A Body in the Attic Read online

  “Charlie?” Myrtle knit her eyebrows.

  “My dog. He’s a real lap dog. Loves to sit in my lap in the mornings when I’m reading the paper,” said Carter.

  Myrtle curled her lip a little. “I see. You know, I have a cat named Pasha. She’s decidedly not a lap cat. She’s absolutely brilliant and a master hunter. You’d be amazed to hear the types of prey she’s brought in.”

  Carter was apparently never one to back away from a competition. “I didn’t mean to imply that Charlie wasn’t a hunter. He’s a terrier mix and has brought in some fine catches, himself.”

  “Bats,” said Myrtle.

  “Chipmunks,” said Carter.

  “Rabbits.”

  Carter’s eyes narrowed. “Squirrels.”

  “Snakes.”

  Carter opened his mouth and Miles, looking queasy, stepped in. “Can we perhaps not talk about this now?”

  “Poor Miles doesn’t have the stomach for gore,” said Myrtle affectionately. Then she cut right to the chase. “You know, I didn’t realize that you knew Darren so well, Carter.”

  Carter stuttered a little. “I didn’t, I suppose. Not as well as the two of you, anyway.”

  Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “Then it’s very charitable of you to attend his funeral. I know you must be a very busy man . . . owning your own insurance business and whatnot.”

  Miles shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot at the mention of Carter’s vocation. He did not want to be sold any insurance.

  Carter mumbled, “I suppose I wanted to be here to support Pansy.”

  “That’s very nice. Although it looks as if Pansy has lots of support.”

  They glanced over at Pansy, surrounded by a sympathetic gaggle of women.

  “Funnily enough, Carter, although you didn’t know Darren well, someone mentioned you’d argued with him recently.” Myrtle smiled innocently at Carter.

  Carter’s eyes grew huge, then narrowed suspiciously. “Wait, you write for the newspaper, don’t you?”

  Myrtle puffed with pride. She always liked when this fact was recognized. “Yes, I do. I’m a crime reporter there, as a matter of fact.”

  Miles sighed. Myrtle so frequently avoided the unpleasant fact that she usually wrote the paper’s helpful hints column.

  “However, this is off-the-record, of course.”

  Carter said, “Well, maybe you can set the record straight with whoever you heard that from. Yes, I had words with Darren. But that’s only because Pansy called me in tears. It made me see red that he’d not been treating Pansy the way she deserved.” His hands pulled into fists at the memory.

  Myrtle asked, “Pansy and Darren had been arguing?”

  “That’s right. Darren wasn’t a saint, you know. Despite the fact that he’s gone now.” He said the last words with satisfaction.

  “Why did they argue?” asked Miles.

  Carter seemed to realize he might be making Pansy more of a suspect. He hastily said, “It wasn’t much of an argument on Pansy’s side, according to her. She said Darren just suddenly seemed to snap and was raging at her.”

  “Not physically?” asked Myrtle with a frown.

  Even Carter wasn’t willing to go that far. “No,” he muttered. “He just yelled at her. But she’s not used to being yelled at. I didn’t ask her what it was about because it was none of my business. All I know is that she’s always been devoted to Darren and he obviously didn’t realize what a treasure he had in Pansy. He should have appreciated her more. And he sure shouldn’t have been yelling at her like that. Anyway, I went over to give Darren a piece of my mind.”

  Myrtle raised an eyebrow. “And when you finished giving him that piece of your mind, he was still alive?”

  “Alive and kicking,” said Carter. His gaze, as if drawn by a magnet, sought out Pansy. He looked troubled as a handsome widower in town started engaging in conversation with her. “Look, I need to go.”

  “Nice talking to you,” said Myrtle sweetly to Carter’s back as he abruptly left.

  Miles said, “Good riddance. He shouldn’t be at a funeral if he’s not grieving.”

  Myrtle said, “How peevish of you, Miles. I’d say there were plenty of people here who don’t appear to be grieving.” She frowned at Erma Sherman, her annoying neighbor, who was currently giving a braying laugh at something she’d just said to someone else. Then her gaze flitted over to someone else. “Actually, I’d say Tripp wasn’t looking too upset about his uncle’s demise.”

  They sat down in a couple of folding chairs to observe. Miles said charitably, “It could be a lack of sleep.”

  Myrtle muttered. “Or too much alcohol.”

  “Grief?” offered Miles, still trying to see Darren’s family in a positive light.

  “Or drugs,” countered Myrtle.

  Miles got them another plate of food since the church ladies continued restocking it and bringing out fresh options. Myrtle said, “At this rate, I won’t have to eat supper tonight.”

  Miles said, “There’s so much food that Orabelle and Tripp are going to be eating out of their freezers for months.” He glanced around the room. “Where did Carter go? This time I don’t see him around Pansy. Did he give up and leave?”

  “He certainly should have if he hasn’t. Pansy is clearly being charmed by Marcus Washington,” said Myrtle dryly. She watched as Pansy beamed up at him and he beamed back.

  Miles said, “Oh, there he is.” He paused. “Wait, is that . . . ?”

  “It’s Orabelle. And she’s actually smiling for once.”

  Miles said, “And at Carter.”

  Myrtle and Miles observed silently while they munched on ham biscuits.

  Myrtle said, “I must say, I think Orabelle and Carter would be a far better match than Carter and Pansy. Pansy has way too much baggage.”

  “Well, all three of them are murder suspects, so I’d say they all have a bit of baggage.”

  Myrtle said, “True. But at least Orabelle is sensible. Pansy is too flighty for my tastes.” She paused. “It looks as if Carter might be at least somewhat receptive.”

  “He’s not looking longingly at Pansy right now, anyway,” agreed Miles.

  “Oh goodness, here comes Red,” said Myrtle with a sigh. “What does he want?”

  “Likely to fuss at you for questioning Carter.” Miles took his glasses off and solemnly wiped them. “I think I’ll go speak with . . . someone.” He quickly walked away.

  Red said, “Hi, Mama.” He raised his eyebrows. “I do believe you’re not wearing your usual funeral outfit.”

  Myrtle said crossly, “Smarty-pants. The slacks didn’t fit very well, so I had to improvise.”

  Lieutenant Perkins came over to join them and Myrtle gave him a big smile. He said politely, “I thought I might see you here. I wanted to give you this.” He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small book of crosswords. Perkins hesitated and then said, “My mother is also a big crossword puzzle fan and she recommended this collection. It’s supposed to be pretty challenging.”

  Myrtle beamed at him. “Isn’t that so thoughtful?” She turned to Red and gave him a pointed look. “Don’t you think that’s so thoughtful, Red? A gift! And just because he and his mother thought I might enjoy it.”

  Red sighed. Clearly, Lieutenant Perkins was racking up more points in the area of thoughtfulness than he was. He said grudgingly, “That’s very nice.”

  Perkins smiled back at Myrtle. “As soon as my mother mentioned the book, I thought of you.”

  “And I’ll get started on it right away. The puzzles in our paper are quite rudimentary. To make them more challenging, I set a timer for myself and try to beat my best time.”

  Red muttered under his breath, “Some people need less time on their hands.”

  Myrtle narrowed her eyes at him.

  “By the way, Mama, why were you speaking with Carter Radnor?” Red’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  Myrtle said innocently, “Why, because he was there. Is
there something I should know about Carter Radnor? He’s not a person of interest in your case, is he?”

  Red immediately looked as if he regretted saying anything at all.

  Perkins said, “We should probably be heading out now.”

  Myrtle turned again to Perkins and said, “Thanks so much again.”

  Miles and Myrtle stayed for a little while longer at the funeral reception before leaving to head back to Myrtle’s house.

  “What’s next on the agenda?” asked Miles.

  Myrtle said, “I have to write up a piece for the paper.”

  Miles asked, “On the funeral?”

  Myrtle made a face. “For that helpful hints column. I wish Sloan would cancel it, but it still seems wildly popular. Anyway, I’m supposed to send that in this afternoon. And then I think I’ll mull all this over. The suspects, the crime. Maybe I can think of what direction we need to head in next.”

  Miles looked relieved. “That sounds good. I was actually hoping for some downtime. I have a few things I need to do around the house.”

  Myrtle raised an eyebrow. “That sounds intriguing. What sorts of things?”

  “I need to weed out some of my older khakis in my closet and retire them as yard clothes, for one.”

  “Sounds like an exciting afternoon,” said Myrtle dryly.

  “Not exciting, but helpful. I keep accidentally pulling out old pairs of khakis and not realizing they’re the frayed ones until later. This will end up saving me time.” Miles sounded as if he was warming to his topic and Myrtle worried he might continue with a dissertation on organizing his sock drawer.

  She quickly jumped in, “That’s all very productive of you, Miles. Thanks for the ride to the funeral. Talk to you later?” And she hurried out of the car.

  The helpful hints column took a bit longer than planned when she couldn’t find the tip Penny Holcomb had sent in. Penny was the kind of person who’d hound her about it every time she saw Myrtle. She swore the woman had some sort of a chip on her shoulder. And Myrtle couldn’t for the life of her remember what the tip was, only that Penny had been the one to submit it.

  Pasha watched Myrtle with interest as Myrtle tore through her desk, un-tidying the very tidy drawers, nooks and crannies. Then she attacked her recycling bin, checking to see if she’d accidentally flung the bit of paper out with her old magazines and newspapers.

  After far too much time had gone by, Myrtle gave up and opened up her Word program. Then she stared at the computer. Apparently, she’d been so very organized that she’d put Penny’s tip in her column and then tossed out the piece of paper.

  Frustrated by her own efficiency, Myrtle finished writing the column, sent it to Sloan, and then set about cleaning up the mess she’d made. By the time she’d finished, she wandered back to her computer. Perhaps now was the perfect time to find out more about the lawyer, Liam Hudson, and his mysterious past.

  After fifteen or twenty minutes and numerous online rabbit holes to fall down, Myrtle realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as it seemed. But she had discovered one very interesting thing: Liam didn’t appear to have an online past. Anything about Liam online originated about ten years ago here in Bradley. That seemed rather odd. Myrtle herself had more of an online profile than that and it dated back further.

  So perhaps Liam changed his name at some point to escape his past. Myrtle decided it might be more fruitful to focus on natural disasters in the Boston area. Pansy hadn’t been at all convincing that it was a hurricane, so Myrtle broadened her search.

  After some time, Myrtle sighed. Apparently, Boston had been afflicted by any number of things. She was about to give up when she saw mention of a blizzard that was around the same time period. Myrtle pulled up the archived paper for every mention of the blizzard and glanced through them—until she saw a photo of a young man with a couple of other young men who appeared to be a very scruffy version of Liam.

  She quickly read the article. It seemed Liam, or Jeremy, as the paper called him, had unsavory friends at the time and drove the getaway car when his friends robbed a convenience store . . . and shot the store clerk. Was Liam in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people or was he an accessory?

  Armed with his original name, Myrtle searched for more information. It seemed a jury had decided Liam was guilty, but because it was a first offense for the young man, the judge had only awarded him community service and time served. This had apparently made the family of the murdered store clerk furious. No wonder he’d changed his name.

  She heard talking outside and checked out her window. Red was talking on his phone, rather loudly in her way of thinking, while getting into his police cruiser.

  Myrtle called Miles. “Want to follow Red on a call?”

  Miles sounded dubious. “Do I? Aren’t Red’s calls usually to do with neighbor disputes and children trespassing on lawns?”

  “Usually so, but this time I think he might have been phoned about something important. Let’s find out.”

  A couple of minutes later, Miles pulled up in Myrtle’s driveway. By this time, however, Red was already gone.

  Myrtle said impatiently, “He headed in the direction of downtown Bradley. Let’s see if we can find him.”

  Miles obediently put the car in gear and backed carefully down the driveway and out on the street.

  “Pick up the pace a little or we’ll never find him.”

  Miles muttered, “You’ve watched too many car chases on TV. Besides, this is a very small town. I think we’ll be able to find him.”

  A minute later, Myrtle said abruptly, “Stop the car. I see Red.”

  Miles pulled to the side of the road. “Is something happening at the diner?”

  “No, I think he’s going behind the diner. To the back of the office building.” Myrtle leaned closer to the window and made a disgusted sound. “No, it’s too dark. I can’t see a thing. You’d think we’d have street lights out here. Let’s get out of the car.”

  “Red’s not going to like this,” said Miles gloomily.

  “We’re going to tell him we happened to be driving by.” Myrtle was already getting out of the car.

  “Isn’t that a little suspicious? That’s not ordinarily what we do.”

  Myrtle said, “We’ll just say we were bored and decided to go for a little drive. He won’t care—he’s clearly going to be all wrapped up with whatever he’s working on.”

  Fortunately, the back of the brick office building next to the diner was illuminated by Red’s headlights. As they approached, they could see Red speaking with Tripp Whitley.

  “What’s that on the ground?” asked Miles in a halting voice.

  Myrtle said, “Let’s get a little closer.”

  Miles trailed behind her unhappily.

  “I do believe it might be a body,” said Myrtle thoughtfully.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Red spotted his mother coming and held up a hand to Tripp before stalking over.

  “Mama, what on earth are you doing here?” he hissed.

  “Oh, Miles and I were just driving by and we saw your car.” Myrtle paused. “Is that Liam Hudson?”

  Red’s eyes were suspicious. “How exactly did you know that?”

  “A simple deduction. His office is directly above the spot on the pavement where I see a body,” said Myrtle coolly.

  Red rubbed his face. “I don’t have time for this. I need to block off the area, speak with Tripp, and get the state police over here.”

  Myrtle nodded her head. “Don’t worry. Miles and I will stay right here.”

  “Mama, I don’t want you to stay right here. I want you to continue on your little nocturnal drive or get your late-night ice cream snack or head back home. I want you anywhere but here.” Red was starting to get agitated.

  Miles said, “Come on Myrtle, let’s go.”

  Myrtle said, “What you don’t know, Red, is that I have some very important information that you’re going to want to hear. So I’ll
stay put.”

  “Whatever you think you know, I can hear it tomorrow.” Red was already pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

  “Fine,” said Myrtle complacently. “I’ll wait to speak with Lieutenant Perkins. He’ll want to hear all about what I’ve discovered about Liam Hudson.”

  Red’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly . . . never mind. Okay, wait here, but know it might take some time.”

  “We’ll be just fine,” said Myrtle with a sniff. Red stomped away, now speaking with the state police on the phone as he returned to his police cruiser and pulled out crime scene tape.

  Miles said, “I do have some folding chairs in my trunk. I could pull them out for us.”

  “Perfect,” said Myrtle. “That way we don’t have to go all the way back to the car.”

  Miles retrieved the chairs and set them up out of the way of the crime scene tape, but close enough so that they could see what was going on. They watched as Red finished speaking with Tripp and then seemed to dismiss him after the state police finally drove up. He talked to them for a while and then walked over to where Miles and Myrtle sat in their chairs.

  “What did you find out?” asked Red.

  “Interestingly enough, Liam Hudson wasn’t exactly who he said he was.”

  “He wasn’t a lawyer?” Miles blinked.

  “Oh, I’m sure he must have a law degree. But he didn’t originally start out as Liam Hudson. He changed his name, most likely because of a legal issue he encountered in Boston when he was a young man hanging out with a rough crowd.”

  Red frowned. “He got into trouble?”

  “He did indeed. Although not as much trouble as he could have gotten into—a local judge was apparently quite lenient with him. Or merciful or something. Anyway, the family of the store clerk who was shot and killed wasn’t very pleased with the sentencing. I’m guessing Liam was trying to escape his past with his name change and the move here. And, for the most part, I suppose he did.”

  “And then Darren somehow remembered who he was,” said Red.

  “Apparently, there were newspapers Darren kept because of a historic blizzard that had happened while he was living in Boston. I suppose, with the discovery of the painting, Darren decided to spend some more time rooting around in his attic to see what else he might be able to find. He opened up the newspapers and noticed something that had previously escaped his attention.” Myrtle shrugged.