Cooking is Murder, A Myrtle Clover Mystery #11

Chapter Fourteen

Miles looked gloomy. "No alcohol? But alcohol makes the meal more palatable."

Myrtle squinted suspiciously at him. "Are you implying that my meal won't be palatable without copious alcohol?"

"No, no. I'm just saying that it makes every meal better," said Miles in a rush. "Besides, it will help me keep my mind off the fact that I'm in danger."

"You should stop brooding over that. I've been in danger for ages and I'm still around to tell the tale," said Myrtle. "To the store!"

The trip to the store was something of an adventure.

Myrtle said, "What on earth are chia seeds? I don't remember those being part of the recipes."

Miles sighed. "You probably didn't include them."

"Well, everything that I made tasted fine. I'm going to skip them. And ... quinoa? Really? Did we use quinoa in our class?"

"I did," said Miles tersely. "What you might or might not have done is anyone's guess."

Myrtle said, "Why don't I see it here with the rice? It's a rice-type thing."

"Because we're in a small grocery store in a remote area of North Carolina," said Miles.

Myrtle started walking toward customer service. "Maybe they keep it in a strange place here. They should have it. It's mainstream now. You keep working through those recipes."

Miles sighed and peered at one of the recipes.

A few minutes later, Myrtle returned, looking irritated. "They'd never even heard of quinoa in customer service. They acted as though I'd made it up to make them look bad. Are you making headway with the ingredients?"

Miles grunted. "The print is really small on these."

"I think she was trying to save money on ink or something." Myrtle's pocketbook started making a ringing sound. "Who on earth is this?" She fished it out and shooed Miles on to keep shopping. "Dusty? You're calling me? Are pigs flying?"

Dusty sounded grouchy. "Miz Myrtle, yer yard looks awful."

"Well, it does and it doesn't. If you're looking at it strictly from a horticultural or landscaping sense, yes. But if you're observing it through an artistic lens, then that's something else."

Dusty was quiet for a minute, as if trying to digest Myrtle's last statement. Then he said, "Don't know what yer talkin' about, but yer yard is bad. Real bad. An' people know I cut it."

"Ah. You're looking at it purely as poor advertising that could be detrimental to your business. I see. Pity you don't look at it that way on a weekly basis," said Myrtle tartly.

"It don't never look this bad. You asked Red 'bout that mower?" asked Dusty.

"I have inquired at length about it, yes. Red informs me that he wants a particular type of mower that's well-reviewed and supposed to be reliable and relatively affordable. Unfortunately, those mowers were out of stock at the shop, so they're on order. He promises it will be in soon. What are you doing in the meantime? How are you able to still work?" Myrtle had a jolt of anxiety. What if Dusty went bankrupt in the interim and had to take another job? She couldn't afford any of the other yardmen in town.

"Aw, I'm borrowin' a mower from Tiny. He collects 'em."

Tiny was an ineptly-nicknamed 300-pound yardman who stood at 6'7".

"It figures that Tiny would have odd hobbies like collecting yard equipment. But it's nice for him to lend one out to you," said Myrtle. She slowly followed Miles as he walked to another aisle of the store.