A Dyeing Shame Part 13

"I'm sure you two would have met each other eventually. Kat isn't exactly easily overlooked. I just helped speed up the process." She paused. "Are y'all officially going out then?"

"We've got a dinner date in a few nights. Looking forward to it."

The loud shuffling of papers and the briefcase snapping on Connor's end of the line reminded Myrtle that he was more interested in leaving than in finding his missing mother or discussing his social life, so Myrtle ended the conversation and hung up. She couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong. She grimaced at her watch. It was almost time for her to leave for the preschool. "Elaine," she called.

Elaine walked into the kitchen. "Just getting Jo started. What's wrong?" she asked quickly, seeing Myrtle's frown.

"Probably nothing," admitted Myrtle. "But it's a little strange that I couldn't reach Agnes yesterday afternoon or this morning, and she didn't answer the doorbell for Jo a few minutes ago. Let's check on her on the way to Little Lambs Preschool."

"Sure, that's no problem," said Elaine. She added in a low voice, "I don't mind leaving Jo here alone. After all, if Bootsie trusts her alone in her castle, I don't think I have anything to worry about."

After securing Jack in his car seat, they drove to Agnes' house. Myrtle stayed in the car with Jack and anxiously watched Elaine hurry up the carefully swept walkway and stairs to the wrap-around verandah. Elaine rang the doorbell, rapped loudly on the door, and peered through the sheer curtains in Agnes' windows. She tried the door and found it locked. Elaine shrugged at Myrtle and walked back to the car.

"Sorry, Myrtle. I guess she's not there."

Myrtle shook her head. "She wouldn't be out anywhere yet. The only early appointment she keeps is for the Beauty Box and this isn't her day. Besides, she was supposed to be here for Jo." She opened her car door. "I'm going to try the back door."

"Won't you be late to the school?"

"It'll only take a minute. I just want to be sure..." Myrtle pinched her mouth shut and walked quickly down the front walk, her cane punctuating the stones with thumps. As she walked around the side of the house, a sense of foreboding settled over her. "Agnes," she called as she approached the backyard.

Agnes' yardman came by each week to do the grunt work in her garden so that she could enjoy tending the flowers. She had a large rose garden currently in full bloom and rows of perennials on several sides of the yard. Myrtle noticed that the wrought-iron patio table held a tray with a couple of gla.s.ses and a pitcher.

Then she saw a crumpled body in a bright blue oxford shirt and worn khakis on the other side of the table. Myrtle, feeling as though she were floating, walked over to the body. Agnes lay on her face; the back of her head was smashed in. A dark-stained shovel lay next to her. Myrtle felt a tremendous sadness rush over her as she looked at her friend, who now seemed so small and frail and old on the ground.

It was obvious Agnes was dead. Myrtle leaned heavily on her cane as she walked across the patio to the back door. It was unlocked and Myrtle cautiously entered, careful not to touch anything. She took a tissue from her pocketbook and picked up the phone to call Red's. When he answered, Myrtle said quietly, "Red. Get Lieutenant Perkins and come over to Agnes'. She's been murdered." Suddenly feeling very tired, Myrtle set the phone down on its receiver.

She glanced around the room. Agnes' house was as neat as ever and Myrtle wondered why Agnes even needed Jo to clean for her. There was only a lone china cup in the spotless sink. As she walked through the living room toward the front door, she noticed suitcases on the floor near the door leading to the hallway-the only things that seemed to be out of place. There was no sign of any struggle in the house. Still using the tissue, she unlocked the front door and walked out.

Elaine grabbed her cell phone as soon as she saw Myrtle's face. "Need me to call Red?" she asked as she helped Myrtle into the minivan.

Myrtle shook her head and plopped onto the front seat. "No, I called him from inside the house."

"Is she-?" asked Elaine.

Myrtle's hard expression stayed set as she gave Elaine a curt nod.

Elaine and Myrtle sat silently during the few minutes it took for Red to arrive. Perkins' car and Red's drove up simultaneously. The men hurried to the minivan and Myrtle directed them to the back yard.

Soon there was a swarm of police at Agnes' house. Red left the crime scene to notify Connor of his mother's death. One policeman drove Myrtle to Red's office, which was in a small building that also housed the post office and town government. A sergeant with a watchful eye and a pitcher of ice water joined her. He called her "sweetheart" a couple of times, which usually would have fired Myrtle into a temper but pa.s.sed completely unnoticed by her this time.

When Detective Lieutenant Perkins entered Red's office, the sergeant picked up a notebook and sat down in a chair in the corner of the room. Perkins thoughtfully eyed Myrtle as he poured a gla.s.s of water from the pitcher on Red's desk.

"You've had a tough morning," he said.

"I'm fine," she replied. When he tilted his head doubtfully and squinted at her with appraising eyes, she sat up straighter. "I'm fine," she repeated in a firm voice. Maybe she could convince herself that was the truth.

"How long have you known Agnes Walker? Did you know her well?"

Myrtle supposed he was easing her into the questioning to give her some time to regain her composure. "We'd known each other since we were children. We weren't playmates back then, of course...I'm a good bit older than she was." Myrtle shrugged.

Detective Lieutenant Perkins watched her with a steady gaze. "How would you describe her?"

"Well, she was very intelligent." Myrtle studied the ceiling. "No nonsense. Immaculately dressed and always smelling like talc.u.m powder. She had a good sense of humor..." Myrtle shrugged again, not sure what Perkins was driving at.

"Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to kill her? Did she make many enemies?"

"Tammy didn't like her, but other than that I think Agnes was very well-liked."

"Why did Tammy dislike her?"

"Because Agnes didn't think Tammy was good enough to date her son. And because Tammy knew she wasn't good enough for Connor."

"And you can't think of anyone else who disliked her? Or another reason why she'd have been murdered?"

Myrtle remembered Agnes' mysterious warnings and the hunch that she was holding something back. Perkins sat patiently. Myrtle decided she wouldn't disclose that information for the time being. It was nothing concrete, after all...only a feeling on her part. She shook her head.

Detective Lieutenant Perkins said, "Going back to the murder scene now, Mrs. Clover. Why did you check up on Mrs. Walker this morning?"

"I kept feeling like something was wrong. Not that she'd been murdered, though. Maybe that she'd fallen down and couldn't reach the telephone. Plus, I hadn't been able to reach her on the phone and her housekeeper said Agnes hadn't answered the door this morning when she went by to clean."

The sergeant looked up from his note-taking at the mention of the housekeeper and exchanged glances with Perkins. Myrtle rolled her eyes and said, "I'm sure Jo had nothing to do with it. Why on earth would she want to kill Agnes? It was the easiest gig in town: cleaning a spotless house."

"So from what I understand, the front door was locked when Elaine tried it. You entered the house from the back door after finding Mrs. Walker in the yard?"

"That's right. I called Red from inside the house. I unlocked the front door to leave. So I suppose the killer could have come through the bushes to avoid being seen."

Perkins asked, "Did anything in the house or grounds look unusual to you? Out of place or out of the ordinary?"

"Besides the elderly body in the back yard you mean?" asked Myrtle caustically. "No, everything in the house was as neat as usual. The suitcases were out of place, of course. Maybe she was planning to take a trip after all the stress of this investigation. And I thought it strange there would have been a pitcher of lemonade out and two gla.s.ses. Either she was expecting company or the murderer was her company, I suppose. Which means it was someone she knew."

Perkins leaned closer over Red's desk. "Does that surprise you, considering she didn't have any enemies?"

"Well, I didn't think it was some sort of thug roaming the countryside, no. Obviously, the murderer is someone we all know."

Perkins paused again, but when Myrtle offered nothing else on the subject, he said, "We're trying to track down the time the crime occurred. Could you tell me when you attempted to contact her?"

Myrtle rubbed her hands over her face. "Let's see. I'd just finished with lunch when I checked my messages. It must have been around quarter to three yesterday when I first tried to call her back."

"Did you try again later?"

Myrtle felt a wave of guilt. "Just once last night. I forgot to try her again after that. I tried to call again early this morning."

"When do you think she was most likely to have been in her gardening clothes and doing yard work?"

"I'm sure she got an early start, considering how hot it's been lately. She was probably in the yard at nine and then took a break to call me at ten."

"So you're a.s.suming she was killed yesterday."

Myrtle frowned. "Yes. Because I couldn't reach her yesterday afternoon. Isn't that what the police think happened?"

"That's the preliminary consensus, yes." He paused again. "Was Mrs. Walker planning on leaving town for any reason? Do you know why she had her suitcases out?"

"I have no idea. I don't think she was planning on going anywhere at all." Exhaustion settled on her. "Is that all, Detective Lieutenant? I'd like to go home."

"That's all for now." In an unexpectedly gentle voice he added, "You've had a tough day, Mrs. Clover. Why don't you go home and rest?"

With her hand on the doork.n.o.b, Myrtle turned to Perkins and asked in alarm, "What time is it?"

"It's noon."

"Shoot!"

"Something wrong, Mrs. Clover?"

"I was supposed to be reading to Prissy's preschoolers an hour and a half ago," she groaned.

"You have a good excuse for your tardiness," the detective reminded her as Myrtle slowly moved out the door.

Elaine greeted her with concern. "I dropped Jack off at the sitter's house before I came over. Will you be okay?"

Myrtle said sadly, "I'll be all right. It's just such a waste. She was one of my few remaining friends, too." Elaine squeezed Myrtle's arm as she helped her into the minivan.

"Do you think we could run by the preschool before going home?"

Elaine smacked her forehead with a resounding slap that made Myrtle wince. "I completely forgot about Prissy. Sorry, I could have called her for you and let her know if I'd thought of it. Why don't I call and tell her what happened? You don't need to go by there when you're already so drained."

"I have a feeling that Prissy would expect more than a phone call. Standing up her little ones is probably a capital offense in her book."

When Myrtle and Elaine arrived at Little Lambs Preschool, the children were standing next to a carpool line, waiting for their moms. Prissy glared at Myrtle and Elaine while she opened sliding minivan doors and helped buckle kids into their car seats. Myrtle noticed again the strength in Prissy's arms as she easily plucked up the children and hoisted them into their seats. When the last student was whisked away, Prissy strode toward them.

Prissy was just opening her mouth when Myrtle said, "Before you say anything, I need to let you know some bad news. Agnes Walker was murdered this morning."

Prissy turned white. "Let's go into my office," Prissy said hoa.r.s.ely. She led them down a short hall decorated with a brightly colored mural of nursery rhyme characters. Her office was a book-crammed cubby with a tall, leaded gla.s.s window and windowsill lined with African violets in green plastic pots. The children's construction paper artwork-all featuring trees, suns, and flowers-hung on the walls.

"What happened?" Prissy whispered anxiously. Her thin hands were now worrying the b.u.t.tons on her twin-set sweater. Myrtle wondered how she could stand to wear a sweater in 90-degree weather.

Wearily, Myrtle again summarized the events of the morning. Prissy grew more agitated as she listened. "It must be some crazy person behind all this. Who would kill Agnes?"

"I don't think it's a maniac roaming the countryside," said Myrtle. "Someone amoral, sure, but not someone who's killing indiscriminately. There must be a reason behind it."

"Tammy made too many enemies to be murdered for no reason," Elaine reminded her gently. "And Agnes must have known something or seen something that made her dangerous to the murderer."

Since Prissy was so off-kilter, Myrtle decided to try pushing her over the brink. She pulled out one of Prissy's paperback books from her large pocketbook and held it up for Prissy's horrified gaze. "I picked this up from the Book Nook the other day. Not appropriate reading material for the kids, but I thought you might be interested, Prissy."

Myrtle continued sternly, "I'm sure your books were what Tammy was referring to that day in the Beauty Box when she rambled on about you not being as sweet as you seemed. For heaven's sake, Prissy, writing isn't a felony! Why are you being so coy about it?"

"You were sneaking around on my computer," Prissy hissed, looking at Myrtle with loathing. "How dare you!"

"I did. I'll admit it. I thought I'd find evidence of something really foul, like p.o.r.nography or something, on there. I don't think you should have to be so secretive about this. Most people would be proud of being a published author."

Prissy stamped her foot. "Because I don't want people to know about it. Why else would I keep it a secret?" Elaine and Myrtle shared a mystified look as she continued ranting. "I have an upstanding position in this community. These moms trust me," she stressed. "I didn't want them to know about my writing and they didn't need to know about it!"

"Why would you write racy romances if you don't like them?" asked Myrtle.

Pure fury unleashed a different Prissy. "I needed more income and I wanted to stay at home to get it. Those books were easy for me to write."

Myrtle leveled her gaze at Prissy. "You did shove me that day at your house."

"I did not. But if I had, could you blame me? You had no business snooping around in my bedroom and opening doc.u.ments on my computer. That was personal property." She clenched her thin fists. "You're not going to tell everyone about my books?" It sounded like a threat.

Myrtle shook her head. "No, Prissy, I won't say anything to anyone but the police. You seem very anxious that your secret stays safe. I have to ask you-did you kill Tammy to keep her from telling everyone?"

Prissy's face was sulky. "No. But I hated her and wasn't a bit sorry that someone killed her. I accidentally dropped a ma.n.u.script page at the salon one day when I was pulling out my checkbook. She stashed it away to read it later, then she tormented me about it until the day she died."

Elaine asked, "Did she try to blackmail you?"

Prissy answered, "No. Blackmail would have been a relief. She'd just drop big hints or make double-entendres. I don't think she needed money or cared about it. She just enjoyed making trouble." Prissy's long face was anxious at the memory. "I couldn't sleep at night, wondering when she'd get tired of it and finally tell the whole town about my books."

Exhaustion caught up with Myrtle again and she was suddenly eager to leave Little Lambs Preschool and put her feet up. "Prissy, how about if I come back next week to read? You'll make an excuse to the children for today?"

Prissy, competent preschool director, made a return appearance, "Of course. I made up an excuse today, as a matter of fact. I didn't want the children to think they'd been forgotten about when they were looking forward to the story." She hesitated. "I'm sorry about Mrs. Walker. She was...a great lady."

Elaine helped Myrtle into the car. As they drove away, they saw Prissy's thin figure watching them through the tall window of her office.