"Miles, we need to set a trap."
Miles' voice sounded rather sleepy. "Have you collected more feral cats, Myrtle? Isn't one ferocious feline enough for you?"
"No, no, I mean a trap for the murderer. I don't want to plot this over the phone—can't you come by? You're not sleeping, are you?"
Now Miles' voice had an edge of irritation to it. "Actually, I was putting my feet up for a little while, yes. I didn't sleep so well last night."
"Miles, I haven't slept for the past five years and I'm doing all right. Plus I'm a good ten or fifteen years older than you. Can't you just come over?"
Challenges were clearly key to get Miles motivated. He was walking through Myrtle's front door mere minutes later. He wasn't in a good humor, but he was there. "You mentioned a trap?" he asked stiffly.
Myrtle was busily pouring Miles a small glass of red wine. "Here."
Miles frowned at the glass as he slowly took it from Myrtle. "Wine? At three-thirty in the afternoon?"
"Well, it's five o'clock somewhere, Miles. Since we're conspiring, I figured a little alcohol would fit in well. It should probably be liquor and we should be smoking cigars, but a little red wine will fit."
Miles blinked at her. Sometimes he really did seem sort of slow. How on earth did he survive all those years as a pharmacist or whatever it was he did?
"So," said Myrtle, settling into her sofa with her own glass of wine, "The problem is that there's no evidence against Dina. So I think the only good solution is to have Dina try to attack me. Then you can catch her in the act, we can get Red over, and everything will unravel for her."
Miles' jaw dropped open, then closed and opened a few more times as if it were on a broken hinge. "Dina? What are you talking about, Myrtle? Dina hasn't killed anybody."
"On the contrary, she's killed two people. And I'm of the opinion that she's especially dangerous. No, we need to make sure that she's taken totally out of commission."
Miles still gaped. "What makes you think that Dina killed Tammy and Agnes?"
Myrtle smiled. It made her feel complacent to know something that no one else knew. "There were a couple of different things, really. But the main thing was those darned suitcases. The ones in the middle of Agnes' hall."
Miles nodded, but his eyes were completely blank.
Myrtle sighed. "You're not following? Well, Agnes was done traveling. She was completely adamant about it, actually. Her traveling days were over and done with. Why on earth would she have suitcases out? And empty ones, in the middle of her hall? For a minute I foolishly thought that maybe she was about to make a run for it—that Agnes was Tammy's killer. But then I thought about little Miss Dina. She'd come by gathering donations for the women's shelter—her new, favorite project. I think suitcases would make an eminently suitable donation for a women's shelter. Something sturdy for the women to put their things in while they're in transition. I'm sure Agnes would have felt the same way."
"I hate to point this out, Myrtle, but that doesn't mean that Dina killed Agnes. Why would she have done it, to begin with? And even if Agnes did set the suitcases out for Dina, it just means that Dina hadn't made it by to collect them before Agnes died."
"There's also the fact that Madam Zora saw suitcases in her crystal ball."
Miles stared at her, unblinkingly.
"Oh ye of little faith!" Really, Miles should be more trusting of her instincts by now. "Agnes clearly saw something. Now, she's been really focused on whether Connor was somehow involved, but obviously there must have been something else that she saw that suddenly made her think. I believe that Dina came over that morning to get the suitcases before clients started coming by the Beauty Box. Agnes must have asked her a very pointed question, and Dina freaked out and killed Agnes right there in her own backyard. She'd have forgotten about the donation by then."
Myrtle continued, "And it's not just the suitcases. Remember I told you that Red said the killer had worn gloves, even though it seemed like a heat-of-the-moment crime? It always struck me as sort of an anomaly. If it was a spontaneous crime of passion, why would the killer be wearing gloves? Then Kat told me that Dina was supposed to have dyed Kat's hair the night Tammy was murdered—as a practice run. Dina was all ready to start dyeing and then was too flustered to go through with it. We know how forgetful Dina is—Red mentioned that he saw her walking down the street holding hair shears and she nearly walked out with Jack's Dirty Doggy before I stopped her. When I was sitting with the Davenports at the diner, Dina came in with pink curlers in her hair. What if she still had the gloves on when Tammy returned from her meal with Connor? It all fits perfectly."
"Maybe it fits, but where's the why in all of this? Dina loved Tammy. For all intents and purposes, she's seemed totally devastated by her death." Miles took a restorative swig from his wine glass.
"Here's what I think happened. And I'll tell you what made me think of it...my soap opera. There's this character on Tomorrow's Promise who continues to get involved with these completely inappropriate men. They're these sort of brooding, ominous types. But finally, as sometimes happens in real life, the character snapped. She was put down one time too many, and she ended up killing the man she was involved with."
"And this reminds you of Dina and Tammy how?" asked Miles.
"We know Tammy's behavior was getting worse. What if Tammy upset Dina by dissing her? Dina had a lot of respect and appreciation for Tammy. But Tammy seemed totally scornful of Dina most of the time. What if Dina were afraid of being on her own again, and she lashed out at Tammy?"
Miles took his glasses off and rubbed them with a pressed handkerchief from his pants pocket. This usually meant he was about to suggest something that Myrtle wouldn't like. "If it all fits so perfectly, why don't we call up Red and Lieutenant Perkins and let them know? That way they can check it out and maybe even pressure a confession out of Dina."
Myrtle gave a scornful snort. "Do you really think Red is going to do anything about it?"
"Of course I do! It's his duty to check out that kind of thing, Myrtle. Didn't he take some sort of oath or something?"
"So what am I going to say to him? 'By the way, Red, Dina the manicurist is the killer. She gave away her identity with suitcases, latex gloves, a crystal ball clue, and a soap opera."
"Okay. Well, let me in on your plan. I can't wait to hear this one."
Myrtle leaned forward a little on the sofa. "Here's what I'm thinking. I'll lure Dina over to the house by letting her think that I know something. Which I do. You'll be skulking around and will take pictures or video when she starts coming after me."
"After which," interjected Miles in a dry voice, "she'll come after both of us. Since she's obviously not really in her right mind."
"So you'll be armed."
"With what?" Miles said cautiously. "I don't carry guns."
"Just a knife or a baseball bat or a hammer—something to smack her with."
Miles drained his wine and reached for the bottle to get a refill. "I don't like this idea, Myrtle. I'm filming Dina trying to kill you? I'm hitting a woman?"
"A murderer. You're hitting a murderer."
"Still."
"Here's the plan. Sloan Jones, over at the paper, has been sending me reminder emails about my investigative news story. He apparently desperately needs more content for the next issue. So I thought I'd do a recap story of what I've learned so far. But at the end, I'll explain that I'm hot on the trail of the killer and have found out something very interesting following the death of my friend, Agnes." Myrtle was dismayed at the lump in her throat. She cleared it with a cough. "Maybe I'll write a sort of tribute to Agnes, too. If it seems insensitive that I'm using Agnes' death to catch a murderer, just remember that Agnes would want her behind bars, too."
Miles nodded. "All right. So you're thinking that Dina will read the story and come after you? What if she doesn't read the paper?"
"Dina reads it every day, as far as I can tell. Seems to like the horoscope section with all the goofy made-up stuff. But read it she does. And I have a feeling she's following the crime stories pretty closely now."
"Okay. Well, tomorrow is off. I've got to go out of town and find a wedding gift for my niece. And I wanted to find some nice new towels for my out-of-town guests to use."
"There are stores here, Miles."
"But I need to get something nice. Which is harder to find here."
"All right. I'll go ahead and take the story over to Sloan and ask him to run it day-after-tomorrow. The papers are usually delivered around seven, so you can come here for breakfast and then hang out while I wait to get attacked."
"Sounds like a lovely day," said Miles grimly.
Myrtle sat in the cluttered newsroom of The Bradley Bugle and tapped her fingers on the small amount of desk that wasn't covered up with paper. She had her story ready to go. It was a masterpiece, really, considering what she was trying to do with it. It recapped what they knew so far, reported on Agnes' death (including a touching memorial in a separate story...that had actually made Myrtle tear up a bit), and then concluded with Myrtle's declaration that she knew exactly who the killer was and was only looking for evidence to support her discovery. Brilliant.
The wall clock showed four o'clock. Sloan should definitely still be in the office. She had other things to do, though. She put a sticky note on the top of the story with clear instructions not to run the story for another day. With any luck, Red and Elaine would be too busy to read the paper until Dina had had a chance to attack Myrtle.
Unfortunately, the sticky note wasn't very sticky at all. Soon it had curled up enough to fall off the paper and into the piles on the desk. When Sloan finally drove up to the Bradley Bugle building in his1970s model Chevy and lugged his large frame into the newsroom, he never saw the little yellow sticky note. But he was delighted to see Myrtle's story since one of his regular columnists had fallen through and he needed about half a page of content for tomorrow's paper.
The next morning, Myrtle threw the paper onto her kitchen table without bothering to look at it. It was truly disturbing how the Bradley Bugle became more and more tabloid-y every day. The thing was full of celebrity news, local rumors, and silly opinions.
Myrtle plopped her last two eggs with some butter in the skillet to scramble, then happened to look out the window and notice that Erma had left her wheelbarrow right side up on Myrtle's side of the property line. It had rained last night, too, which meant there would be pesky mosquitoes breeding in the water. Mosquitoes that would likely only attack Myrtle since Erma apparently was immune. Probably had an understanding with the little beasts.
Myrtle grabbed her cane and stepped outside to tip the wheelbarrow over. She was turning to hurry back in when a shadow fell over her. "Dina," Myrtle said. For heaven's sake. She wasn't supposed to be here yet!
Dina said in a clear voice, "When you didn't answer your doorbell, I came around back. I let myself in through the back gate," she explained unnecessarily.
As Myrtle continued staring at her, Dina said, "Thought I'd drop by and see if you had any donations for the shelter." The sun glinted on the large lenses of her glasses, making it hard to see her eyes.
Myrtle answered, "No, I sure don't. Remember? Red helped me drop them off –you already collected things from me for the shelter."
Dina shifted from foot to foot. "Did I?"
"Was there another reason you're here, Dina?" She hoped it wasn't the one she thought it might be. With all the snooping that rotten neighbor Erma Sherman did, why couldn't she be gaping out her windows when she needed her to?
"I saw this article today. In the Bugle."
Shoot! That Sloan!
In a strange tone, Dina asked, "Do you? Do you know who the murderer is?"
Myrtle answered, "You are. You killed both Tammy and Agnes Walker."
"Why would I have killed Tammy?" asked Dina, almost as if she wanted it explained herself.
"I think," said Myrtle slowly, "that you must have just been tired of being put down. That's only natural, isn't it? I was watching my soap opera—you watch Tomorrow's Promise, don't you?"
Dina nodded.
"Remember how Sally kept going for the wrong men? And they always pushed her around and were hateful to her?" asked Myrtle.
Dina said, "Then one day Sally snapped. And she killed Stone, who was the last man who was ugly to her."
"Exactly!" said Myrtle, beaming at Dina. "It wasn't that Stone was any worse than the others, but he was the final straw. I think Tammy must have been your final straw. She was your friend, but she changed and started being verbally abusive to you. It must have reminded you of your ex-husband—in all the wrong ways."
"She got you set up at her shop and allowed you to be her roommate at the duplex in the other half of the Beauty Box. She knew how to push everyone's buttons. Maybe she told you how worthless you were. Useless to everyone. You couldn't understand how someone who had been so good to you could change so radically."
Dina said impassively, "I hated the way she was talking to me. But it wasn't just that. She said she was going to marry Connor Walker and wouldn't need me for a roommate anymore. After she got married, she planned on selling the Beauty Box. I'd be scrambling for a job and a place to stay again. By myself."
"You were supposed to be dyeing Kat's hair. But Tammy had really done a number on your self-esteem before she left with Connor. You weren't confident enough to dye Kat's hair. When Tammy came back home early, she'd been drinking and was in a very foul mood from being dumped by Connor. She needed someone to take it out on."
Dina looked mesmerized by Myrtle's story. Myrtle continued, "Tammy's murder had all the hallmarks of a crime of passion—spontaneous and unplanned. But the scissors were brand new and didn't have any fingerprints on them. The police believed that the killer wore gloves and the crime was premeditated."
Dina waited for Myrtle to give the explanation.
"But you've always been preoccupied and lately were even more absentminded than usual, since you had a lot on your mind. When you decided not to dye Kat's hair, you still wore the latex gloves when Tammy returned a few minutes later from her date with Connor."
Dina nodded again and Myrtle took a deep breath. "Tammy started in on you. She was scornful and bullying. You say that she threatened to turn you out of your home and close the shop where you worked. You were scared and upset and while her back was turned, you reached over and grabbed a pair of scissors and plunged them into Tammy's back. The door to the basement was open; Tammy had a basket of towels she was about to take downstairs and throw in the washer. You pushed her down the stairs."
Dina shivered. "There was blood everywhere."
"You appeared to have gotten away with it," Myrtle said quietly. "Then you discovered Tammy had left you money in her will."
Dina said, "She was helping me again, like she had at the beginning before she started drinking again. It reminded me of the old Tammy, the way she used to be. And it really made me mourn her more. She wasn't always a bad person."
"You wanted to do something good with the money, didn't you, to make up for what you'd done? You decided on a shelter for women like you who'd gone through the kinds of things that you had."
Dina's face changed when the subject of the shelter came up. Her face lit with fierce pride.
Myrtle went on, "For the first time in your life, you were independent, doing something you enjoyed and believed in. You were determined not to be found out. And you thought someone knew about it."
Dina said in a vacant voice, "Agnes Walker."
Myrtle leaned heavily on her cane for support on the damp ground. "She must have told you something that day you dyed her hair bright blue. She asked you awkward questions about when you were at the Beauty Box the night of Tammy's murder and what you'd seen. You thought she was asking them because she knew you'd done it. But she was actually asking them because she was trying to find out if you'd seen anything to implicate her son, Connor."
"Connor? She never mentioned that she thought that I knew something about Connor. She acted like she knew something," Dina's voice rose to a shrill. "Other clients came in and interrupted us. I thought she knew! I thought she'd seen me leave the Beauty Box that night to get rid of the gloves. Stupid, stupid of her not to tell me she thought it was Connor!"
"So you went to see Agnes and confront her. You probably made an excuse to drop by and pick up some shelter donations. You must have sneaked around the back when you heard her getting some early yard work done in the backyard."
Dina was quiet, so Myrtle continued. "Southern lady that she was, she went in the house and came out with lemonade and glasses. You started asking her questions about what she knew about the murder. Agnes must have gotten agitated, thinking you were angling that you knew something about Connor's part in the murder."
"I wasn't sure what she saw. I thought maybe she knew something." She held out her palms to Myrtle, "I couldn't go to jail for killing Tammy. The shelter is still just getting set up. Things were finally going really great for me. I couldn't let my life get messed up again right when everything was so wonderful."
Myrtle fixed Dina with a stern stare "You thought Agnes knew you'd killed Tammy. Thought Agnes was going to tell the police. You slipped on her gardening gloves, picked up the shovel her yardman left out the day before, and hit her with it as hard as you could."
"I had to stop her from telling everyone what she knew." Dina's lower lip quivered.
Myrtle said tiredly, "She didn't even know anything."
"But you knew," said Dina quietly. She edged closer to Myrtle. "You even told the paper that you knew!"
"And now it's time let the police know. Let's go inside and call Red now. It's over."
Dina's eyes held a wild expression. "No, Miss Myrtle. It can't be over. Not with everything finally going my way. Not with the shelter. They need me there." She took a couple of steps toward Myrtle with a deadly focus in her eyes and hands outstretched.