really?” Perkins was impressed but not surprised. Red was sharp, too, and Perkins figured his good-old-boy act was just a front.

Myrtle returned to the dining room, saying crossly, “Red, where’s the remote? Elaine says she taped
Tomorrow’s Promise
this afternoon and I can’t find the thing anywhere.”

Perkins smiled at Red’s sheepish expression. “She can’t always watch
Masterpiece Theater
,” Red mumbled.

The only positive
part of the night was that the combination of fattening Southern food and boring conversation had given Myrtle her first good night’s sleep in a long while. The next morning Red greeted her at the breakfast table with a smile. “Just got a call on my cell from the air conditioning people, Mama. They’re going to be at your house in twenty minutes. I’m going over there to let them in and talk with them about the system.”

He looked pleased as punch. It made Myrtle feel a little sour. She hadn’t even gotten the information she wanted on the case, yet. It was all very discouraging.

After she’d eaten and gotten dressed, she looked out the window and saw Red talking with the repairmen.

There was a rap at Elaine’s front door. She pulled it open and saw dumpy Puddin standing on her front step with a baleful look on her pale face. “Puddin! What are you doing here!”

“Went over to your house, didn’t I? To clean? And Red sent me over here to talk to you.”

“You’re not even supposed to clean my house for another few days. Are you sick or something?” It was a record show of productivity for the lazy Puddin. Myrtle would have to make it a red letter day in her diary.

“Just thought I’d clean.”Puddin ambled in and plopped down on Elaine’s sofa, ready to visit.

“Puddin, I don’t have time for your foolishness today. You have the worst timing of anyone I’ve ever seen. I haven’t even been over at my house to make a mess. The air conditioner is broken.”

“Beauty Box doesn’t need me right now and this was one of my days over there. Kat doesn’t need a cleaner, she says.” She rolled her eyes.

“Probably because Kat works harder than Tammy did. I’m sure she’s doing her own cleaning now.” Or maybe she was tired of Puddin’s nonsense. “Well, today isn’t a good day to clean at my house. Come back again on your normal day.”

Puddin gave her a resentful look. “All right, I’m going. Maybe Mr. Connor’s house needs a cleaning.”

Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were cleaning for Connor Walker. When did this happen?” If Puddin were Connor’s housekeeper, that would explain why his house was so messy.

Puddin relaxed into the sofa a little more. “Since his house started being dirty.”

“He’s a bachelor. His house must have been dirty for years.”

“He just started caring about it a few months ago. And I saw something interesting there yesterday.” Puddin’s grin showed a broken tooth. “He had
company
there!”

“What kind of company?”

“
Kat
was there!” said Puddin in triumph.

“Overnight?”

“Naw,” said Puddin, waving her hand in dismissive fashion. “But during the day.”

This wasn’t the news Myrtle was hoping to be able to get from Puddin. Particularly since she’d already known this news. And, actually, since she was instrumental in causing this news to even exist.”

Puddin must have realized that her gossip wasn’t impressing Myrtle. “Something else I know,” she added quickly. “Heard it from another cleaner who I know. She knows someone who knows someone…”

“Puddin!” said Myrtle in a threatening tone.

“…who cleans for Miz Bootsie,” finished Puddin triumphantly as if proud of her close connections. “She says that Miz Bootsie has secrets.”

This was not good enough information to justify an intrusive visit from Puddin. “I’ve got secrets, myself. Plenty of stuff that I don’t want anybody to know. Like what’s in my medicine cabinets, how much I weigh, what my shoe size is, since my feet aren’t exactly dainty—”