A Dyeing Shame Part 9

Sloan sighed. "Tammy was a hot mess for the last five or six months. Always gossiping about folks. I wondered if she was even telling the truth. I got half my copy for the gossip page from Tammy."

"Did you see much of her?" Since they were both recreational drinkers, they had to have run into each other a lot.

"She was over at the bar and the ABC store a lot. I saw her the night she was murdered, too. She and Connor Walker were eating at the pizza parlor and I'd popped by to pick up my take-out order. Tammy had a huge fight with Connor. He's a guy who usually keeps his temper, but he couldn't keep a lid on it that night."

"What happened?"

Myrtle could hear the groans of his wheeled chair as he shifted his considerable weight. "Tammy had obviously been drinking...a lot. Connor was talking to her in a real quiet voice to keep their conversation private. But Tammy was yelling back at him, repeating half of what he said. It sounded like he was breaking up with her. I guess he thought if he dumped her in a restaurant, she wouldn't make a big scene. Tammy didn't care about what people thought about her, though. She couldn't believe he wanted to break up with her. She was cussing him out, calling him names."

"Was Connor mad?" asked Myrtle.

"He kept his cool better than most men. He got quieter as she got louder. You could tell he was furious, though, because his face was red and his hands were shaking. Tammy threw her plate at him and he walked out."

"That was probably the best thing to do."

"Not as far as Tammy was concerned. She didn't like being walked away from. Being left there made her madder and she kept throwing things until she was covered with food, too. Next thing I heard, she was dead."

Myrtle was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Did you tell all this to the police?"

"Several times. I told it to Red and to the state police, too. I guess Connor could have fumed a while, then gone back later to the Beauty Box to finish the argument after he'd thought up some good comebacks. He might not have planned anything, but killed her in the heat of the moment."

"What do you know about Dina?" asked Myrtle. "I've never really been able to figure her out."

Sloan said, "I knew her ex was a bad guy. He came to the bar a few times. Dina did right to get away from him. But Tammy wasn't much better, I don't think. Dina always looked like she was sort of scared of Tammy. I think Tammy shouted at her a lot."

"I think you're right," said Myrtle.

"Anyway, that's all I know, and it's not much." It sure wasn't. Most of that she'd already known.

"And Mrs. Clover? If you think of anything else you want to write a story about, or if you want to write something about the investigation so far, feel free. I really need more content for the next issue. Alma Jane ran off to Myrtle Beach without turning in her 'remember when' column and now the gardening column isn't ready because Sue Perry is sick."

"I'm sure that I'll be wrapping this case up soon, Sloan. It'll be a fantastic story, believe me. I'll solve the case before your deadline."

IT WAS MOST disappointing how efficient Elaine's new cleaner was. Myrtle's mind had clearly been poisoned by the indolent Puddin and her sluggish housekeeping. She'd expected that she and Jo would have a little chatting time while Jo stalled. Myrtle was used to stalling. What was truly baffling was Jo's highly-developed work ethic.

Myrtle drummed her fingers on the kitchen table as Jo energetically attacked the kitchen floor-on her hands and knees, no less. She'd tried to bring up a little conversation, but Jo was so focused on the task at hand that she either grunted a response or offered something monosyllabic in reply.

Jo didn't even glance up as Myrtle's cell phone rang. "h.e.l.lo?" Myrtle demanded, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. "What?" It was Red.

Red growled into his phone, "Mama, your unit is so old that they've had to order a replacement part for it. And the warehouse that makes the part was out of stock." He sighed. "I don't suppose you want to just get a whole new system put in, do you?"

"With whose money? Retired schoolteachers don't have that kind of cash, Red. And I don't think small-town police chiefs do, either."

"That's for sure." His voice sounded tight. "I guess you'll be staying with us another night. They seem to think it could be shipped over tomorrow. Expedited."

"Believe me, I'm no happier about this than you are. I've got stuff I need to do at home." Myrtle hung up, muttering to herself.

To her surprise, Jo finally decided to talk. "You were just staying here short term, Miss Myrtle? I didn't know what the story was."

Myrtle sighed. "It's a short story. Broken a/c. Hot octogenarian. You know."

"We're going to have to get our unit replaced soon. I've got a repairman over almost every month. It keeps needing coolant added-I guess there's a leak in the lines somewhere." Jo asked in a kind voice, "You'll miss being over here, won't you? When your air is fixed? I bet you get lonely, living by yourself."

So Jo felt some pity for her. It was easy to see how she came up with that impression, since Myrtle had been following her from room to room, trying to have a conversation. It was the perfect way to take advantage of the situation.

"It does get lonely." Myrtle did her best to look sad but brave. "One of my biggest pleasures is just to sit and chat with people." Jo frowned a little and Myrtle realized she might be taking it a little too far. She hurriedly added, "Red and Elaine try to make time for me, of course, but Red is busy with work and Elaine has Jack." She shrugged.

Jo gave a quick glance at the kitchen clock, then pulled out a chair. She really was a nice woman. And nice was definitely easier to work with when you were trying to get information out of someone.

"Am I messing you up?" Myrtle asked. "You're heading off to Bootsie's after this, right?" She leaned in near Jo as if there were spies listening in. "By the way, doesn't Bootsie look disgraceful these days? She's trying to dress as if she were a teenager!" She clucked and shook her head.

Jo laughed. "She's going through a midlife crisis, I guess."

"Midlife? To what? Is she going to live until one-hundred and twenty?"

Now Jo really laughed. "She's not that old. Yet."

"I can't wrap my mind around what she's trying to do with her look," said Myrtle with indignation. "Wearing short skirts and tall boots and sleeveless blouses at her age?" She rolled her eyes. "It makes me half-think that she's got some sort of love interest."

Jo's gaze sharpened and Myrtle looked innocently back at her. "Mercy, it looks like you think she has some sort of love interest, too."

Jo studied her as if gauging the danger of gossiping with Myrtle. Myrtle did her very best to look as innocuous as possible. "Well, be sure not to say anything to anybody, but I've wondered. You know-because of the way she's dressing."

"Have you seen Bootsie out with anyone?"

Jo shook her head. "No ma'am, I sure haven't. But I've noticed something unusual in the last couple of months. Like you said, she started dressing different and wearing more makeup. After I get there, she'll be upstairs getting ready to go out, then heads out of the house right before lunch. She's always got tons of perfume on- and I get headaches when I smell floral scents."

"Did you ever ask her where she was going?"

Jo said, "The first time I did. That's because it wasn't her normal routine. So I asked her if she were going out for lunch with friends. And she turned bright red and started stuttering like she didn't know what to say. Then she rushed out the door." Jo shook her head. "I didn't ask her again. But it does make you wonder."

Yes, it did. It sounded like a little surveillance was in order.

The surveillance was going to take a little prep-work-and involved borrowing Miles' car again. Since he seemed to treat the car like it was his own child, it was going to take a little doing to get Miles on board. In the meantime, Prissy was the next suspect on Myrtle's list and she decided to go pay a little visit to her.

Taking some children's books with her would probably make her mission more believable. Then she could ask Prissy's opinion of the books. She threw a few books from Jack's room into a canvas bag, then crossed the street to her house. There was a small box with some of Red's childhood books at the top shelf of the hall closet.

Minutes later, Myrtle carefully climbed Prissy's steep stairs, set down the bag of books on the porch and balanced with the cane while ringing the old-fashioned buzzer.

Prissy peered out the lacy curtains beside the front door. With reluctance, she opened the door. "I wish you'd just call, Miss Myrtle. I hate you climbing these steep stairs." She opened the door, motioning Myrtle inside.

"Stairs? Oh, they're no problem for me. I'm fit as a fiddle. I just thought I'd drop by real quick and get your opinion on the books I picked out to read to your preschoolers."

She sat down gingerly on the old settee in Prissy's living room and pulled out the books as Prissy rambled on, praising her devotion to literacy.

Something, though, was apparently wrong. Prissy was staring at the books that Myrtle had brought.

"It's sweet of you to think of the children. They'll love to have you read to them. But..." Prissy sighed. "These books are a little too advanced for the preschoolers. I don't think the three and four-year-olds will grasp Robinson Crusoe or...Crime and Punishment."

Prissy continued rummaging through the bag. "And the board books must be some of Jack's old books." She held up Baby's Busy Day. Myrtle winced. She should have checked those books before she left. Prissy must think she's senile.

Prissy continued prattling. "I wouldn't expect you to have children's books lying around, Myrtle. Why don't you run by the library? The children's librarian-remember Miss Hatch?-will probably be happy to point you in the right direction."

Myrtle suffered through Prissy's high-volume monologue for several minutes, nodding at what she hoped were appropriate times. Growing impatient, she slumped in her chair, fanned herself and waited for Prissy to realize something was wrong. When Prissy continued her adulation of the benevolent Miss Hatch, Myrtle clutched her head and gave a melodramatic moan.

Prissy blinked at her as Myrtle gasped, "So sorry, Prissy. Your steep steps unsettled me more than I thought. Room...spinning. Fix me a drink?"

Prissy started clucking again, clicking her dentures and casting anxious looks at Myrtle before scurrying to the kitchen. In the meantime, Myrtle spryly hopped up and hustled to the back bedroom.

A sappy screensaver of birds flying under a rainbow covered the computer monitor. Myrtle jiggled the mouse and a word processing program came up. Myrtle gaped at the erotic writing on the screen. No flowery Regency prose here; only descriptive pa.s.sages of a pa.s.sionate love scene. And, judging from the stacks of nearby paperbacks, all by Tessa Rose, she'd written quite a number of them.

Myrtle high-tailed it back to her chair to resume her medical episode. She was just in time, as Prissy hurried in with a gla.s.s and a small pitcher of ice water on a small tray.

She drank a little of her water as Prissy fussed around her. "Let me get a cool washcloth for you. You've just lost all of your color!" Prissy walked to the back of the house, babbling as she went, until she suddenly went quiet. Myrtle froze. Had the screensaver cut back on, or did Prissy have it set on a delay? Prissy finally returned with the washcloth and a shrewd look on her face.

Myrtle took the washcloth and held it against her forehead as she gave a weak smile. "I feel much better now. Thanks for all your help. I really should go to the doctor and find out what's causing these spells! Um...let's see. Where were we? Oh yes. So, what day will be best to read to the children?"

Tersely, Prissy said, "I'll have to give you a call. I'm not really sure right now what the schedule looks like for next week." Myrtle drained her water and rose.

"Well, thanks again. I should probably go." She grabbed her cane and hefted the heavy bag of books. Prissy opened the front door for her and Myrtle stood at the top of the stairs before turning to ask Prissy if the children had a favorite book for her to ask for at the library.

Myrtle was never able to fully remember what happened next. It all seemed to take place at once: Prissy's surprisingly strong hand on her arm, Myrtle's loss of balance, her stumble, and the horrible sensation of falling.

APPARENTLY A PREVIOUSLY dormant and uninvolved guardian angel miraculously steadied Myrtle and kept her from pitching headlong down the staircase.

This time she was wasn't faking her weakness when she sank down onto the top step of the porch. Prissy gasped, "You nearly met your Maker!"

"And you were trying to help Him make my acquaintance." panted Myrtle. "You shoved me!"

Prissy's face was white. "Of course not. I was trying to steady you. You wobbled before you fell forward. Naturally, I wasn't in the right position to stop your fall..."

"Naturally." Waving aside Prissy's invitation to come back inside to rest, Myrtle carefully maneuvered down the stairs and through the tidy yard to the street. Feeling every one of her eighty-odd years, Myrtle trudged back to Red's house where she had her first afternoon nap in years.

Myrtle didn't feel in a very chatty mood at supper. Or a hungry one, she thought as she pushed her food around on her plate. What was worse, she'd put the bag of books back at her house after her nap and discovered the painting was in flamboyant display on her coffee table.

Red raised his eyebrows. "Not interested in shrimp and grits, Mama? I know that's one of your favorite meals." Myrtle looked at him balefully and he continued, "Okay, spill it. What's happened?"

She was just deciding that she could give him a taste of his own medicine and clam up, when she realized that this was the perfect way to bring up the case in a non-pushy, Red-repellant way. So Myrtle reluctantly told Red and Elaine about her afternoon with Prissy and its exciting climax where she nearly broke her neck on Prissy's front stairs.

"Miss Prissy tried to push you down the stairs?" Red's eyes were huge.

"You're making it sound ridiculous. But I'm sure I felt her bony hand on me and it wasn't trying to steady me. I steadied myself."

"So, what you're saying, Mama, is that you think Prissy killed Tammy by shoving her down the stairs and she was going to shove you down the stairs, too? Don't you think that sounds a little crazy, if she was trying to distance herself from the first crime? And all because of some dirty books?"

"I think shoving two victims down steep staircases is exactly what Prissy would do. She's not the most creative person around," answered Myrtle.

"Apparently Prissy is very creative. After all, she's writing erotic fantasies and making all that content up. Unless she's somehow living a secret life and writing from her own experiences."

Myrtle shuddered. "I guess she's more creative than I gave her credit for. Maybe she didn't mean for me to fall down the stairs, just to shake me up a little and give me a warning."

Elaine frowned as she absentmindedly scrubbed some grits off Jack's face. "I don't totally understand why Miss Prissy is so desperate to hide these books. She'd be a local celebrity if the word got out."

"Not likely," said Myrtle. "Remember, this is a small Southern town. The preschool mommies would never be able to look her in the eye again. Maybe she wouldn't feel comfortable at the program anymore, with parents giggling over her all the time. I don't know how Tammy found out about the books, but it's obvious she knew about them. Prissy could've gone over to the Beauty Box later that night and pleaded with Tammy to keep quiet. But then things could have gotten out of hand."

Red shook his head. "I just don't see it, Mama. Remember, the killer wore gloves. That shows premeditation, not a crime committed in the heat of an argument. And I still don't know how Tammy could have known about the books."

Myrtle glared at him. "Maybe she reads erotic romance and saw something that made her realize Prissy was the author. Actually, Prissy probably told her about the books. Tammy frequently belittled Prissy, so maybe Prissy burst out one day that she was a published author. Who knows? And maybe Prissy still wears driving gloves. She's so prim that I'd believe it. Or maybe it was premeditated after all. If she's wicked enough to try to shove innocent ladies down staircases, she's probably capable of anything."

Red frowned at her. "I'm still having trouble with this shoving thing."

"Prissy shoved me." Myrtle spoke slowly, in case Red was having cognitive trouble.

"Prissy did."

"Yes."

"Ninety-five pound Prissy." Red tilted his head at his mother.

"Your point being?"

"Ninety-five pound cadaverous Prissy pushed strapping, one-hundred and- "

"Never mind! I'm an old woman, Red, growing feebler every day."

Red looked doubtful.

Elaine spoke up, "Are you going to pull Miss Prissy in for questioning? These books show that she had a motive to kill Tammy. She wanted to keep her secret."

"This doesn't do anything but give the police a line of questioning. Now listen," he said as both Elaine and Myrtle b.u.t.ted in, "Listen, y'all! There's no hard evidence. There's nothing linking Miss Prissy to the homicide. But next time we talk to her, I can ask questions about her books...I'll say that we have a source that informs us that she has this secret series. We'll see what Lieutenant Perkins and I can find out."

"That doesn't sound promising. In fact, it sounds like my boring, exhausting, and dangerous afternoon tea with Prissy Daniels was all for nothing," said Myrtle with disgust.

"I wouldn't say that," replied Red. "It's shown us what her motive might have been." He grinned. "And those little preschoolers sure will love your stories, Mama."

It was never fun to wake up at night realizing you'd forgotten something. And that night, Myrtle sat up straight in bed, gasping. The cat! Oh no. Poor Pasha would be wondering where her food and water were. She was a feral cat, but she'd gotten used to being spoiled.

Myrtle grabbed her robe and slippers, her cane, and her keys. This time she really would have to be quiet. If Red caught her outside again in the middle of the night, he'd probably clamp on one of those ankle bracelets they put on criminals on house arrest.

She slipped out the front door, looking it behind her, and hurried across the street, letting herself in the front door. Myrtle found some cat food in the kitchen and put it outside in the backyard with a big bowl of water. She heard a rustling in her bushes and out ran Pasha, looking very glad to see her. There was something very rewarding in that.