Death of a Suitor Read online

  Tippy had a couple of tote bags and a smile for Myrtle.

  “I brought along the punch bowl and all the paper and plastic utensils. I think it would be best if we didn’t leave you anything to clean up, under the circumstances.”

  Myrtle figured “the circumstances” involved Myrtle’s considerable age and the ineptitude of her housecleaner. She nodded. “I think that sounds perfect.”

  Tippy busied herself by setting up the punch and punchbowl as Blanche arrived behind her. Blanche was also dressed in fancy clothes, but hers looked a bit flashier. She grinned at Tippy and Myrtle. “I think we need to spike the punch, ladies, don’t you?”

  Tippy gave her a patient but restraining look. “I have the feeling that wouldn’t be a good idea. That’s happened before, as you might remember, and the outcome was fairly impactful.”

  The impact involved most of the ladies having to call for rides home from book club and Miles falling asleep in his chair.

  Myrtle said, “I don’t have anything appropriate for spiking punch, anyway. There’s only sherry in my pantry.”

  Blanche made a face at the idea of spiking the fruit punch (which appeared to include ginger ale, frozen lemonade, and frozen orange juice) with sherry. “No thanks. I guess we’ll try to keep on the straight and narrow this time. Although it’s tough for some of us.”

  Myrtle winced as Erma Sherman barreled in. “Hi everyone!” she trilled out.

  Blanche hastily muttered something about needing to get something out of her car and hurried out the door. Myrtle gave Erma a small wave before retreating to the kitchen. That left the ever-gracious Tippy to make conversation with Erma as she got the punch together. Myrtle glared suspiciously at the food that Erma brought with her. Somehow, no matter what kind of hors d’oeuvres Erma brought to an event, it always seemed to be accompanied by stale bread or crackers.

  Minutes later, Myrtle’s living room was full and buzzing with voices. Miles came in and sidled up to Myrtle. “This is quite a big turnout,” he murmured to her.

  “Indeed it is,” said Myrtle. “I expect it’s because everyone is eager to discuss Ethan Frome. As they should be.”

  Miles gave her a dubious look.

  “I’m going to go ahead and call the meeting to order,” she said.

  Miles glanced at his watch. “Isn’t it a little early to start? Everyone’s still snacking and getting punch.”

  Myrtle waved her hand. “They’ll be fine. There’s likely to be a lot of good conversations about the book so I want to make sure we have as much time as possible.”

  Looking wary, Miles took his seat.

  Myrtle clapped her hands and used her schoolteacher voice to call the room to order. That authoritative note still managed to deliver results and everyone quickly found a seat.

  “I’m pleased to see so many of you here today,” said Myrtle. She held up her copy of the book, which was tattered from time and lots of use in the classroom. “Ethan Frome is such an excellent novel and I’m looking forward to hearing what you all thought of it.”

  Erma looked stricken. “What? Are you mispronouncing the title, Myrtle?”

  “I can assure you that I’m not,” said Myrtle coolly.

  Erma glanced guiltily over at Sherry, a member who lived down the street. “It’s just that I thought you said we were reading Ellen’s Frame.”

  Myrtle gritted her teeth. “What on earth would give you that impression?”

  Erma sighed. “Well, I’ve had this ear infection lately. It wasn’t so bad at first, but then I realized this clear liquid was—”

  Myrtle closed her eyes and waved her hands in the air. “Erma, please.”

  “Anyway, I guess all that fluid made me a little hard of hearing, that’s all. And Ellen’s Frame was really an excellent book. Didn’t you think so, Sherry?”

  Myrtle felt her blood pressure rising. This was alarming, since her blood pressure was always excellent, as opposed to Red’s. “Sherry? Did you read the wrong book too, Sherry?”

  Sherry gave Myrtle an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t make the last meeting so I asked Erma when I saw her outside one day.”

  Myrtle put her hands on her hips. “Who on earth would write a book called Ellen’s Frame?”

  Erma promptly responded, “A man called Eric Sinclair did.”

  “It’s a ridiculous title,” said Myrtle.

  Miles had his hands over his mouth as if he were trying to keep a laugh from escaping.

  Erma said, “Not really. It makes sense once you’ve read the book. You see, there’s a middle-aged woman named Ellen and she has an old picture of her mother in a frame. The more she looks at the picture, the more she realizes there’s something very odd about the picture.”

  “The only thing odd is that it wasn’t titled Ellen’s Photo. That would have made more sense,” growled Myrtle. “And I don’t want to hear a recap of the story.”

  “Because you want to read it,” said Erma smugly.

  “I can assure you that I don’t want to read a word of it. The reason I don’t want to hear a recap is because that’s not the book club selection, Erma.”

  Sherry, never one to waste a read, said, “I’m with Erma—it was a good book. Maybe it should be our pick for next month.”

  Blanche said, “I second the motion. It’s my month to pick and I haven’t done my homework yet to find one.”

  Myrtle said severely, “It sounds as if no one has done their homework. Did the rest of you read Ethan Frome?”

  Blanche spoke up again, shrugging an elegant shoulder, “I’m going to be completely honest here. I did not read the book.”

  “I can’t believe this. We’re talking about Edith Wharton, for heaven’s sake. It’s not like we’re parsing Shakespeare. Her style is practically contemporary.”

  Tippy cleared her throat and said in a cautious voice, “Myrtle, several of the members contacted me to let me know the story was something of a downer.”

  Myrtle opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

  Tippy, emboldened by the uncharacteristic lack of sharp response, added, “They said it was full of despair.”

  Myrtle found her voice again. “It has a love triangle. Everyone in this group is always wanting to read love triangles. What’s the difference between reading about love triangles in Jennifer’s Promise instead of Ethan Frome? Who in here actually read the book?”

  The women looked at each other nervously. Tippy raised her hand, but not very high. “I did do quite a bit of skimming,” she admitted.

  Miles raised his hand.

  Myrtle said, “Well, I can’t hold a discussion on a book with Miles for the next thirty minutes.”

  Tippy said, “Maybe you should choose a happier book next time, Myrtle. Our group has a tough time with doom and gloom. I know you like classic novels, but aren’t there any pleasant classic novels?”

  Myrtle and Miles looked at each other. Pleasantries were often not part of classic novels. Classic novels of any worth, anyway.

  Erma said reprovingly, “A feel-good story, Myrtle. Aren’t there any of those?”

  Miles offered, “There’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  The women chorused back, “No Shakespeare!”

  Myrtle glared at them. “I’m going to make a pick and I shouldn’t have to wait months until it’s my turn again. Agreed? Blanche, you can put off Ellen’s Frame for another month and let me take your turn.”

  Blanche shrugged again.

  “What’s your pick?” asked Tippy with some trepidation.

  “Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest.”

  Miles looked impressed. “An excellent choice.”

  “And I expect everyone to read it. There will be a pop quiz.” Myrtle leveled her gaze at the room. Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. “And don’t call Tippy at the last minute to tell her that you have headaches and can’t come.”

  Tippy stood up and walked up next to Myrtle. “Everyone, let�
�s give Myrtle a round of applause for preparing a talk today and hosting us. We know you put time into it and we appreciate you.”

  There was a round of applause while Myrtle, still aggravated, glowered at them all.

  The women quickly moved out of their chairs and to the food table, getting small tidbits and talking to each other.

  Myrtle sat next to Miles. “Well, that didn’t go as expected.”

  “Didn’t it?” asked Miles. “It seems to me it was about par for the course. You really couldn’t have thought that they were going to have an enthusiastic and thoughtful discussion on Ethan Frome.”

  “I’m an optimist,” said Myrtle.

  Myrtle and Miles didn’t notice Erma sidling up to them until it was too late.

  “Heloooo,” sang Erma with her leering smile. “How are the two of you? Having a tete-a-tete?”

  Myrtle gave Erma a chilly look. “Just a conversation about how disastrous book club went today. And you didn’t help.”

  Erma gave her donkey-like hee-hawing laugh. “I didn’t mishear the book title on purpose. Anyway, it was a weird name for a book. It’s not like it’s something easy to remember.”

  “It’s the name of the protagonist,” said Myrtle, glaring at Erma.

  “Well, she has a weird name.”

  “The protagonist is a man.” Myrtle was speaking through gritted teeth.

  “Anyway, all’s well that ends well,” said Erma breezily. “We found a great book to read next time. Ellen’s Frame will be good for discussion.”

  Miles said, “Remember, that’s going to be the discussion two months from now. Myrtle has another pick for next time.”

  Erma winced. “That’s right. Ugh. Hope it’s a good book.”

  “It’s a play, actually.”

  Erma’s eyes grew wide. “No! A play like Shakespeare?”

  “A play that’s not at all like Shakespeare.”

  Blanche was passing by on her way to the food and turned her head sharply. “What? Myrtle, did you pick Shakespeare for next month? I thought we made the no-Shakespeare rule plain.”

  “I certainly did not choose Shakespeare,” said Myrtle coldly. “This club would be incompatible with the great works of the Bard. I picked a play, and apparently the only plays Erma is familiar with are Shakespeare’s.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” said Blanche. “I was starting to think I was going to have to find myself another book club.”

  Erma said, “Glad that’s cleared up. You wouldn’t have had anybody come next month, otherwise.” She glanced around and then said in a loud whisper, “I wanted to talk to you about what happened. The murder. Were you really on the scene when it happened, Miles?”

  Miles gave Erma a horrified look. “No! I wasn’t anywhere near Jax’s house.”

  Erma gave her hee-hawing laugh again. “Come on, we know that’s not true. You were seen there. I have my spies, you know.” She gave him a big wink.

  Myrtle jumped in. “Your spies clearly have vision issues. Miles wasn’t at Jax’s house until after Eloise called him to tell him what happened.”

  “Ohhh. So Eloise was at the scene. Sorry about your break-up, by the way, Miles.”

  Miles was looking longingly at Myrtle’s door as if hoping he could somehow teleport out of it and back to the safety of his home.

  Myrtle said, “Eloise discovered the body. You’re making it sound like she was responsible for Jax’s death.”

  Erma shrugged. “I hear things.” She leaned closer and Myrtle and Miles leaned backward in response. “One thing I heard was that Allen West was at Jax’s house that evening.”

  “Allen?” asked Miles, looking a bit shocked. Allen was a friend of Miles’s who generally had a quiet life. Getting involved in a murder was not his usual modus operandi.

  Myrtle said in a thoughtful voice, “That’s interesting. What’s his connection to Jax?”

  Erma grinned. “They both worked at the community theater. They definitely know each other.”

  Myrtle was trying to think of a good way to escape when Erma suddenly spotted cake on someone’s plate. Erma perked up and hurried away. “Better get some before it’s gone,” she muttered behind her.

  Miles hurriedly stood. “I’m going to go ahead and go before anyone else comes up.”

  “I’ll see you later,” said Myrtle as he strode off.

  Myrtle stood up too and walked over to make herself a plate of refreshments. Sherry was also there, pouring herself a cup of punch.

  “Is it true?” asked Sherry in a hushed voice.

  Myrtle frowned. “Is what true?”

  “That Eloise broke Miles’s heart? I saw the signs you’d put outside. Are they an appeal to Eloise?”

  Myrtle thought that “save Miles” and “free Miles” would be very melodramatic signs indeed if they were in regard to a relationship.

  Blanche, who had an excellent radar when it came to gossip, quickly appeared beside them. “Is Miles okay?”

  Myrtle was opening her mouth to say that Miles was perfectly fine, not that it was any of their business, when she shut it back again. Perhaps making Miles look particularly pitiful might be beneficial. There could even be sympathy casseroles involved to express their sorrow over Miles’s broken heart.

  She surreptitiously glanced behind her to make sure Miles hadn’t suddenly returned and said, “It’s been just awful. Poor Miles has been so miserable.”

  Sherry’s and Blanche’s eyes grew wide. “I thought so,” said Sherry.

  Blanche nodded. “Miles is always so sensitive. I’ve never met a man who enjoyed poetry the way he does. Of course he fell apart when Eloise dumped him.”

  “Did he? Did he fall apart?” asked Sherry rather breathlessly.

  “Like a cheap suit,” said Myrtle, looking sad.

  Sherry and Blanche looked at each other and shook their heads. Blanche excused herself and hurried off toward a group of women clustered around Tippy. The news would spread fast.

  Sherry said slowly, “Do you think Miles would like some baked goods, Myrtle?”

  “Oh, I’m certain he would. You know how bachelors are. I don’t think Miles has ever baked anything a day in his life.”

  Sherry mused, “Maybe a pound cake. Or I could make one of my blueberry pound cake loaves—he could have those for breakfast.”

  Myrtle smiled. Sherry’s breakfast loaves were locally famous. “I’m sure he’d enjoy one, Sherry. That’s so sweet of you.”

  Book club didn’t last much longer. The women of book club exited quickly to take to their kitchens.

  The next morning, Myrtle’s phone rang at nine o’clock.

  Miles said, “Myrtle, do you know anything about why food might be arriving at my door?”

  “Food?” asked Myrtle vaguely, as if the word were foreign to her.

  “Yes. Baked goods, in particular.”

  “Hm. Well, you know people love baking. Maybe it’s stress relief for them. After all, there’s been a murder of a fairly popular resident. They could be trying to rid themselves of tension by being creative. Because baking is creative.”

  Myrtle heard the sound of a doorbell on Miles’s end of the line. He said in a grouchy tone, “I have the feeling you’re somehow behind this.”

  “You should answer your door, Miles. It’s not good to let food sit outside on the doorstep.”

  Miles muttered a goodbye and hung up. Myrtle smiled to herself.

  Chapter Seven

  MYRTLE WAS JUST FINISHING up her crossword when her own doorbell rang.

  “Hi there,” she said cheerily to Miles. He was holding a tote bag and had a rather grim expression.

  He carefully carried the tote bag to the kitchen as Myrtle followed behind him, a smile tugging at her lips. Miles unpacked Sherry’s blueberry pound cake loaf, a plate of cookies, lemon bars, crustless pimento cheese sandwiches, and a casserole.

  “Gracious, what a lot of goodies,” said Myrtle, rubbing her hands together. “Are you sharing?�
��

  “Of course I am. There’s no way a person living on their own could be expected to eat this much food before it went bad. But I’d like to hear an explanation for this unprecedented generosity by our fellow book club members.”

  Myrtle took down a couple of plates from her cabinets. “They didn’t tell you why they were bringing food?”

  “Apparently, they were trying to be sensitive,” said Miles unhappily. “They were tiptoeing around the subject. I figured that you either told them I’d lost a close relative, or that you had somehow exaggerated my breakup with Eloise.”

  Myrtle used a knife to cut up the pound cake loaf. “Oh, they wanted to believe you had a broken heart. I was about to tell them that you were the one who broke up with her. But it made you sound rather unchivalrous.”

  “You were the one who encouraged me to do it!”

  “Yes, but it was a tale that was going to suffer in the retelling. It sounded so much better to just give them what they wanted to hear. . . that poor Miles had been dumped by the ruthless Eloise and had his heart broken in two.”

  Miles closed his eyes. “Oh no.”

  “You know how they don’t get the point of things. Themes, symbolism, anything that requires intuition completely bypasses these women during book club. So they thought the signs on the gnomes meant something specific to Eloise.”

  Miles, who still had his eyes closed, gave a groan like someone who was in deep pain. Perhaps appendicitis-level pain.

  Then he opened his eyes. “About those gnomes. I think the signs can go, Myrtle. I appreciate the point you were trying to make, though. I’m sure Red has already gotten it by now.”

  “Well, it’s completely ridiculous that he would consider you a murderer. The absurdity! He’s completely wasting his time by investigating you when he should be hunting down the actual perpetrator.”

  Miles shifted uncomfortably. “Do you think he is doing that? Investigating me?”

  Myrtle shrugged. “How do I know? He never tells me anything.”

  They spent the next few moments happily eating pound cake and sipping at their coffee.

  “What are you doing today?” asked Miles curiously.