Progressive Dinner Deadly: Myrtle #2

Chapter Seven

Libba smiled appreciatively at everyone and looked as if she were itching to bring out food and beverages. She looked painfully aware that this was not the way she'd been brought up to do funerals in the South. In small towns like Bradley, it was still customary to have the visitation at the family home, not the funeral home. There should be a frantic day of cleaning to get the house company-ready, a dining room table groaning with Chicken Divan casseroles, and an army of church ladies bossing each other around. 

"I'm so sorry," murmured Myrtle to Simon and Libba. "I really did like Jill."  

They thanked her and Myrtle signed the guest book and walked out to the Gates of Heaven's front lobby. She was horrified to hear Erma Sherman's voice, at its usual high volume, "I'll never forget the sight of her, dead as a doornail on the kitchen floor. Such a shame about that barbeque, too. At least it wasn't a total waste, since we all helped ourselves to it. And soon we won't have to be barricading ourselves in our houses, either. Myrtle knows who did it! She said she's just collecting some evidence and then she'll get Red to lock him up." 

Myrtle froze in horror as Red picked that very moment to walk out of the Caulfield's visitation room. His expression was stormy. Beside him was Willow, looking frozen. 

"She just needs a little more evidence, you know. Can't turn somebody in without any evidence. But the murderer is sure to screw something up. The killer wasn't smart killing Jill like that, anyway. Blood everywhere! And supper club on its way over." 

Finally someone in Erma's group caught a glimpse of Willow's usually-pale face now blotched with red at the mention of Jill's blood. "Shhh!" she said to Erma, who clapped a hand over her mouth. But Erma was determined to make the best use of the spotlight. "I was thinking it could be Georgia. You know? Because Georgia hated her guts. And she could have easily walked over to Jill's house from Miles's."  

Willow spun around and scurried back into the visitation room. Elaine winced at the scene and looked questioningly at Myrtle. Myrtle just shrugged. She wasn't going to admit to anything. Not while Erma was being so unexpectedly interesting.  

"Erma! For heaven's sake," said Tippy. "Georgia's just standing right over there!" 

And she was. Glowering. "And I'm thinking I could save time by taking you out right here in a funeral home. Since there are caskets here and everything."  

Miles looked intrigued.  

Erma had the grace to blush an unbecoming shade. "Did I say your name? I meant that Sherry probably did it. She hated living next to Jill. Bad blood there, you know." 

Myrtle was, by now, thoroughly enjoying herself. Erma was really very self-destructive today, which was unlike her. Sherry was standing right behind her...until she moved around to shoot Erma a look that would freeze hell itself and stalked off. 

Erma didn't look nearly as discomfited by the experience as an ordinary person would, but she wasn't as chatty as she usually was, either. After Erma started behaving herself, the visitation got a lot duller.  

Tippy moved closer to Myrtle and murmured, "How do you stand living next door to her?" 

"I'm a saint." 

Tippy looked doubtfully at Myrtle and changed the subject. "I offered to pick up Willow and take her to the United Methodist Women luncheon tomorrow. The covered dish one? I thought it would be a good idea for her to get out of the house a little, since she's looking sort of puny. You mentioned at the supper club that you were interested in doing more with the UMW." 

Tippy said this as a statement of fact. Myrtle winced. She must have said that during a lull in the conversation. She hated awkward little lulls. Tippy, as president of the United Methodist Women, would naturally be happy to capitalize on Myrtle's moment of weakness.