Cruising for Murder: Myrtle Clover #10

Chapter One

"I've had just about enough of both of your foolishness today. Dusty, it looks like an African savannah out there. The grass has to be cut regardless of the temperature. But I'm also concerned about the care and feeding of Pasha," said Myrtle briskly.

Dusty cocked his grizzled head to one side. "Pasha?"

"The black cat," said Myrtle.

"That witch-cat!" said Puddin at a volume guaranteed to make Myrtle's blood pressure rise.

"That will be enough of that nonsense, Puddin. It's an easy enough job, Dusty, and the chore will apparently fall to you since your wife is engaging in histrionics at the thought," said Myrtle.

Dusty grunted at this and eyed Puddin sideways. She had her arms crossed and he clearly knew better than to cross her when she was being obstinate. "All right. What do I do?"

"You let her in at night and give her cat food. You let her out in the morning. You make sure her litter box is in good shape." Myrtle pointed to the stack of cat food cans, the litterbox, and the extra litter.

Dusty grunted again. It seemed to be an assent, although a reluctant one. "That's a lot of coming by," he said.

Myrtle wasn't sure if this was merely a comment or a complaint. "Puddin will be here anyway-taking care of my house and Miles's, too, apparently."

Dusty sighed. He gazed forlornly out Myrtle's front window, gray mustache looking even droopier than usual. "And them gnomes? Can't we move them gnomes at least? So I won't have to be tryin' to mow around them things?"

"I'd rather leave them out there in the yard until I leave. It's important for Red to have a visual reminder before our trip," said Myrtle. When Myrtle pulled her tremendous collection of garden gnomes out, it provided a subtle warning to her son that he needed to watch himself. Considering Red lived directly across the street and considering the fact that he abhorred her gnome collection, it was generally an effective ploy.

Dusty was even a less of a fan of the gnomes than Red. He said, "So when y'all pull out of the driveway I can start luggin' them things to the shed?"

"That's right."

Dusty's relieved smile revealed a dimple that Myrtle had never seen.

The doorbell rang. Myrtle's eyes narrowed with apprehension. "I spotted Erma Sherman lurking out there earlier. I must finish packing and organizing and don't have time for her recitation of all the disgusting illnesses she's inflicted with. Puddin, check the door for me." Myrtle's next door neighbor, Erma, was the bane of Myrtle's existence. Erma's goal in life seemed to be allowing her crabgrass to infiltrate Myrtle's yard, her squirrels to steal Myrtle's birdseed, and to trap Myrtle in conversation.

Puddin, who had settled her pudgy frame into the softness of the sofa, said loftily, "But I'm not your butler."