A Body in the Backyard: #4

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight 

"For heaven's sake! I haven't been here for months, Crazy Dan. You act like I'm down here every week panhandling or something." Myrtle frowned at the scraggly man who indeed was not wearing a shirt. "Is Wanda in today?" 

The man tilted his head to the side. "Whassat?" 

"I said is Wanda in," said Myrtle loudly. Noting the look of confusion still on the man's face, she said again, "Wand-er. Your sister." 

"Need a for-toon read?" Now Crazy Dan looked cunning.  

Myrtle knew she hadn't brought any money with her. She turned to give Miles an inquiring stare. 

Miles sighed. "I suppose so." 

Crazy Dan nodded and took to gazing at Miles's carefully pressed golf shirt, khaki pants, and nice shoes. "Wander!" he hollered. With the shack as tiny as it was, it was hard to imagine that a raised voice was even necessary. 

He disappeared into the dark depths of the shack and Wanda appeared. She looked exactly as Red had described and Myrtle gave a satisfied nod. Nicotine stains, bedraggled hair. Leathery, sun-ripened skin. Really just a female version of Crazy Dan. Fortunately, she was wearing a shirt and even wore a pair of disreputable-looking bedroom slippers. She didn't seem surprised to see them at all. 

"Wondered when you'd come," she said in a dissolute voice, turning to walk into the shack. Myrtle supposed they were intended to follow her, so she carefully entered into the darkness. Going from the broad, unrelenting daylight to the dimness of the cluttered house might be a recipe for disaster. Myrtle poked in front of her with her cane to make sure she wasn't going to trip over piles of laundry or psychic accoutrements or perhaps spare hubcaps. 

Fastidious Miles didn't look as if he particularly wanted to sit down on Madam Zora's sofa. He appeared concerned about the cleanliness of the conditions. "I've been driving for a while so I might just stand and stretch my legs for a bit." 

Myrtle wondered if Wanda saw straight through that statement. Wanda studied Miles through narrowed eyes. She let it pass without a challenge and said, "Come to get your for-toon read?" 

Myrtle said warily, "I told Dan I would, but I'm not too sure about that, Wanda. That never ends up going well." 

"Why not?" asked Miles, eyes still glancing into the corners of the room as if watching for rodents to leap out at him. 

"Because she always sees horrible things. Horrible. She's never looked at my palm and said, 'You'll win a million dollars in the sweepstakes and be happy for the rest of your life.' It's always something completely ghastly that she says." 

"Not fair," said Wanda. "I just read what's there. Give me a chance and mebbe there won't be bad stuff now." 

Myrtle sighed and held out her hand. Wanda took it, looked into her palm and muttered, "Death." She dropped Myrtle's hand as if it burned her, then lit up a cigarette. 

"See!" demanded Myrtle furiously.  

Miles said dubiously, "But that's not really even a stretch of your imagination is it, Wanda? Considering the customer, I mean." Myrtle shot him an angry look and he blushed. "I mean, well, considering her age...um...well...her advancing years...." 

Myrtle gave him a repressive glare. "How gallant of you, Miles. Eighty is the new seventy, you know." 

"But you're not eighty. You're nearly ninety," said Miles, confused, before blushing even more furiously than before. 

Wanda said scornfully, "Didn't predict it because she's old. There's other death 'round her-not natural, either. And danger. I always warn her. Never listens."