Murder on the Ballot Read online

  Jenny gave a forced smile and looked askance at the contents of Myrtle’s shopping basket. She had put all the possible variations of ingredients in there.

  “Myrtle,” said Jenny in her cultured voice, “that is so very kind of you.”

  Myrtle straightened a bit, pleased. “It’s the least I can do, Jenny. I just feel awful about poor Royce. He was a very worthy challenger for the town council seat.”

  Jenny continued, “Well, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. But I simply can’t allow you to make me food and tote all that home. Some ladies from the church came by just a little while ago and I’m completely inundated with food. I put most of it in the freezer. I don’t think Scotty or I will ever have to make food again.” She said the last with a chuckle.

  Myrtle was doubtful. “The church ladies do tend to swarm. But if you’re here at the store, don’t you still need things?”

  Jenny swiftly answered, “Only some paper towels. That’s all I’ve popped in for. Again, it’s so sweet of you, but I can’t let you take the trouble.”

  Jenny seemed quite firm on this point, so Myrtle put the various vegetables back on the shelf in front of her.

  “How are you doing?” asked Myrtle with concern. Because the truth was, Jenny didn’t look all that well.

  She gave a short laugh. “Oh, I’m hanging in there. There’s nothing else to do, is there? I do need paper towels, but another reason I’m here is simply to get out of the house. I don’t think I can stand another minute in there right now. Too many memories.”

  “At least you have Scotty there with you,” said Myrtle warmly. “That must be a great comfort to you.”

  Jenny gave a rueful sigh. “Well, I have him temporarily. But the truth of the matter is that I thought it was time for him to spread his wings. It’s what Scotty’s been wanting to do for such a long while. Royce was a good father, but a stern one. I’ve decided to give Scotty a loan and help him go out on his own. It was something of a split-second decision for me, which isn’t what I usually do. But when Scotty feels emotional about anything, he hides it. Buries it. And then plays very loud music as therapy.”

  Myrtle nodded. “I have the feeling that your own way of dealing with grief doesn’t involve loud music?”

  “I could use some quiet time on my own,” admitted Jenny. “So right now there are a bunch of boxes in my house as Scotty gets his things together. He does have a friend he’s going to live with, so he’ll have a roommate. That’s a good thing because he’s never lived on his own before. When he was at college he was in a dorm, which is very different.”

  Myrtle said, “That’s probably just as good for Scotty as it is for you.”

  “Royce just didn’t want to fund it,” said Jenny with a sigh. “We had a good relationship but naturally we didn’t agree with each other on everything.”

  Her voice was leaden with grief. Myrtle just nodded again and waited for Jenny to continue if she wanted to. And she did.

  “I simply can’t imagine anyone doing this. I’ve been mulling it all over in my head until I feel like my head is going to burst. It hasn’t helped with the constant headache I’ve had, either. One of the reasons I wanted to say hi was to ask if anything happened at the debate. If you noticed anything or anybody acting as if they had ill-will toward Royce.”

  Myrtle shifted as Jenny watched her intently. “Well, I wouldn’t say I witnessed any ill-will. It was a lively debate, of course. Royce was rather scrappy.”

  Jenny shook her head. “Maybe not so much the debate itself, but before it? Or afterward?”

  Myrtle had been preoccupied with getting to the elevator without anyone snickering at her. Red had been fairly distracting, as well. She hadn’t wanted to speak with Erma, despite standing up for her during the debate. She said, “I’m afraid I had other things on my mind and didn’t stay very long. The weather was about to change, too, and we wanted to get back to our homes. But I didn’t notice Royce arguing with anyone or anybody being really obstreperous.”

  Jenny looked disappointed.

  Myrtle asked, “I did understand that Bonner Lang and your husband had something of a challenging relationship.”

  Jenny waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s just business. Nothing personal.”

  Myrtle tilted her head to one side. It was interesting that Jenny seemed to suppose Royce’s death had personal motives.

  “I’d imagine that business-related issues that tied into financial income might well be a motive,” said Myrtle.

  Jenny gave a languid shrug. “Money is always supposed to be the key to everything, isn’t it? I’m just not sure about it in this case. After all, Bonner was the one who kept Royce from getting the lucrative contract. Shouldn’t Royce have murdered Bonner, instead of the other way around?”

  “That would have made the most sense, but then I wondered if one of the reasons Royce was running for office to begin with was to stymie Bonner on the council. To vote against projects or proposals that Bonner was interested in.”

  Jenny had a small smile on her face. “That does sound possible, Miss Myrtle. Royce did sometimes play hardball that way. I could see him being a little vengeful sometimes.”

  Myrtle asked curiously, “Is there someone else you think could have been involved? You seemed to think it wasn’t a business-related motive at all . . . does that mean you think the motive was more personal?”

  Jenny stiffened and her face grew mask-like. “I really have no idea, Miss Myrtle, just like I said.” She swiftly changed topics. “I did want to ask what you intended to do about running for office. Are you staying in? Is it you and Erma who are campaigning for the empty seat now?”

  Myrtle winced a little at the mention of Erma. “Yes, well, I’m in for now. In fact, I’m going to have a fundraiser soon. A photo opportunity for families with my gnomes.”

  Jenny gave a startled laugh. “Well, that will be very interesting, Myrtle. I hope you have a good turnout.”

  “But to answer your question, I’m hoping that Tippy Chambers will be entering the race for the seat. I’m very fond of Tippy and think she would make a wonderful commissioner. If she does enter, I’d have no problem dropping out.”

  Jenny said, “Oh good. Tippy is always so organized and involved. I can’t think why she hasn’t been in local politics before now.”

  “Apparently, she thought it was the sole provenance of her husband, Benton. But now she’s at least considering it. She said she’d run it by Benton and see what his thoughts are.” Myrtle looked at Jenny consideringly. “You’ve never thought about running for office?”

  Jenny smiled. “No. Never. I don’t think I’d enjoy it at all. Royce was the one who liked being, as you said, scrappy. He was more of the ideas person.”

  “And you’re the one who gets things done?” asked Myrtle lightly. “The power behind the throne?”

  Jenny’s smile turned a little stressed. “Well, there was no throne involved, was there? Let’s just say we made a good team.” She glanced at her watch. “Well, I’ve held you up for entirely too long, Miss Myrtle. It was so good to see you.”

  It was definitely a dismissal. Myrtle watched thoughtfully as Jenny headed toward the paper towel aisle.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Since Jenny had effectively torpedoed Myrtle’s plans to bring her food, she was now trying to piece together what she wanted to do next. She still needed to plan for the gnome fundraiser by making signs. Should she serve snacks? She decided to get a few bags of potato chips since there would likely be kids there. While she was at the store, she contemplated what she and Wanda should eat for supper. They’d eaten out a bit lately and Myrtle’s pocketbook was feeling the pinch. But she did feel that they should perhaps eat vegetables and fruits. It was unfortunate, since produce was pretty much the most expensive thing at the store.

  She bought a motley assortment of some of the least-expensive items in the produce department. This meant that her plastic basket held bananas, cor
n on the cob, carrots, and a couple of apples. Myrtle was fairly sure that she had hummus at home for the carrots. At least, she hoped so. The plastic basket was heavy enough as it was.

  A couple of quiet days later, Royce’s funeral was held. Myrtle donned her funeral outfit which was amazingly clean since she’d washed it after she’d worn it at the debate. She swore the garment managed to soil itself as she was frequently confounded by the way it would attract spills. Satisfied with her appearance, she and Wanda rode with Miles out to the cemetery for the graveside service.

  The funeral was quite blustery. For a terrible moment, it looked as if the tent over the mourners might become airborne. The funeral director’s face was even grimmer than usual.

  The family insisted Myrtle sit down under the tent, regardless of its wild undulations. She’d protested, preferring to see the assembled group’s reactions. But they wouldn’t hear of it and ushered her to a seat. Myrtle looked grimly behind her. Miles, apparently too youthful to get preferential treatment, was uncomfortably standing about six feet away from Wanda, perhaps not wanting to fuel small-town gossip mills that they were some sort of couple. Wanda, her new, used clothes blowing in the wind around her emaciated frame, lent a sort of gothic feel to the proceedings.

  The service was short and sweet, which was definitely to Myrtle’s liking. There was a mournful-sounding soloist which made many of the gathered mourners surreptitiously dab at their eyes. Jenny, however, stayed granite-faced and pale, eyes trained ahead of her, hands folded in her lap. She was the picture of reserved calm. Scotty kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat and looking away as if wishing he were anywhere else. No one spoke aside from the rather dry minister who kept his comments brief.

  Afterward, the minister mentioned that the assembled mourners had been invited to the Rollins home for the funeral reception. Everyone left for their cars and drove to the large home, parking on both sides of the residential street.

  Myrtle glanced over at Wanda who was looking very calm in the backseat. “Are you sure you don’t want Miles to drop you off by the house?”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all,” said Miles with alacrity. He’d attended quite a few funerals lately and was feeling as if he’d already done his duty by this one.

  Wanda shook her head. “I’m okay.”

  “We won’t stay for long,” said Myrtle. “There’s one thing I’m sure there’ll be plenty of and that’s food. With Jenny so involved in the community and church, it’s going to be quite a spread of delectable goodies.”

  And it was. There were all the usual Southern funeral dishes: fried chicken, potato salad, pimento cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off, deviled eggs, corn pudding, green bean casserole, and more. But there was already a big line waiting to go through the buffet.

  “Pooh,” said Myrtle. “I suppose we should mingle for a little while until the line goes down.”

  Perhaps because it was a funeral reception, people were more willing to leave Wanda alone instead of pestering her for fortunes. But their eyes watched her curiously as she followed Myrtle and Miles to the back of the living room where Myrtle could watch people back.

  Myrtle prodded Miles. “Look. Preston is trying to talk to Jenny.”

  “Looks like he’s trying to argue, not talk,” said Miles slowly.

  And indeed, Preston was leaning forward earnestly trying to tell Jenny something—something it was clear that Jenny didn’t want to hear. She finally gave him a cold look and abruptly turned away to speak with someone else.

  “I wonder what that was about,” said Miles.

  “Maybe Preston was trying to tell Jenny that Royce wasn’t worth her tears,” said Myrtle, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Maybe he wanted to make sure she was aware that Royce was having an affair with Cindy.”

  “Whatever it was, it was obvious she didn’t want to hear it. Or maybe, to believe it,” said Miles.

  Wanda watched the room gravely. Then she said in her raspy voice, “Should stop her.”

  Myrtle gave her a startled look. “Who? Jenny?”

  Wanda shook her head. “Naw. Erma.”

  Myrtle redirected her attention to a different part of the room where Erma was loudly regaling everyone within earshot—which, considering Erma’s volume, was everyone gathered there.

  Myrtle grimaced. “Must I? I really don’t want to be Erma’s keeper.”

  “You stood up for her at the debate,” pointed out Miles.

  “Yes, I did. I think that’s the end of it. She’s a grown woman and she should be able to contain herself, especially at a funeral reception.” But Myrtle did listen to hear what Erma was saying.

  “So that’s why I’m running for town council. Be sure to vote for me, haha!” She glanced down at her plate. “Wow, this rice dish is super-spicy. I have this issue with heartburn—it’s even worse than heartburn . . . there’s a special name for it, but I’ve forgotten. Anyway, going back to town council. You know I was there the night Royce died. Well, I left, of course, after the debate but Royce was still there. I had to go back to town hall because I’d forgotten something. The weather was awful! I could barely even see! But as soon as I drove up to the building, I got this really strange feeling. It was spooky. The hair on the back of my neck stood up on end. I knew something terrible was happening.”

  Erma’s tone was that of someone entertaining an audience—like someone telling a ghost story. Myrtle rolled her eyes at Miles and Wanda. “Utterly ridiculous,” she muttered.

  “When I went back, I saw something.” Erma glanced around to make sure she had everyone’s attention. And she did. A smug look crossed her features. “I can’t say anything more about that. I wish I could disclose what I saw, but I must speak with Red first.”

  The faces of everyone ranged from disbelief to hostility. They’d been denied the rest of their story. With some grumblings, most of them moved away to the buffet table for first helpings or seconds while Erma attempted to regale the remaining stragglers with more health-related atrocities.

  As the last few people quickly made excuses and moved on, Myrtle called out to Erma and she obediently came over, grinning at Myrtle with her donkey-like face still looking smug from the tale she told.

  Myrtle said sternly, “Erma, you’re being very foolish. The last thing you need to do is to tell a group of people, one of whom may be a murderer, that you know important information about Royce’s death.”

  Erma’s face fell. “I didn’t say anything, though. I said I was going to talk to Red.”

  “Precisely. If you had told everyone, then you wouldn’t be in danger because the murderer wouldn’t be able to kill twenty or thirty people. But because you didn’t, someone might take it into their heads to eliminate you before you have the chance to talk about what you saw. If anything,” said Myrtle, giving Erma a patently doubtful look.

  “But I did see something!”

  “Then go tell Red about it,” said Myrtle. “He’s here somewhere. It’s the perfect time.”

  Erma lifted her chin stubbornly. “I will. After I eat.”

  “For further protection, you should tell Miles, Wanda, and me what you saw.” Myrtle folded her hands in her lap in a waiting pose.

  Erma shook her head. “Nope. I’m not going to say anything until I talk to Red. Like I said, I’m going to get something to eat now before all the food is gone.” With that, she scurried over to the huge array of food, which was in no danger of running out.

  “Complete and utter foolishness,” said Myrtle, narrowing her eyes at Erma’s back. “This is the kind of thing I deal with day in and day out.”

  “Try and put it out of your mind,” said Miles. “We need to eat, too. This is our reward for being at this funeral, remember?”

  “It’s been a frightfully disappointing funeral from an information-gathering aspect. Let’s wait a moment before we go to the buffet. I don’t want to be behind Erma in line. Then we may end up sitting next to each other,” said Myrtle with a shudder.
r />   So they waited, stomachs growling, as Erma slowly made her way through the buffet line, heaping her plate so high that it looked as if food was going to be tumbling off it at any second.

  “Oh, good. She’s joined another group and is torturing them,” said Myrtle. “Let’s go.”

  They did and filled their plates up with some delicious food, which they quickly gobbled up. Then, much to Miles’s satisfaction, they left shortly after eating, since there was no additional information to be had.

  Miles took them back home and then Myrtle set out for a walk to clear her head.

  When she got back home, she found a solemn Wanda sitting at her kitchen table. Instead of regular playing cards, she was holding her tarot cards. Pasha was looking very tense nearby.

  Myrtle frowned at the grim look on Wanda’s face. “What’s happened? Or . . . what’s going to happen?”

  “Nothin’ good,” grated Wanda. She gave a shiver and Myrtle frowned even more severely. She found a blanket in the linen closet and draped it around Wanda’s cadaverous shoulders.

  “You’ve gotten yourself all wound up,” said Myrtle. “If you don’t have more information about the bad things that are going to happen, then let’s get you doing something else.”

  Wanda looked sad. “Somethin’ bad’s gonna happen tonight. Feels like death.”

  “Not mine or yours, I hope,” said Myrtle briskly.

  Wanda shook her head.

  “Then let’s not fret over it. That’s all you know?”

  Wanda nodded miserably.

  “Then we won’t worry. We will just be alert. I don’t sleep anyway, so I’m sure I can hear if something goes amiss. Now put those cards away and you and I will play hearts.”

  So they played cards and then they ate fruit and vegetables for supper. Myrtle made the signs she needed for the fundraiser the next day. Then Myrtle turned in while Wanda stayed up in the kitchen, playing solitaire and looking somber.