A Dyeing Shame Part 4

The other thing she'd do, if she were home, was go on a walk. Naturally, she'd end up at Miles' house. Miles was an insomniac too, bless him, and she'd almost always see a light on and go over and knock on his door. They'd have a cup of tea or a gla.s.s of wine, then Myrtle would walk back home and sleep soundly the rest of the night. The longer she contemplated the guest room ceiling, the better this plan seemed. She could talk with Miles some more about the case, too.

Myrtle pulled on her long robe, grabbed her cane, and conscientiously locked the door behind her with her copy of their house key. She set off down the silent street.

There was a little moon to light her way as she walked. And, sure enough, there was a light on in Miles' front window. They really formed a mini insomniacs support group.

Myrtle rapped on Miles' door and he immediately opened it. He wore a long, navy-blue bathrobe belted tightly over what looked like plaid pajamas. "Want some tea?" he asked, heading to his kitchen, slippers flopping as we walked. He looked completely unsurprised and started pulling out the measuring cup he used to boil water in.

"Did you even look out the peephole before you opened the door? Because there's a killer out there, remember?" Myrtle followed him into his kitchen and pulled out two teacups.

"No, of course I didn't look. It's two o'clock in the morning, Myrtle. Who else visits me this time of day? At least I was awake this time. I don't always have a hard time sleeping, you know. Are we really convinced there is a killer? Do killers knock on doors, anyway?"

"I'm sure they would if they knew that you'd just open the door right up. Never mind. I woke up, couldn't go back to sleep, started thinking about the case, and decided to visit. Oh. And I decided to a.s.sign you a mission, since you're all gung-ho about being a sidekick."

Maybe gung-ho was the wrong word. Miles was looking decidedly apprehensive.

He pushed his gla.s.ses up his nose. "What kind of mission? I'm not going to be able to fly under Red's radar as much if we overdo my snooping around."

Myrtle waved her hand dismissively. "Where you're going wrong with your information-gathering technique is that you're pa.s.sing it off like idle gossip or being snoopy. What you do well is polite concern."

"Polite concern."

"Yes. You don't want to be involved with the problem, but you're politely providing an ear for the poor person who is in need of getting something off her chest. That's your angle," said Myrtle.

The microwave bleated, announcing that the water was heated. Myrtle put tea bags in their cups and Miles covered them with hot water. "And whom am I supposed to be directing this polite concern toward?"

"That's what I was mulling over. I'm leaning toward Dina. She's absolutely pitiful and she'd be a natural choice for you to be sympathetic to. She might be the only person around who still liked Tammy. And, after all, she was her housemate. Maybe she saw or heard something on the night of the murder. I mean, really, can someone be the victim of a violent crime and fall down a staircase and not be heard? Tammy wasn't a small woman."

Miles took a sip of his tea and winced at the hot water. "You have a point. We should find out what Dina was doing when Tammy was murdered. Actually, we should find out when Tammy was murdered, period. Got any ideas on finding out the time of death? It'll be hard to figure out if alibis are genuine unless we know the estimated time of death."

"You're starting to sound like one of those forensic crime shows, Miles."

"It's the truth! And, considering where you're staying, it seems to make more sense for you to be the one to find out when Tammy died. I'm sure Red knows. Maybe even Elaine knows, if Red is in the habit of talking with her about cases."

"All right. I guess I'll do the dirty work, then. And you go see Dina and pat her on the back for a while."

A loud knock on Miles' front door made both of them jump. "Better look through that peephole this time," murmured Myrtle. "Considering that it's definitely not me out there."

Miles cautiously looked out. "It's Red." he said as Myrtle cursed.

"Evening, Miles," said Red, courteous as usual to the older man. "Do you, by any chance, have my deranged mother over here for a visit?" Then he looked at Myrtle and shook his head. "I thought I should probably do a bed-check on you, so I set an alarm. Sure enough, you weren't in your room when I checked. Aren't you a little old to be sneaking out in the middle of the night?"

Myrtle tried to look as dignified as an octogenarian in a bathrobe could possibly pull off. "I was trying to spare y'all, that's all. I didn't want to wake up the whole house with my insomnia. Especially Jack. He gets up early enough as it is...a two a.m. wake up call was a little too much."

"He sure does get up early." Red looked sleepy just thinking about it.

"Tell you what-since I'm disturbing your sleep and probably Elaine's too, how about if I go on Jack-duty later this morning? When he wakes up, he can spend some quality time with his Nana." Myrtle felt pleased with herself. It was nice to Do Good. Traces of an old hymn floated through her brain.

Red rubbed his temples. "I suppose so, Mama. But can you just come back home with me and stop imposing on Miles? I can't sleep until I know you're safely back in bed."

Myrtle blinked at him. "I can't imagine why you're so concerned, Red. After all, Tammy's killer acted first thing in the morning before the Beauty Box opened. He's probably conked out somewhere, fast asleep and dreaming evil thoughts...not out attacking little old ladies in the middle of the night."

"Where did you get the idea that she was killed in the morning? No, she was murdered sometime the night before. So it's not safe to be traipsing around Bradley, North Carolina, in your PJs." Red strode to Miles' door and Myrtle turned and gave Miles a long wink. Apparently the key to weaseling information from Red was to trick it out of him in the wee hours of the morning.

Happy toddler talk woke Myrtle at six o'clock. She pulled on bright blue knit pants and a knit top and peered into Jack's room. He stood on his bed, watching Myrtle suspiciously. It was nearly dawn, the only time of day for a walk when the weather was scorching. "Mama?" he asked.

"Oh, we don't need Mama right now, Mr. Jack. We're going to have ourselves a happy walk."

Jack, still eyeing Myrtle with puzzlement, clutched his lovey, Dirty Doggy, in a chubby hand. Dirty Doggy's filth had reached epic proportions and Jack's attachment showed no signs of easing up. This morning Dirty Doggy was sporting the evidence of Jack's dinner last night. According to Dirty Doggy's coat, Jack had feasted on pureed peas and had, as usual, insisted on his friend's presence with him as he ate.

Dirty Doggy was in dire need of a day at the spa. The stroller ride would distract Jack from missing his friend and the wash cycle would be over when they got back. If Jack got too desperate, she could always hand it over, still soggy. Myrtle grabbed the offending item and marched to the laundry room. After dumping in half a container of soap and stain-remover, she hurried back to Jack.

"Nana's fixing you some breakfast, sweetie," said Myrtle. Jack opened his small mouth to protest. "Uh-uh," said Myrtle in her best no-nonsense tone. "We're letting Mama sleep."

What did little guys eat for breakfast? She felt Jack's eyes boring critically into her from as she fumbled around in the pantry. Myrtle surveyed the dazzling display of chips and breakfast cereal in Elaine's pantry while Jack muttered under his breath.

"Let's eat and run, sweetie," said Myrtle, making an executive decision. She grabbed a banana, put some cereal in a zipper bag, and headed to the garage with Jack.

Jack climbed into the umbrella stroller and Myrtle absently offered him the banana. Would Agnes be up this early? Probably. Shouldn't she have seen or heard something? Her house was right next door to the Beauty Box. If the murder had taken place some point before midnight, then Agnes would have probably been awake. She was a night owl, for sure.

The sound of her name stopped her. Agnes Walker's expression suggested that she'd called her name a few times already. "Time to invest in hearing aids, Myrtle?"

Myrtle had excellent hearing. "I'm just thinking, that's all."

"Are you sure you're thinking this morning? Poor Jack might be trying to get your attention, too. A whole banana? Couldn't you have at least peeled the thing? Poor child. Let's go inside so Miss Agnes can take care of you." Agnes stuck her newspaper under her arm, took Jack by his hand and helped him out of the stroller. He trotted beside her into the house.

Myrtle was feeling a little sour, but bit her tongue. She needed to get information from Agnes, after all. She parked the stroller outside the front door and followed Agnes in.

Myrtle winced at the baby talk that Agnes was speaking to Jack. There was something unattractive about baby talk coming out of a seventy-year-old face. Besides, Jack was way past baby talk. He could even speak some Spanish and French for heaven's sake. How had Connor turned out so well? You'd think he'd still be calling bananas nanners, if that was how Agnes had talked to him. Agnes peeled the offending banana and was carefully slicing it up in small pieces on a china plate. Jack clapped his hands.

Myrtle said, impatiently, "So, what do you think happened to Tammy?" At Agnes' uncomprehending frown, she elaborated. "Who did her in, Agnes? It wasn't an accident, you know."

Agnes frowned. "Where are my manners this morning? Would you like a Coca-Cola or a coffee, Myrtle?"

Myrtle, realizing gossip wouldn't commence until all the pleasantries had been observed, agreed a c.o.ke would be wonderful. When Agnes had given her the drink and a small napkin and once again addressed Jack with sickening baby talk, she sat down facing Myrtle.

"Maybe it was a drifter?" asked Agnes.

"I doubt there are vicious vagrants roaming Bradley. This was somebody Tammy knew. I'm sure of it."

Agnes fiddled with her gla.s.s, swirling the ice cubes around and staring at the fizz. "We're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but we all wanted to kill her, after her performance at the salon. You know that."

"She didn't direct any barbs at me," said Myrtle, somewhat indignant over Tammy's discrimination against her. She absently watched Jack squeeze the banana through his fingers.

"She didn't say anything directly against me, either, but got my back up teasing me about Connor." Agnes' face turned a spotty red with the memory. Myrtle wondered if Agnes took anything for high blood pressure.

"Did you see anything? You've got VIP seats at the Beauty Box, living right next door."

"I didn't see or hear a thing. I spent the evening reading."

"The whole evening? It must have been a really absorbing book. What was the name of it?"

Agnes said with irritation, "I can't remember anything these days. Some political thriller or other."

That wasn't likely. Agnes had a penchant for weighty biographies and a mind like a steel trap. Jack was now smearing the remains of the banana onto his arm. Figuring his finger painting would keep him occupied, Myrtle ignored it and changed tactics with Agnes. "Were Tammy and Connor happy together?"

Agnes gave a gloomy sigh. "They seemed to be. They were always going out to supper or to the movies. If Tammy was acting like her old self, I swear I wouldn't have minded them dating. Drinking brought out the worst in her, though. I hated seeing the two of them together. To be perfectly honest," Agnes said with a hard edge to her voice, "I'm not sorry she's dead."

Agnes finally noticed that Jack's arm had a little banana sculpture on it and that he was now experimenting with banana as a hair conditioner. Clicking her tongue, she strode to the kitchen for some paper towels. She looked vigorous. Agnes was her friend, but she was certainly strong enough to plunge some scissors into someone's back and push her down the stairs. Could she possibly have killed Tammy to keep her away from Connor? Myrtle wondered if any woman was good enough for Agnes' Connor.

While Agnes used most of a paper towel roll to clean Jack up, Myrtle asked, "What was Tammy getting at with poor Prissy? And with Bootsie Davenport?"

Agnes shook her gray head. "She obviously thinks Bootsie is running around on her husband. Whether she knew something definite or not, I don't know. Maybe Tammy saw Bootsie out with some man. Or maybe Bootsie told Tammy during Tammy's more discrete days. But Prissy Daniels? I can't imagine getting any dirt on her. She seems completely innocuous."

Myrtle frowned. "Tammy might have been inventing trouble. She was picking at everybody else there, too. She sure made it hard to pin the murder on one person. I guess the main suspects must be Kat, Bootsie, Prissy, and Dina."

Agnes said, "And probably me." At Myrtle's raised eyebrows, she added, "Oh, don't act so innocent. You know I didn't want Connor to date Tammy. I've been pretty open about that." Agnes set down the almost empty roll of paper towels and gazed absently at the cleaner and shinier Jack.

"What about Bo? I remember hearing Tammy trash-talking him, saying how he mistreated her. I know their marriage ended badly."

Agnes gave an unladylike snort. "She bullied him, you mean. Bo is too much a gentleman to talk ugly about a lady, so the slander remains."

Jack, bored with the genteel and unchanging scenery offered by Agnes' house, made a warning whine, so Myrtle cut the visit short. As she left, she couldn't shake the feeling that Agnes knew more than she was letting on.

The c.o.ke had put a little zip in Myrtle's step as she headed to the crime scene. Red's car was parked in front of the Beauty Box. And she thought she'd been saving Red from getting up too early. His middle of the night walk to Miles' house couldn't have messed up his sleep that badly. Myrtle leaned over the stroller. "Want to visit Daddy, Jack?" Jack crowed, "Daddy! "He'll love a visit," said Myrtle in a convincing voice as she pushed the stroller to the shop entrance and under the police tape.

Red stared morosely at the back wall while slumping in one of the vinyl drying chairs. He leaped up, an angry flush creeping up his neck as he caught sight of his mother lifting up the police tape and pushing the stroller under it. "Mama! What the-? "

"Temper, temper. And watch your language in front of my grandson."

"Didn't you see the police tape stretched across the door? Are you having trouble with your eyesight?"

"Not as much as you are," she snapped, nodding pointedly at the drugstore reading specs in Red's hand. "I know you don't want anybody trampling in and messing up the crime scene, but it appears Forensics has finished making the rounds," she noted, surveying the fingerprint dust piled on every flat surface.

The Beauty Box looked the same as it always had. She tried to see the familiar room with new eyes. No clues jumped out at her, no oddly-placed objects. There were the same hair sprays, the same combs and scissors. It looked like it was frozen in time with one workstation set up with applicator bottles and latex gloves for a hair dye that hadn't yet occurred for a client that was very late.

Red said, "Yeah, the state police from the CCPS got over here yesterday morning and finished taking all their pictures and measurements. I suppose it's time to remove the tape." Jack was telling Red about the banana and reaching up with both arms to him. His father picked him up and regarded him absently as if wondering where he came from.

"Did the North Carolina State Police find anything out? Is Detective Perkins helping again?" asked Myrtle.

"He's the one a.s.signed to the case. They'll have to get back to me on the forensic stuff."

"Did Tammy's face give any clues?" Myrtle asked.

Red stared at her uncomprehendingly.

"I mean, was it frozen in a grotesque mask or anything? Did she look surprised or angry?"

"Why yes, Mama, according to her contorted lips, she was obviously breathing the name of her killer. We're bringing in a lip-reader to tell us who the murderer was." Red rolled his eyes. "Of course not! Dead faces are dead faces. All I saw was a sloppy middle-aged woman who dressed oddly because she was drunk when she got ready to go out."

"Poor Tammy."

Red snorted. "Poor Tammy, nothing. The ugly truth is she'd riled up half the town. It's a wonder she wasn't killed sooner."

"That may be true but it doesn't justify murder. I'm surprised at you, Red! And you an officer of the peace."

Jack grabbed Red's keys and started playing with them. "I'm just saying she was the one who put herself in that position. Perkins and I have started making the rounds with interviews and I can't believe some of the stuff I'm hearing about Tammy."

"Who are y'all interviewing?"

"We're..." Red paused and peered sideways at his mother. "You know I can't be discussing police business with you."

"You know you feel better when you can talk about it. It might even help give you some insights. And who better to talk things over with than your own mama?" Pulling on the old heartstrings never hurt.

Red was opening his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut again. Probably remembering her gnomes. She hid a smile at the thought of the barefoot, inanely grinning, accordion-playing gnome that she liked to position nearest to Red's house. "We're really just focusing on what happened in the days leading up to Tammy's death. Who she upset, what she did. Actually, they're probably going to want to talk to you, Mama, since you were getting beautified that day."

Myrtle frowned.

"No, you're not a suspect. Anyone who was at the Beauty Box Tuesday will have to be questioned. They know Tammy didn't talk dirt about you, but you witnessed her scene in the shop."

"So they're not really interviewing any of her other clients?"

"It looks like a crime committed in the heat of the moment. Like Tammy made somebody mad on Tuesday and they came back and killed her with the closest weapon on hand. The only weird thing is that the weapon was a brand-new pair of hair shears with no fingerprints on them and no evidence they were wiped down. The killer must have worn gloves, which doesn't jive with the spontaneity of the murder. But, yes, to answer your question, chances are it was someone she knew. She trusted the murderer enough to turn her back on him or her to go down the stairs to the laundry room."

Myrtle said slowly, "So y'all are probably talking to Bootsie Davenport, Prissy Daniels, and maybe Agnes Walker, too."

Red put Jack back into the stroller. "According to the witnesses, Tammy didn't really say anything negative about Mrs. Walker, but since Mrs. Walker was known to be upset that Tammy was dating her son, she's a suspect, too Although I can't imagine she had anything at all to do with this murder. I'd be shocked. In my mind, I've ruled her out."

"I guess you're also interviewing the girls she worked with. Tammy was goading Kat while I was there and was being snide to Dina, too. Plus, she said something about cutting Kat and Dina out of her will. Were they really in her will?"

Red shook his head. "We haven't gotten that far yet. Who knows? Dina is still saying how Tammy helped her out when she had nowhere to go. But that still doesn't mean she couldn't have gotten mad at Tammy. Everybody else was mad at her and they were only with her for short periods of time. Dina actually lived with Tammy."

Myrtle said, "And maybe Dina was in Tammy's will and Dina decided she needed some money."

"It'll all come out in the interviews, I'm sure." Red frowned at his mother. "You're not trying to get involved in my case are you? Sticking your nose in everywhere and bungling up the police work? You're no Miss Marple."

"Oh, no, Red. I'm way too young to be Miss Marple. I'd be Nancy Drew." Red didn't laugh. Myrtle said, "It's just that I'm planning on writing an article for the paper about the case. Sloan Jones loves my investigative pieces."

Red still squinted suspiciously at her. Jack tired of the keys and discovered his father's nose, yanking it with both fists, and causing tears to well up in Red's eyes until he pulled free.

"Just a reminder, Mama, someone in Bradley has killed once and could do it again. Checking your bingo cards for B-5 is safer than asking questions and trying to do my job for me." He let out a deep breath, then said in a seemingly careless way, "Find out if you're on Jink's Heating and Air's schedule, yet?" Myrtle glared at him and Red shrugged. "Just asking," he said.