Pretty is as Pretty Dies: Myrtle Clover #1

Chapter Two

Red was too late to patch things up with Myrtle that morning. She was already stomping her way to church for the Altar Guild meeting he'd gotten her into. Myrtle's cane thumped emphatically on the pavement in front of her, the robustness of the sound giving her a sense of satisfaction. The skin that stretched over her big bones were wrinkle-free...just a few fine lines when she smiled and frowned. She was tall and cut an imposing figure in the classroom where she'd reigned supreme for twenty-five years before retiring more years ago than she cared to remember. She smiled smugly at the thought of her gnome army greeting Red this morning. If she'd wanted to get involved with Altar Guild and Women of the Church, she'd have signed up herself.

Altar Guild was synonymous with Parke Stockard, who seemed bent on taking over every church activity she could get involved with. Great. A morning with Parke certainly wouldn't cure Myrtle's foul mood. She gave her cane another vicious whack on the sidewalk, then pushed through the heavy wooden doors into the sanctuary, checking her murderous thoughts at the door. Although someone clearly hadn't checked theirs.

Parke Stockard lay sprawled at the altar, sightless eyes wide open. For once, Myrtle was glad to have her cane to lean on.

"Miss Myrtle! Here to help us out with Altar Guild?" The minister, Nathaniel Gluck, loped into the sanctuary, long arms dangling awkwardly by his sides. He blanched when he spotted the body by the altar, stopping in his tracks. Nathaniel moved forward, then stopped again. His bony hands clutched his throat and he made a choking, gasping sound before getting back in control. "Merciful heavens! Oh..." he wheezed a trembling sigh, "dear. Miss Myrtle, we should leave. Should phone the police. Or an ambulance. My office is just down the hall..." His hands flapped helplessly in the air like a scrawny fledgling trying to fly off.

Myrtle had no intention of being shepherded away. "Don't worry about me, Nathaniel. I'll just-um-stay here and make sure the crime scene isn't tampered with. Parke's days of needing ambulances are long gone. Just call Red." Myrtle's son Red was Bradley's chief of police. The minister scuttled off to his office.

The crime scene had a film noir feel to it. The pulpit cast creepy shadows over the dead blonde on the floor. Even the blood spatters had an artful feel about them, with Parke's stray hairs matted down just so. Roses lay scattered on the altar, on Parke, and on the floor, a subtle reminder of the violent act. The only odd thing was-Myrtle squinted in disbelief-Parke's knit top was on inside-out. How very un-Parkelike.

Her body sprawled dramatically in front of the altar with a broken crystal vase lying in splinters nearby. Myrtle moved closer, wondering what kind of information she could pick up before Red came roaring over in his squad car and hustled her out of there as fast as she could toddle.

Shocked by her daring, Myrtle bent down and placed a hand on Parke's bare arm. Her body was still warm. The murder had been very recent.. The hush of the sanctuary took on a more sinister feel and the hairs on the back of Myrtle's neck stood on end.

Parke obviously died from blunt force trauma. But what weapon had the killer used? The altar was a mess and the weapon could be almost any of the heavy objects lying on it or nearby. Had the crystal vase smashed on Parke's head or on the floor during a struggle? A heavy brass collection plate could easily have been the weapon. Or the huge, brass-footed candlesticks that lay overturned on the altar.

Myrtle leaned closer to investigate blood on the collection plate, and noticed a cell phone nearly obscured by the avalanche of roses. Putting down her cane, she took a tissue from her pocketbook and picked up the phone. "Good Myrtle" argued against tampering with evidence. That was until "Bad Myrtle" pointed out she had a God-given talent for solving puzzles. Crosswords, true, but they could be just as cryptic as murders. She was assisting the police. "Good Myrtle" kept quiet.