A Body in the Trunk : Myrtle Clover Book 12

Chapter Ten

"Sounds like another fun day," said Miles morosely. "And here I was wondering what could possibly improve on a day of high school basketball and a trip to the Piggly Wiggly."

"At least it's better than figuring out who's mowing their grass and making trips to Goodwill," said Myrtle.

The next morning, Myrtle worked on another story for the paper—this time more of a background article on Neil. She made a note to herself to visit Clara again for a quote. Then she glanced at the clock. It was still early, but she might as well go ahead and get dressed for Neil's funeral.

Myrtle reached into her closet and rummaged around. She saw a dark sweater, a dark blouse, a dark pair of pants. Where was her black funeral dress?

The phone rang and she picked up. "Yes?" she barked.

It was Miles. "Uh-oh. In a bad mood?"

"Just frustrated. I can't seem to put my hands on my funeral dress. You know the one."

Miles said, "Indeed I do. It's attended many a Bradley funeral. Does it matter? Just put on slacks and a nice top. The town of Bradley isn't going to shut down because you aren't wearing your funeral dress."

"I'm going to find it," said Myrtle through gritted teeth.

"All right. I'll be over there at 10:30."

Myrtle said, "Let's make it 10:15. Once I find the dress, I'll practically be ready to go."

After she hung up the phone, Myrtle proceeded to take her bedroom apart. Since the room was very tidy, this took some doing. Finally, she found the dress; it had somehow gotten lodged between her mattress and the bed's footboard. Myrtle held it up, shaking her head.

In the process of ironing the dress, she discovered that it had a large spot on it. That last funeral had been the one with the tables upon tables of food. She tried to get the spot out with a warm washcloth, but it wasn't going anywhere. Finally, she gave up and put on black slacks, a gray top, and a grim expression.

When the doorbell rang at 10:15, Myrtle hollered from her bedroom, "Door's open!" When she heard Miles come in, she called, "I'm just finishing up. Come on in."

Miles peered through her bedroom door to see Myrtle attempting to subdue her poof of white hair that was standing up like Einstein's. He glanced around. "You neglected to tell me on the phone that your house had been ransacked by a band of robbers."

"Don't be silly. I told you I was going to find the funeral dress, and I did. It just wasn't in any shape to be worn. Maybe after the funeral you can take me by the store and I can buy a new one." Myrtle followed Miles out to his car.

"Considering the way they're dropping like flies around here, that might not be a bad idea," said Miles, pulling out of Myrtle's driveway. "We spend entirely too much time at the cemetery."

"I don't know. It's a pleasant enough place. There are some beautiful oak trees there. Peace and quiet, too."

"Oh, it's quiet, all right," said Miles.

"Just the same, I think I'd rather just visit. I wouldn't want to live there," said Myrtle with a smirk.

Miles drove through the gates of Grace Hill cemetery, past moss-covered tombstones, down the winding road covered by a canopy of oaks.

"Is that the service there?" he asked, sounding startled. "I thought that Clara was trying to keep the funeral on the down-low because she didn't want a crowd."

"Yes, well, try and keep the good people of Bradley away from a funeral, especially on a quiet Saturday. This qualifies as entertainment," said Myrtle. "Go ahead and find a place to park."

"Half the town is here," muttered Miles.

"Which may explain Holt Kelly's presence," said Myrtle, pressing up against her window to see better.

"Oh good. I was worried we were going to have to make another visit to the high school in order to talk to him. Think we can grab him and ask him a few questions before he leaves?" asked Miles.

"You better believe it. Although I think he might be a tricky one. He's not exactly the type of person who talks a lot. And I don't know how he'll act when being questioned. He might just zip his lips," said Myrtle with a frown. "I'll have to approach him a little differently. Maybe I shouldn't use the journalism excuse."

"However you want to do it. As long as it doesn't involve basketball games," said Miles fervently. "My back is still hurting from yesterday."

"How on earth could it be hurting? We were in stadium seats."

"Tell my back that," said Miles.

They approached the mourners. Clara was blinking in amazement at the number of people in attendance.

"There are no seats left," said Miles with a sigh.

"I have a feeling that this service is going to be short and sweet," said Myrtle.

It was. There was a brief meditation by the minister and a Bible verse. A soloist sang the 23rd Psalm. Then the minister gave a short benediction.

There was a swarm around Clara, who was the only one in the receiving line. If Neil had had a mother, father, or siblings, they didn't appear to be in attendance.

Myrtle leaned in and said, "Take a look at Sloan."

Her editor appeared to be trying very hard to have a friendly conversation with Adelaide. Adelaide, on the other hand, was standing in the very back and looked as if she were trying to be completely inconspicuous. Considering her relationship with Neil, that was understandable. Sloan, however, hadn't gotten the memo. He was perspiring, whether from the heat or nervousness, and blushing furiously. Adelaide didn't look as though she was picking up her end of the conversation.

"I don't think Adelaide is necessarily a good pick for Sloan," murmured Miles. "She's pretty far out of his league. Plus the fact that she's hung up on a dead guy."

Myrtle said, "But Sloan is a nice guy. And there is that horoscope of Wanda's to consider. Maybe she'll change her mind and decide to date someone single, for a change. But I'm still sure that I can find someone better for him."

Miles said in alarm, "Uh-oh. It looks like Holt is making a run for it! Catch him! I don't want to go to any more games."

As Myrtle turned to look for Holt, she turned right into Erma Sherman.

"Myrtle! Just the person I wanted to see," she said.

Myrtle shoved Erma into Miles. "Here! Talk to Miles!" and half-jogged after Holt.

Eventually, she caught up to him. She was gasping for breath by then and Holt reached out to hold one arm and she leaned heavily on her cane with the other.

"Miss Myrtle? Are you all right?" he asked in concern. He was a balding, pudgy man with black framed glasses. His brown eyes were wide with alarm.

Myrtle decided to play it for all it was worth. "Oh, the heat. All those ... people," she spat out in a pitiful voice.

"Here, let's find somewhere to sit down. Maybe away from everybody, if you can walk that far."

Still panting from her slow jog, Myrtle nodded, wordlessly. Holt gently led her over to a stone bench some distance away from everyone.

"There now. Although we really should get you some water." Holt's face still had the alarmed look of someone who might have a medical emergency on their hands.

"I think I'll be all right. Thanks, Holt." Myrtle caught her breath and said, "How are things going at the high school?"

Holt gave a small laugh. "Does anything ever change at the high school? I'm thinking that you'd find that very little has changed since your retirement from there."

"That's good, because I was thinking about coming back," said Myrtle, managing a completely serious expression.