A Body in the Attic Read online

  “I have all those baked goods,” protested Myrtle.

  “For book club,” reminded Miles.

  “I’ve already had some breakfast this morning. With Elaine.”

  Miles said, “Maybe you can just have a little. That was a while back.”

  So they went into Miles’s house and soon he’d made them eggs and bacon and some strong coffee since it would be a long day and they’d gotten an early start. Myrtle made a copy of the puzzle and comics page in the paper on Miles’s printer and they worked the crossword puzzle at the same time.

  Myrtle finished first and, pleased by her success, persuaded Miles to return to the chessboard where their game was still in progress. After she took Miles’s rook, however, he glowered at her.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Myrtle in an innocent tone.

  “You appear to be far better at this game than you’d indicated.”

  Myrtle shrugged. “If you say so. I haven’t played in years. My dear departed husband and I used to play.”

  Miles’s voice was accusatory. “You acted as if you didn’t even know the name of the chess pieces!”

  “Is it necessary to know the names of the pieces to win the game?”

  Miles acknowledged this wasn’t true and fumed for a few minutes until he realized he could take Myrtle’s pawn.

  She gave him a considering look. She’d set up the pawn as a trap and Miles had fallen right into it. “Perhaps we should give chess a break for a little while.”

  Miles glared at the board. “Maybe just for today. Apparently, my mind isn’t quite with-it today.”

  Myrtle looked at her watch. “Heavens. Miles, we should head over to book club.”

  Miles didn’t appear particularly enthusiastic about this suggestion. “It’s pretty early.”

  “Yes, but I’m the person who suggested the library. I should make sure the community room is all set up with chairs out and tables for the food. And I’d like to put some props in the room, as well.”

  “Props?” Miles wrinkled his brow.

  “Yes. Remember the underlying reason why I wanted to have the meeting at the library to begin with.”

  Miles said, “Because you wanted them to remember what book club is all about.”

  “Precisely. It’s about books. It’s not about alcohol. It’s not about food. It’s not about finding out what fabulous outfit Tippy is wearing and asking her where she got it. It’s definitely not about catching up with local gossip.”

  Miles raised an eyebrow. “I thought one of the reasons we were going today was to catch up with local gossip . . . Pansy’s, in particular.”

  “Well, okay, but that’s because we’re working to keep Bradley safe from a dangerous killer who is on the loose. We’re doing it for philanthropic reasons. But besides that, we’re trying to remind people that books are the basis of our club. Reading literature. Finishing the book.”

  Miles sighed. “Which I didn’t. I didn’t even know what the selection was.”

  “Of course you didn’t. That’s because the club has strayed from its original purpose to celebrate literature.” Myrtle turned a critical eye to Miles’s bookshelves. “I was going to do this at the library, but now I think it might be easier to simply raid your shelves.”

  Miles looked alarmed at this pronouncement. “Raid my shelves?”

  Myrtle stood and swept over to the wall, studying the volumes of books. “Yes. Well, there’s far too much Faulkner here, but we can take a representative tome. Perhaps Absalom, Absalom.” She plucked it from the shelf.

  Myrtle frowned as she peered at his shelves. “You’re rather fond of Thomas Hardy, too. Surprising.”

  Miles sounded defensive. “What’s surprising about it?”

  Myrtle ignored the question. “We’ll skip Jude, the Obscure and bring Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”

  Her arms now full of rather heavy books, she thrust them at Miles.

  “I’ll find some tote bags,” he said, a bit coldly.

  Myrtle continued selectively pulling out books. She handed over Anna Karenina, Wuthering Heights, Great Expectations, Animal Farm, Slaughterhouse Five, and The Picture of Dorian Gray.

  Miles shifted on his feet, looking sadly into the tote bags. “I want these books back in good condition, Myrtle.”

  She stared at him. “What on earth could possibly happen to them? We’re at book club, not a bacchanalian festival.”

  Miles looked unhappily at her. “I remember a couple of times when book club descended into the realm of bacchanalia.”

  “Well, it’s not going to happen today. There will be no alcohol at a library event, so that will nip all the bad players in the bud. We’re going to discuss books. And murder.” Myrtle saw her reflection in a mirror on Mile’s wall. “Mercy! Miles, you didn’t tell me my hair was standing up on end like Einstein’s.”

  Miles tilted his head to one side. “I don’t think I really noticed it.”

  “Okay, well, it clearly needs attention. I need to go home for a few minutes anyway to get the food I’m bringing. Since we’re carrying so much stuff, we should drive to the library instead of walking there.”

  “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes,” said Miles, looking gloomily down at the bags of his books.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were at the library. The front desk unlocked the community room for Myrtle and she strode in. “Let’s see. I think we should change the configuration of the tables a little so everyone isn’t at the front of the room. Let’s have the food table to the left and the drinks table to the right.”

  Miles looked alarmed. “I thought you said there weren’t going to be any drinks.”

  “Non-alcoholic beverages. Tippy is responsible for bringing them this month, I believe. The chairs are all good. Now, let’s scatter the books around. They’re the most important part of the meeting, after all. I happened to bring some plate stands from home to put the books on.” Myrtle dug in her huge purse and pulled out the wooden plate stands.

  Myrtle and Miles set the books up on plate stands on the two tables. Then Myrtle took Elaine’s baking out and put it on one of the tables.

  Tippy, president of the book club, bustled in with bags of her own. As usual, she was wearing an elegant outfit . . . this time in black and white. Her face was perfectly made-up and she was very organized. The only annoying thing about Tippy in regard to the book club was that she picked ridiculous books when it was her turn to select one.

  She smiled at them both. “You’re here early. Thanks for setting this up, Myrtle. The library is a great idea.”

  Myrtle said, “Oh, I thought it was time to go back to our roots, you know. Books.” She threw a scornful look at Tippy’s selection for the month.

  Tippy seemed oblivious to Myrtle’s antipathy for the novel. She lowered her brows and studied the room’s set-up. “Okay, so it looks like we’re putting beverages on this table, here.”

  Miles watched unhappily as 2-liter bottles of Coca-Cola, cups, and an ice bucket were placed perilously close to his precious tomes.

  Myrtle asked in a carefully careless way, “Is Pansy making it today? I know yesterday was a bad day for her.”

  Tippy said, “A really miserable day. I felt so terrible for her. She said that just hanging around her house was making her crazy, though—she kept thinking about Darren. I persuaded her to come to book club and be distracted for a little while.”

  Myrtle nodded. She had no doubt that Tippy was able to accomplish this. Tippy, for one, was used to getting her way.

  A few other book club members came in, one of them Georgia Simpson. She was a tattooed former student of Myrtle’s with big hair. She collected ceramic and glass angels, and was an object of fascination for Miles, who had met someone quite like her when he served in Vietnam.

  Georgia came straight over to Myrtle. “Got something for ya.”

  “Do you?” asked Myrtle with interest. She was accustomed to Georgia’s “finds” from various flea markets and garage s
ales. However, it could be anything. Georgia’s finds were usually only treasures in her own mind. Once she’d found a coffin and transformed it into a coffee table. Myrtle certainly hoped it wasn’t another case of creative repurposing that Georgia had in mind.

  “Sure do. It’s in the back of my truck. Want to come see it?”

  Myrtle decidedly did not want to see it, but she didn’t have a wonderful excuse not to. The room was definitely set up and book club hadn’t started yet. Pansy was nowhere to be seen. So she stifled a sigh and tried to garner some enthusiasm as she followed Georgia outside. Miles gave her a curious look, but he was caught up in conversation with a gaggle of book club women (and keeping an eye on his books).

  “Here we go!” said Georgia, looking proudly at a tremendous gnome taking up most of the bed of her pickup truck.

  Myrtle gaped at it. “It’s huge!”

  Someone, apparently, didn’t ultimately grasp the concept of a gnome. The fact that it was small. Sort of like Santa. Santa was supposed to be an elf. Somehow, Santa had morphed into a really large full-sized man over the years.

  The gnome grinned sassily at her. It had his hands on his hips, wore overalls, and had a pipe in his mouth. Its color had faded through the years and it had a rather greenish tint. It looked more like the Jolly Green Giant than a gnome.

  “Ain’t it a beaut?” asked Georgia. “Saw it and thought of you immediately. The former owners couldn’t keep it anymore, so they gave it to me for free when they heard about your collection. They just wanted it to have a good home.”

  As if it were a gerbil or an unexpected puppy or kitten in the house. But still . . .

  “I love it,” said Myrtle firmly.

  A grin spread across Georgia’s features and she gave a knowing nod. “Figured you would.”

  “I actually have a . . . situation . . . going on right now that this gnome would be perfect for.”

  “Red givin’ you trouble?” asked Georgia sharply. Her tone didn’t bode well for Red if she were to see him.

  “In a manner of speaking,” said Myrtle. “You know how he likes to be pushy. Anyway, I think this gnome, positioned perfectly in the yard, will make my point.” The gnome, grinning around the pipe, seemed to agree with her.

  Georgia nodded again. “You’re going to need some help with this guy, though. I had to really wrestle him to get him in the truck.”

  “My Dusty is allegedly setting out my gnomes right now and should be able to take care of this once we get him to my house.”

  Georgia looked at her watch. “We don’t want to miss him, then. Maybe I should just scoot over there real quick, have Dusty help dump him out of the truck, and run back over here.”

  “Perhaps that would be best. And thank you, Georgia.” Myrtle hurried back into book club as Georgia fired up her truck and sped off.

  Pansy had shown up during Myrtle’s interlude with Georgia and was currently the center of a very sympathetic crowd of women.

  Miles came over. “What did Georgia want?” he asked curiously.

  “Oh, she had a gnome for me. She’s heading back to my house to hand it over to Dusty.” She glanced at the gaggle of ladies around Pansy. “Help me clear those women out so I can speak with Pansy before book club starts.”

  Miles frowned. “Clear them out? What on earth do you want me to do?”

  Myrtle sighed. “Don’t act as if you don’t know your magical powers with my book club. Stand near them and start talking to one of them. The rest will automatically flock over.”

  Miles nervously eyed the group of older women. “Which one should I start with? And what should I talk about?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Miles, just pick one! It doesn’t even matter what you say. She’ll be charmed, delighted and simpering, the same as always.”

  Miles, looking more like a man facing a bloody battle and certain death than one approaching a woman of advanced years, bravely strode toward the group before he could think it over more. On the way, he grabbed a cup of punch (Tippy had apparently efficiently mixed up a batch while Myrtle had been outside) and squared his shoulders as he approached them. He thrust the cup at a punch-less book club attendee in the group who gave him a delighted smile and turned toward him. Like lemmings, the rest of the huddle shifted their attention to Miles.

  Myrtle walked over and removed Pansy from the group with surgical precision. She gave her a sweet smile, the type she reserved for just such occasions.

  “Pansy, dear. How are you holding up? I wanted to let you know how very, very sorry I was to hear about poor Darren.”

  Pansy nodded. Her eyes were still rather bloodshot, but she seemed to be otherwise in good shape, to Myrtle’s relief. Myrtle was never a fan of crying and was very glad she wasn’t going to have to proffer Pansy a tissue. “I’m doing all right, Myrtle. I hear you and Miles found Darren there. That must have been awful.”

  “Well, he was in the attic as you know, dear. I’m afraid I didn’t trust myself on those attic stairs with my cane and whatnot. But Miles, yes, he was quite distraught. He’s much better today, though.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” said Pansy a bit dryly as she observed the women flirting with Miles and Miles’s blushing face.

  “I was going to make you a casserole,” said Myrtle.

  Pansy looked alarmed. “That’s not necessary, Myrtle.”

  Chapter Nine

  Myrtle smiled reassuringly at her. “You don’t have to look so worried, Pansy. It’s no imposition at all. I’ve already made one for Orabelle and Tripp.”

  “Really, Myrtle, it’s fine. I’ve gotten so much food already that I may never eat it all.”

  Myrtle said, “Have you? As I was going to say, I’ve found myself in a situation where funds are rather tight until the end of the week and the casserole would have to wait a bit. But if you’re sure you’re covered?”

  “Absolutely sure,” said Pansy firmly.

  Myrtle nodded and then said, “I’m thrilled you managed to make it to book club. It must be good to have something as a distraction right now.”

  “You’re right. It’s been a terrible last 24-hours. Tippy told me not to bring anything to book club, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to do something to stay busy, so I made some cookies to bring.” She reached over to the nearby table and plucked a cookie off the plate. “Here, try one.”

  Myrtle obediently took a bite and then struggled not to make a face. Something had gone terribly wrong with that cookie. Had she left out sugar? Had she substituted some other white powdery kitchen ingredient by accident? The cookie was vile.

  Pansy didn’t seem to notice that Myrtle wasn’t taking any further bites from the offending cookie. She continued, “I just feel so terrible that there I was, getting ready for my day, and Darren was fighting for his life.” She shuddered and struggled to regain control of her emotions.

  Myrtle decided to move on to a slightly different topic in the hopes of keeping Pansy’s tears at bay. “Miles mentioned that Carter has been a good friend to you through all this,” she fibbed, throwing Miles under the proverbial bus. Miles narrowed his eyes at her from across the room as if he somehow knew what she was saying.

  Pansy blinked at her in surprise. “Carter? Well, he hasn’t been in touch with me for a couple of days. Poor Carter. He’s always been such a kind friend. And he’s been so lonely since his wife passed away.”

  Myrtle said, “So you two have always just been friends, then.”

  Pansy said sadly, “I just never thought of Carter that way. Not in a romantic way.”

  “He wanted you to, though?”

  Pansy nodded and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Poor Carter was terribly upset with Darren. He thought he’d be a much better boyfriend than Darren was.” She hesitated and colored a little. “He had an awful argument with Darren just recently. He was quite violent and unlike himself. You know he’s usually so sweet.”

  Myrtle, in fact, did not know this. Carter Radnor always seemed
rather intense to her. He’d always struck her as a workaholic. She was surprised to discover that he had another side to him.

  “What did they argue over?” asked Myrtle.

  Pansy batted her lashes modestly. “Over me. Can you believe it, Myrtle? But it wasn’t the romantic thing it’s always portrayed as in books. Not a bit like two knights fighting over a fair maiden. It was just awful. Those were two people I cared about and they were both shouting at each other.”

  “Goodness, that must have been very upsetting.” Although Myrtle couldn’t quite manage to sound convincing on that point. “And it must have been upsetting, as well, that Carter wasn’t really listening to you when you told him you preferred to stay with Darren. Which you did, I presume.”

  Pansy quickly said, “Oh, yes. Many times. And anyone could see that Darren and I had a special relationship. I always thought he and I would end up at the altar together. We got along so well and had so much in common.”

  “Chess?” asked Myrtle dubiously.

  Pansy gave a light laugh. “Maybe not chess.”

  Myrtle smiled at her. “Well, it certainly sounds like a lovely relationship. That’s so unusual, isn’t it? Too often couples have spats and things, don’t they?” Like Orabelle mentioned that Pansy and Darren had had.

  Pansy kept her unwavering and brave smile. “Yes. What a pity about that. People need to remember the love that was the basis for their partnership to begin with.”

  Myrtle said, “So you were very supportive of him when he discovered the painting in his attic, then, I’m guessing. Happy for him. It was quite an amazing find, I understand.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, I was very happy for him. I mean, the painting wasn’t pretty at all and I didn’t think it could possibly be worth anything when Darren first showed it to me. But I was happy to admit I was wrong after he got it appraised. And then the attention from the magazine was so good for him and he was so proud! I was even quoted in one of the periodicals,” she said, flushing a little with pleasure at the memory.

  “Isn’t that so very wonderful?” said Myrtle.