A Dyeing Shame--Myrtle Clover #3

Chapter Sixteen

"Miles, we need to set a trap."

Miles' voice sounded rather sleepy. "Have you collected more feral cats, Myrtle? Isn't one ferocious feline enough for you?"

"No, no, I mean a trap for the murderer. I don't want to plot this over the phone—can't you come by? You're not sleeping, are you?"

Now Miles' voice had an edge of irritation to it. "Actually, I was putting my feet up for a little while, yes. I didn't sleep so well last night."

"Miles, I haven't slept for the past five years and I'm doing all right. Plus I'm a good ten or fifteen years older than you. Can't you just come over?"

Challenges were clearly key to get Miles motivated. He was walking through Myrtle's front door mere minutes later. He wasn't in a good humor, but he was there. "You mentioned a trap?" he asked stiffly.

Myrtle was busily pouring Miles a small glass of red wine. "Here."

Miles frowned at the glass as he slowly took it from Myrtle. "Wine? At three-thirty in the afternoon?"

"Well, it's five o'clock somewhere, Miles. Since we're conspiring, I figured a little alcohol would fit in well. It should probably be liquor and we should be smoking cigars, but a little red wine will fit."

Miles blinked at her. Sometimes he really did seem sort of slow. How on earth did he survive all those years as a pharmacist or whatever it was he did?

"So," said Myrtle, settling into her sofa with her own glass of wine, "The problem is that there's no evidence against Dina. So I think the only good solution is to have Dina try to attack me. Then you can catch her in the act, we can get Red over, and everything will unravel for her."

Miles' jaw dropped open, then closed and opened a few more times as if it were on a broken hinge. "Dina? What are you talking about, Myrtle? Dina hasn't killed anybody."

"On the contrary, she's killed two people. And I'm of the opinion that she's especially dangerous. No, we need to make sure that she's taken totally out of commission."

Miles still gaped. "What makes you think that Dina killed Tammy and Agnes?"

Myrtle smiled. It made her feel complacent to know something that no one else knew. "There were a couple of different things, really. But the main thing was those darned suitcases. The ones in the middle of Agnes' hall."

Miles nodded, but his eyes were completely blank.

Myrtle sighed. "You're not following? Well, Agnes was done traveling. She was completely adamant about it, actually. Her traveling days were over and done with. Why on earth would she have suitcases out? And empty ones, in the middle of her hall? For a minute I foolishly thought that maybe she was about to make a run for it—that Agnes was Tammy's killer. But then I thought about little Miss Dina. She'd come by gathering donations for the women's shelter—her new, favorite project. I think suitcases would make an eminently suitable donation for a women's shelter. Something sturdy for the women to put their things in while they're in transition. I'm sure Agnes would have felt the same way."

"I hate to point this out, Myrtle, but that doesn't mean that Dina killed Agnes. Why would she have done it, to begin with? And even if Agnes did set the suitcases out for Dina, it just means that Dina hadn't made it by to collect them before Agnes died."

"There's also the fact that Madam Zora saw suitcases in her crystal ball."

Miles stared at her, unblinkingly.

"Oh ye of little faith!" Really, Miles should be more trusting of her instincts by now. "Agnes clearly saw something. Now, she's been really focused on whether Connor was somehow involved, but obviously there must have been something else that she saw that suddenly made her think. I believe that Dina came over that morning to get the suitcases before clients started coming by the Beauty Box. Agnes must have asked her a very pointed question, and Dina freaked out and killed Agnes right there in her own backyard. She'd have forgotten about the donation by then."