Pretty is as Pretty Dies: Myrtle Clover #1

Chapter Eleven

His mother had really done it this time. She had taken leave of her senses, getting involved in his murder investigation. You'd think she had nothing else to do with her time. That she couldn't find any legitimate hobbies in the town of Bradley. Perkins was going start thinking that Myrtle Clover was Parke's killer-with boredom as her motive.

Red couldn't figure out why she was so stubborn over this. She was just bound and determined that she was going to crack the case and get some sort of glory or an award or something. Now she'd managed to put herself in mortal danger. And Red was going to have to spend a perfectly good lunch break cutting back her shrubbery to make it villain-proof. He heaved a sigh.

Detective Lieutenant Perkins walked out of Red's office and joined Red in the station lobby. "How's she doing?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Red rolled his eyes. "She's doing just fine and wild to get her bloodhound nose back on the trail. Probably ready to go back out to the lake and look for clues about her attacker. Maybe she'll go back in the middle of the night to recreate the scene."

Red sighed. He took a big gulp from his coffee mug and thought back to his "to do" list. "And I'll take the opportunity to cut back her bushes while she's out of the house. Apparently they're big enough to house all kinds of predators. She's real particular about those shrubs-you'd think they were her children. She never wants more than just a little bit taken off the top, then I end up going back out there to cut more off after a good rain. They need a good pruning this time." He made a hacking motion with his hands that boded ill for Myrtle's shrubbery. "She's going over to see Elaine and the baby this afternoon, so that'll be my chance."

"Doesn't she have a yard man to help her with her yard?"

Red gave a short laugh. "I don't think Dusty does enough work to classify him as a bona fide yard man. The grass is either too wet, too dry, too full of pollen to cut or else the weather is too windy or too hot. And he doesn't do bushes anymore, so I'm the lucky guy with that job. I do everything that Dusty isn't up to doing. Mama hates those yard warriors, so she chose Dusty."

"Yard warriors?"

"Oh, you know them. They're the ones who wake you up on Saturday morning with blowers strapped to their backs and a weed whacker in their hand. Mama says the noise makes her teeth jangle. Dusty's mower is from the 1970s and goes 'putt-putt.' He can't afford the loud yard equipment and he's too puny to pull the start cords, anyway."

"Sounds like a real gem."

"You should meet his wife, Puddin. She does-or doesn't do-Mama's housekeeping."

Perkins watched Red fume for a minute and had the feeling Myrtle's bushes were going to pay the price. He said, "You know, Red, maybe this will be the end of the line for her with the case. It must have scared her to death to have been thrown into the lake like that. She could have broken a bone with the impact, or even drowned. Surely that's got to give her second thoughts about continuing on with the case."

"It would give a normal octogenarian woman second thoughts. No, strike that. A normal octogenarian woman wouldn't be involved with a murder case." Red sighed. "Maybe you're right. This could be it. I'm hoping there's a romantic interest in her life now. Her rescuer was a new neighbor who lives a couple of doors down from her."

"Sounds promising."

"We'll see," said Red glumly. "Even if they're just friends, maybe it'll be enough to distract her from snooping."

Myrtle was distracted from snooping, but only because her turn at Altar Guild was up again. This trip to the church had not proven nearly as eventful and was spent actually arranging flowers with Kitty Kirk, who was back to creating simple arrangements, during a conversation about updating the sound system in the church. She really was going to have to tell Nathaniel that the Altar Guild wasn't really her thing. Otherwise she'd be sticking flowers in vases until she was dead and buried.