Murder on Opening Night: Myrtle Clover #9

Chapter Twelve

Back at home, Myrtle dialed Elaine's number. "Have you heard at all from the theater? Mr. Toucan?"

Elaine, who had a children's TV show playing in the background, laughed and said, "No one calls this early in the morning, Myrtle. Only you. Anyone calling at odd hours calls Red's work phone."

Myrtle felt rather abashed. "Well, I don't call everyone at this hour. Only Miles, who never sleeps, and you, after I've made sure your lights were still on and that you hadn't fallen back asleep."

"It's okay, I was already up, as you knew. No hope in going back to bed with Jack around. What's going on?"

"I was thinking," said Myrtle in a very altruistic tone, "that surely the theater would be holding some sort of gathering to hash out what's happened. You know, to discuss the tragedies with the cast and the volunteers and other staff. Since you've been so closely involved with the theater, I thought I could watch Jack for you while you attended."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then Elaine said, "So that I can report back in?"

"Only if you want to. Of course, it would be most definitely appreciated if you do," said Myrtle.

"I haven't heard from anyone yet. From the theater, I mean. Of course, it's still really early."

"Not even an email? Because it seems to me that this is the sort of thing that's going to make big news," said Myrtle.

"Oh, email, right. I haven't even had a chance to check it yet today." There was a pause again and Elaine said, "You know, I do already have a message about Roscoe's death. And they say that anyone who is available this morning is welcome to come and talk about the tragedy at ten-thirty. They're big on talking about feelings there, so I suppose they're trying to help us process it."

"Want to bring Jack by at ten, then? With a few toys, maybe. I feel like he's getting tired of playing with the same toys at my house all the time," said Myrtle.

It was all set. And Myrtle looked at the clock to see it was not even six a.m.

Myrtle decided once again that it was most inconvenient that people got up so late in the day. There were so many different errands she could run if everyone woke as early as she did. She needed to go to the post office, for one. For another, she really couldn't go on eating the bizarre odds and ends that she'd picked up on sale at the grocery store with Red. Miles would need to be conscripted into service as her chauffeur. But the store wasn't open yet, either. No one in Bradley had apparently heard of Ben Franklin and his excellent "early to bed, early to rise" notions. It certainly was a pity.

An insistent blast of the doorbell followed by a brisk, demanding knock made Myrtle jump. Being jumpy made her irritable. "Coming!" she snapped. She supposed she must have left something at Miles's house and he'd run by to return it. It wasn't like him to scare her to death with the bell and knocking, though.