A Body in the Attic Read online

  Dusty grunted. Then he asked curiously, “What’s he done this time?”

  “He’s being pushy, as usual. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about the reasons, just go ahead and do it. There’s extra money for you for doing it.”

  “How much extra?” asked Dusty with interest.

  “Extra. But you can’t get it until next week because I’m short on funds this week.”

  He grunted again. “Guess I’ll let Puddin know there ain’t no reason to clean.”

  “There’s every reason for her to clean. I paid her a couple of weeks ago and she left after five minutes saying her back was thrown and she needed time to recuperate. She owes me a cleaning.” Myrtle’s voice rose in irritation.

  “Okay, okay,” growled Dusty. He paused. “That it?”

  “No, I also need you to spray weeds for me.”

  Dusty sighed. “Before or after I put them gnomes out?”

  “Before, of course. I’ll set the container outside my back door and you can spray to your heart’s content. Be sure to get right up to the property line with Erma. You know how wily her weeds are. They’ll sneak over into my yard with no provocation at all.”

  “Got it,” said Dusty gloomily. “Better go.” He rapidly hung up before Myrtle could assign him more tasks.

  Myrtle hung up and looked at the casserole with her eyes narrowed. It looked somewhat like a sheet cake and this was bothering her for some reason. She opened her pantry and looked over the shelves. Apparently, one of the things on sale at the store had been French-fried onions. She opened the container and put them on top of the casserole and then appraised her work. It did look a lot more like a casserole this way. Satisfied, she covered the dish with tinfoil and put it in the fridge.

  The doorbell rang and Myrtle opened the front door. Miles stood there, nose twitching like a rabbit.

  Chapter Seven

  “You’ve been cooking,” he said in a somewhat accusatory tone.

  “Of course I have. We had a whole discussion on this yesterday, Miles. You were with me when I bought ingredients. This is Orabelle’s casserole. We’re taking it to her now so we have plenty of time to do other things before book club.”

  “How did it turn out?”

  Myrtle said, “Don’t sound so suspicious. It turned out just fine. I tweaked the recipe to make it work with the things I had at home. And I even supplied a garnish for the top.”

  “A garnish?” Worried lines appeared across Miles’s forehead.

  “That’s right. What’s wrong with you? You’d think you’d never heard of a garnish before.”

  “So it’s parsley? Basil? Something like that?” asked Miles.

  Myrtle clapped her hands together which startled Miles. “Goodness! I forgot about Wanda’s basil. I should put a bit of that on there, too.”

  She bustled into the kitchen and then to the back door. Opening the door, she found the pot of basil and carefully removed a leaf. Then she frowned at it. “Maybe I should bring it inside if Dusty is spraying weed killer. I can’t trust him to know the difference between a weed and an herb, even if it is in a pot.”

  Miles watched from the kitchen door with apprehension as Myrtle uncovered the dish and put the basil inside.

  “It smells wonderful,” said Myrtle with satisfaction.

  Miles peered around her at the casserole. “What’s that stuff on top?”

  “French-fried onions. They’re my original garnish.”

  “Do French-fried onions qualify as a garnish?” Miles sounded doubtful.

  “Certainly, they do! Everyone puts them on their Thanksgiving side dishes.”

  “Do they? I believe I’ve only seen them associated with green beans,” said Miles.

  Myrtle sniffed. “Clearly from some uncreative cooks.”

  “What’s in the bags?” asked Miles, looking over at the counter.

  “Elaine’s baking,” said Myrtle absently as she peered up at the wall clock. “I don’t think it’s too early to run this casserole by Orabelle’s house. After all, she’s a mail carrier. We’ll need to catch up with her before she goes on her appointed rounds.”

  Miles made a face. “And we’ll likely wake up her son. It’s still very early, Myrtle.”

  “He has some explaining to do. It almost sounds like a Sherlock Holmes story. ‘The Case of the Mysterious Sunglasses.’”

  Miles looked into the bags of baked goods. “We don’t know they’re his sunglasses.”

  “But I strongly suspect they are.”

  Miles said, “These breads and muffins look very good.” He gave her a hard look. “Why not use these instead? Maybe Orabelle and Tripp would rather have breakfast food right now than . . . that.” He gestured to the casserole and gave a slight shudder.

  “Yes, but I’m bringing most of the food to book club today. And I’d like to save a little bit for lunch. You’d like me to have lunch, wouldn’t you?” Myrtle’s voice was now gaining a tinge of irritation.

  “I could host you at my house. Or I could treat you to Bo’s Diner.”

  Myrtle’s eyes narrowed. “How very generous of you, Miles. One would almost think you were trying to prevent me from distributing my casserole.”

  “I’m only trying to be practical,” he said quickly.

  Myrtle put her hands on her hips and studied the counter. “How about a compromise? I’ll bring my casserole and a side of bread.”

  Miles looked slightly, if not totally, relieved.

  Myrtle ended up persuading Miles to go to Orabelle’s house with her, despite the somewhat early hour. He dragged his feet a bit as they walked up the front walk of the tidy, small home.

  Myrtle decided to forego ringing the bell for a quieter knock, which made Miles breathe a sigh of relief.

  A few minutes later, a groggy man in his early-forties peered through the door.

  “Oh no,” said Miles with a sigh.

  “It was time for him to wake up anyway,” said Myrtle in a no-nonsense tone. “It’s practically midday.”

  Miles looked at his watch, saw it was nowhere near the noon hour, and stifled another sigh.

  “Good morning,” said Myrtle cheerily when Tripp opened the door. “Is your mother in?”

  “Mom? Um, no, Miss Myrtle. No, she’s already at the post office. Can I help you?” Tripp appeared to be waking up now, although his eyes were a little bleary.

  “Goodness. I suppose we were just too late to catch her. Miles and I have brought a casserole for you and your mother to have for lunch or dinner.”

  Tripp looked at the casserole with some misgiving. Apparently, news of Myrtle’s cooking escapades had reached his ears . . . likely from Orabelle.

  “That’s very nice of both of you,” he said politely, carefully removing the offending casserole off Myrtle’s hands.

  Miles quickly inserted, “Actually, the food is from Myrtle. I’m just bringing my sympathy.”

  Tripp seemed to be hiding a smile. “Got it. Well, come on inside for a few minutes. Mom wouldn’t like it if I just left you out on the doorstep.”

  “We’re sorry we’re here so early,” said Miles stiffly as he followed Tripp inside.

  “And very sorry about your uncle,” added Myrtle, giving Tripp a sympathetic look.

  Tripp nodded, looking solemn. “Thank you. Yes, it was a real shock for Mom and me. Really awful.”

  Myrtle and Miles sat down in the modest living room. Orabelle kept everything very tidy, Myrtle noted, and she wasn’t at all surprised. If anyone was organized to the point of being uptight, it was Orabelle. But Tripp didn’t seem to have the same proclivities for neatness. He immediately took off a sweatshirt and threw it on the back of a chair as he flopped on the sofa.

  “So how are things going, Miss Myrtle?” asked Tripp.

  Myrtle said, “Not too badly. Miles is trying to help me improve my chess game. He’ll be sorely missing the games he played with Darren.”

  Tripp raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I didn’t realize you two
played together.”

  Miles asked, “Did you play with him?”

  Tripp chuckled, dimples in both cheeks. “No way. I don’t like losing and that’s all I’d have done if I’d played with my uncle. No, I’m more of a poker guy and Darren didn’t play poker.”

  “Does your mother?” asked Myrtle, looking startled.

  He chuckled again. “No, ma’am. But we play gin rummy together.”

  “How special that must be. Such a comfort you must be to your mother.” There was a slight sharpness in Myrtle’s voice. Tripp was a former student and she didn’t exactly remember him being this angelic. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. He was always charming, but could be duplicitous.

  Miles mused, “Gin rummy. Haven’t played that for a while.”

  “I treasure every minute,” said Tripp.

  Myrtle’s eyes narrowed just a bit. “I’m sure your mother appreciates your being here, especially right now. She was very shaken up yesterday. I hope she was able to sleep last night.”

  Tripp said, “I don’t know if she slept well or not. She wanted to go on to work today because otherwise she said she’d have too much time to think. I was glad I was home yesterday so I could be with her; you’re right, she was pretty shaken up. We had a talk, then had a little cry and then we watched television and drank coffee. Mom was better later on.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Myrtle. She paused, giving Tripp a sweet smile. “When will you be able to get your sunglasses back from the police?”

  He gave her a startled look, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

  Miles stared at Myrtle.

  “Oh, I noticed you’d left your sunglasses there at your uncle’s house. Did you leave them there yesterday, or another day?” Myrtle kept smiling benignly at Tripp.

  “Another day,” muttered Tripp, not bothering to deny they were his glasses. He sighed. “Uncle Darren and I got along great. Things have been tight here, as you can imagine. Mom doesn’t make a lot and I haven’t exactly been contributing to household expenses with the job situation in Bradley being as it is. I popped over to talk to Uncle Darren and ask him for a loan.”

  Myrtle continued her smiling study of Tripp and he added shortly, “And it was a loan I was asking for. I fully expected to be able to pay him back as soon as I got a job.”

  “I suppose the reason you were interested in receiving funds from Darren is because of the windfall from his painting?” asked Myrtle.

  Tripp snorted. “Of course. Can you believe it, Miss Myrtle? That painting wasn’t even pretty. We’re living in a time when an unsightly painting can bring in a ton of money.”

  “And was Darren amenable to lending you money?” asked Myrtle, still very sweetly.

  He was leveling a suspicious look at Myrtle now, remembering she wasn’t exactly this sweet in the classroom.

  “No, actually, he wasn’t. He had some hard words for me and all sorts of corny sayings he tossed my way. Told me idle hands were the devil’s playthings.” Tripp rolled his eyes. “That kind of thing. It was very annoying. And the thing that was the most annoying was that Uncle Darren hadn’t put in an ounce of work to get the money.”

  Miles gave him a reproachful look and said reprovingly, “That’s not entirely true, is it?”

  Tripp leveled a look at Miles that was likely very much the same one he’d reserved for Darren. “Okay, you’re right. He worked to clean out his attic. Then he found a painting . . . let me add a hideous painting, at that. Somehow, he thought the painting might be worth something and he made an appointment with an appraiser to find out. So he sort of worked to get that money. But he didn’t work enough to make the huge amount of money he did. Maybe the work he invested in cleaning the attic might have been worth a couple of hundred dollars of pay.”

  Myrtle looked at him thoughtfully. “So the painting was hideous? I don’t think anyone has admitted that.”

  Tripp rolled his eyes expressively. “It was awful. Nobody would dare say anything because the painting was worth so much and no one knows anything about art. But it’s the kind of piece that punches you in the gut when you see it—in a bad way. This wasn’t exactly a Monet. I wouldn’t want it hanging in my house, that’s for sure. We’re living in a really weird time, is all I can say. A time where an ugly picture can bring in a million dollars.”

  Myrtle said, “Well, I don’t know a lot about art, but it sounds as if someone found it very valuable. Do you think other people felt the way you did about your uncle? That he wasn’t worthy of his windfall?”

  Tripp shook his head. “I didn’t say he wasn’t worthy of it. I mean, he was a decent man. A good guy. I just said he didn’t work for it, that’s all. I didn’t harbor any bad feelings toward him.” He looked down then and Myrtle thought perhaps he had harbored just a few bad feelings when he’d been turned down for money. Tripp lifted his head again and continued. “I don’t know how his friends and stuff felt about him suddenly being wealthy. How did you feel?” He directed his attention to Miles.

  Miles looked startled to suddenly be the center of attention.

  “Yes,” said Myrtle sternly. “How did you feel, Miles?”

  Miles cleared his throat. “I didn’t really think about it one way or another. I believe I told Darren ‘good for you’ and that now he had options. He could do whatever he wanted to—travel, move to a bigger place, get a beach house. But he didn’t seem to want to do anything with it. So we just kept on talking about books and playing chess. Pretty soon I forgot about it altogether.”

  Tripp pointed at him. “And that makes you a true friend. It didn’t faze you at all. But I have the feeling you’re not hurting for cash, either.”

  Miles looked uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t say I hurt for it. I don’t spend very much of it either, though.”

  Tripp shrugged. “Whatever. You don’t need it or seem to want it. So you weren’t jealous.”

  “Are you suggesting that other people were jealous, though?” asked Myrtle.

  “I’m guessing they were. Why wouldn’t they be? He not only got the money, he got all kinds of attention because the newspapers were writing about him,” said Tripp.

  “So you think someone killed him because they were jealous of his success?” Myrtle tilted her head at Tripp.

  “No, I really don’t think that. But who knows? I can tell you one person who wasn’t real happy with my uncle, though.” Tripp’s eyes displayed cunning for a moment and Myrtle narrowed hers. This was more of the Tripp she remembered from school. And she had the feeling he was going to try to divert them from suspecting him or his mother.

  “Who was that?” asked Myrtle.

  “Carter Radnor,” said Tripp.

  Miles frowned. “The insurance agent?”

  Myrtle said, “Not just an insurance agent. Pansy’s good friend.”

  “Exactly,” said Tripp. “And I kind of get the feeling he’d like to be more than Pansy’s good friend.”

  Miles said slowly, “So he obviously wasn’t too thrilled about Pansy’s and Darren’s relationship.”

  “You should have seen the looks he’d shoot my Uncle Darren. I bet now that he’s dead, Carter is going to be lending Pansy his shoulder to cry on.” Tripp smirked.

  Myrtle said, “You’re sure about that? I can’t say I’ve seen Pansy and Carter together in a romantic way.”

  Tripp said, “I promise I know what I’m talking about. Carter spends as much time with Pansy as possible, trying to convince her he would be a better match than Darren. I hang out in town quite a bit and see him following her around like a puppy. Plus, I witnessed Carter having an argument with my uncle. I don’t think it was over chess.”

  Miles said thoughtfully, “I don’t believe Carter plays chess.”

  “Bingo,” said Tripp, pointing at Miles.

  “Definitely a lot of drama going on in Bradley.” Myrtle stood and Miles and Tripp followed her lead.

  “Always,” said Tripp.

  “Please tell your
mother how sorry we are again,” said Myrtle.

  And they made their exit.

  Miles and Myrtle got into Miles’s car. Miles cast a sideways look at Myrtle. “You certainly asked a lot of leading questions back there.”

  Myrtle shrugged and put on her seatbelt. “He was a student of mine. I tend to fall back into old roles sometimes.”

  “What kind of student was he?” asked Miles as he pulled out of the driveway.

  “Fair to middling,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “He was charming, although he had a lazy streak a mile wide. Also, he could be rather duplicitous in the classroom. Always acting up and blaming someone else.”

  “That doesn’t bode well for his possible involvement in Darren’s death.”

  Myrtle said, “Who knows? People can change. It’s just so rare that they do. Here’s the problem Tripp is facing: he needs money. His uncle just made a good deal of money. He asked his uncle for money and was turned down. And his sunglasses were found at Darren’s house. It sure doesn’t look good for him.”

  “And he was eager to deflect attention from himself and toward Carter,” added Miles.

  “Carter still carries a flame for Pansy. Who’d have thought?” Myrtle looked over at Miles. “You didn’t pick up on any of this after all the time you spent with Darren?”

  Miles shook his head. “I told you, I was focusing more on improving my chess game. I was beginning to think Darren might find himself another chess partner if I didn’t start getting any better. It’s no fun to play with someone and win every time.”

  “Isn’t it? I don’t seem to find that’s the case with Scrabble.”

  “Anyway,” said Miles, “I don’t really know much about all the drama surrounding Darren. It sounds as though he might have been getting sucked into some sort of love triangle.” He made a face as if this was a very unsettling and unsavory thing for Darren to have done.

  Chapter Eight

  Miles pulled the car into his driveway and Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “I thought we were heading for my house.”

  “Let’s come to mine and have brunch. It sounds like I might have more appropriate food in my house than you do.”