A Dyeing Shame--Myrtle Clover #3

Chapter Seventeen

A sudden, piercing, wailing alarm blared behind them from the house. Dina swung around to look and Myrtle took the opportunity to raise her cane as far over her head as she could reach and bring it crashing down on Dina.

Dina looked like she was unconscious, but Myrtle had watched too many horror movies to just assume she wasn't going to rise up again and come after her. On the other hand, there actually was real smoke coming out of her kitchen window from the eggs she'd left on the stove. Red had installed those smoke detectors that he'd been so very fixated on. Bless him.

She had never been more relieved to see Miles' bespectacled face. He came rushing through her back gate clutching Elaine's abominable painting and looking back and forth from the figure on the ground to the smoke coming out of the kitchen.

"Call Red and make sure Dina doesn't get up off the ground, Miles. I'm going to put this fire out if it isn't too far gone already!" She turned toward the house, paused for a split second, turned quickly back to Miles, then rushed off again as fast as her old legs, hips, and knees could carry her.

Luckily, the smoke alarm that Red had surreptitiously installed in Myrtle's kitchen was extremely sensitive. And loud. She'd put out the fire with the handy kitchen fire extinguisher he'd so thoughtfully provided for her.

The other exciting moment came when a sergeant with the state police hauled a handcuffed Dina out of Myrtle's backyard. Detective Lieutenant Perkins joined her on the sofa. He opened his mouth, then closed it again and shook his head. "I'm not sure what to say, Mrs. Clover. On the one hand, you helped us apprehend the murderer, but on the other you interfered in police business and very nearly got yourself killed."

Myrtle ignored the last part. "Is this where I explain all my deductions and show you how clever I've been?"

Red walked into the room. He had obviously regained his composure. "Clever nothing, Mama. You meddled in our investigation and stumbled into discovering the murderer's identity. Shoot, you almost became a victim yourself. That would have just added a lot more work for us at the station. I can't believe you put that story in the paper to lure Dina."

Miles cleared his throat, "Actually, Red, Myrtle hadn't planned for the story to run today. It was going to run tomorrow, and I was going to tape Dina trying to attack your mother."

Red stared at Miles as if he'd lost complete use of his mind.

Myrtle drew herself up on the sofa. "Besides, I most certainly didn't stumble into anything. I put two and two together. I made deductions."

"And how exactly," asked Perkins, smoothly interrupting Red, who was starting to fuss again, "did you make these deductions?"

Myrtle beamed. "Well, the motive really came to me when I was watching Tomorrow's Promise." Perkins suppressed a groan. Red didn't bother suppressing his.

After Myrtle finished retelling her story, Red and Perkins looked thoughtfully at each other.

"I'm guessing that Dina used Agnes Walker's gardening gloves to keep from leaving prints on the shovel. We'll take a look through Dina's things and see if we can find the gloves there," said Perkins. "Although it's fairly incidental, considering that she confessed to us while we were still giving her the Miranda Rights."

Red's expression was baffled. "I never would have pegged Dina Peters for a killer. She's always been a little odd, but such an anxious, timid thing. And now her independence is gone for good. She sure went about that the wrong way." Myrtle was unable to get rid of the smug smile stretching across her face. "Your deductions may have been right on the nose, Mama, but you've done some pretty stupid stuff. Being nosy, questioning suspects in a murder investigation. Putting a story in the Bradley Bugle. I hope you realize how close you came to meeting your Maker."

Myrtle said calmly, "I think Dina ought to realize how close she came to meeting hers. After all, she's the one who ended up unconscious on the ground."

"But it was my smoke detector that created enough of a distraction for you to be able to crack her over the head with your cane."

"But it was my scrambled eggs that caused the smoke detector to go off to begin with."

Red rolled his eyes. "Like that was part of a master plan! For you, burning something is just called 'mealtime.' It's an everyday occurrence."

Myrtle gave him a stony look. "You know," she said, "I haven't put my gnomes out for a while. They get kind of cramped in that shed, you know. I think it might be time for a good airing out."

"All I'm doing, Mama, is questioning your judgment. And I think that's a reasonable thing to be assessing right now. It seems to me like you're making a lot of errors in judgment."

"And it seems to me like my gnomes need to revisit my front yard." Myrtle stood up from the sofa.

Perkins and Miles both started speaking at once, probably worried that the gnomes' appearance was going to coincide with their current visit and that they may somehow become enlisted. This sudden surge of conversation was interrupted as the front door burst open, and Elaine rushed in with Jack in tow.

"Myrtle!" she said, running over to give her a tight hug. "I can't believe it! Dina? I never would have picked Dina for a killer. And you brought her down on your own?"

"And nearly brought the house down with her," said Red morosely. At Elaine's confused look, Red said, "Mama set her house on fire by leaving a skillet of eggs on the stove."

Elaine covered her mouth with her hands. "Did you have a lot of damage?"

Myrtle sat back down on the sofa and folded her hands together. "I was able to put the fire out before it destroyed anything. Anything, except—," Myrtle spread her hands out wordlessly, looking sadly at Elaine. "Oh, Elaine. Tragically, your painting was destroyed by the spray of the extinguisher foam." Unfortunately, it really hadn't been because the kitchen extinguisher was full of a dry material like baking soda. Myrtle had had to run it under the kitchen sink a bit for good measure.

"It was—in the kitchen?" Elaine looked a little startled by this revelation. Miles made an oddly strangled sound, which he quickly covered up by emphatically blowing his nose in a handkerchief.

"Only so I could enjoy it while I cooked," explained Myrtle smoothly. "After all, cooking is such a chore for me that I need something to distract me."

Elaine sat down next to Myrtle and gave her another hug. "Don't worry a bit about it. The important thing is that you're okay! A murderous manicurist didn't kill you in your yard, and your house didn't burn down."

Red's face was the picture of careful concern. "Still, sweetie, maybe you could paint another picture for Mama. I know she and Miles enjoyed it so much." He gave his mother a sweet smile.

Myrtle gritted her teeth into a grin.

Elaine paused a second, then said, "I hate to say it, but I don't think I want to. I'm considering taking a cooking class, instead. Painting is all right, but it's not really as fun as I thought it was going to be. I think I'm done with the art world for a while."

Myrtle smiled understandingly.

Once Elaine and Jack left for home, Red looked at her admiringly. "All right, Mama. I'm sorry I questioned your judgment. You're obviously in full possession of your faculties if you were able to rid this world of that painting. Somehow managing to destroy it in the middle of all that chaos shows great presence of mind."

Myrtle raised an eyebrow. "So you're not impressed by my deductions, firefighting, or cane-wielding skills, but destroying art wins your approval?"

"If you want to put it that way." They sat thoughtfully for a moment.

Myrtle jumped a little as the doorbell rang. It was Puddin, who had clearly come over purely because of the police cars parked outside. "I just thought you might need some cleaning," she said with gleaming, green eyes.

"Actually, Puddin, you had perfect timing today," said Myrtle as she led the way into the kitchen. She heard Red chuckling behind her.

                                                                                 ***