Progressive Dinner Deadly: Myrtle #2

Chapter Seven

"So I hope we'll see you there tomorrow. It's a great little lunch and then we'll discuss business. We're really looking for members to join our Bereavement Visitation Casserole committee." 

Myrtle nodded glumly. She'd expected as much.  

Miles walked with Myrtle back to her house. 

"Did I tell you," asked Myrtle, "how much I'm enjoying The Master and Margarita? I've been completely bowled over by it. 

"Really." Miles folded his arms over his chest as he walked. "What was your favorite part of Bulgakov's book?" 

"Oh, it's so hard to choose a favorite part with a book like that. With classic literature like The Master and Margarita, every bit plays like a finely tuned instrument." 

"Did you like the part where Anthony renounced his family and embraced a nomadic existence, living solely on the kindness of strangers?" asked Miles. 

"Now that you mention it, yes. Yes, I loved that part. It really exhibited his unique spirit and search for something important outside himself. Something absent in his life." 

"Myrtle," said Miles in a grave voice, "I completely made that part up. There's not even an Anthony in the book. The book is a satire on atheist socialism and stifling bureaucracy in 1930s Moscow." 

"Oh," said Myrtle. She suddenly felt very cross. 

"What was it that you wanted? You might as well just come out with it." 

"I'd like to borrow your car," said Myrtle. 

Miles winced. He was as protective over that silly Volvo as an old biddy with her cat, thought Myrtle. 

"Do you remember how to drive?" asked Miles in a halting voice. 

Myrtle narrowed her eyes. "Of course I do, Miles! I drove a car for forty years. I could drive your car in my sleep." 

"That's what I'm worried about! You said car rides make you sleepy." 

"When I'm a passenger!" said Myrtle. 

"Why don't I just drive you wherever it is that you want to go?" 

Myrtle glared at him. "Because I don't want you coming along!" She gave him a huffy sigh. "I'm going to see a psychic. That's all. And she's a little skittish." 

Miles just stared at her. "A psychic?" 

"Don't get all superior on me. You know very well that there were psychics even in Atlanta. And this one has reliable information sometimes. Her name is Wander." 

"Wander?" said Miles, tasting the unfamiliar name on his tongue. 

"Wanda, I guess. But her brother calls her Wander." Miles still looked hesitant and Myrtle said impatiently, "She's someone I met during my last case-she lives out in the sticks with her brother, Crazy Dan. This might sound crazy, but I think she might have Powers." 

Miles squinted doubtfully at the word Powers. "Welllll...all right. But please make sure I don't end up regretting this."

Myrtle's trek to the psychic took her down an old rural highway lined with decaying motels and ivy-infested buildings. Before the interstate system, Myrtle remembered the road had been a bustling thoroughfare. Now no one really hopped on the road unless there was construction or an accident on the interstate that they were desperate to avoid.  

There weren't many houses out there. Except for Crazy Dan's. And Crazy Dan and Wander weren't the kind to embrace change. A rotten sign proclaiming "CRAZY Dan's Boil P-nuts, Hubcaps, Fireworks, Live Bait!!!" was next to another decrepit sign with a palm and "Madam Zora, Sykick" barely visible. Myrtle pulled off down the dirt driveway into Crazy Dan's yard. She took out her cane and walked carefully to the house, avoiding tree roots sticking out of the red clay.