"It's no fun visiting someone who's asleep," said Myrtle in a reprimanding tone.
Her friend Miles immediately jerked his head up off his chest and looked abashed. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."
"Have you ever slept well, or is your insomnia a later-in-life thing?" asked Myrtle.
Miles sighed. "Believe it or not, there was a time when I slept like the dead. Now I'm on this bizarre sleep schedule. It could have something to do with people visiting me in the middle of the night," he said, giving Myrtle a sideways glance.
Myrtle frowned at him. "I only knock on your door when it's clear you're awake. If I see a light on, I know I'm not the only one who's up for the day at 3:30."
Miles said, "That's only part of it. Everything seems to be off. I eat breakfast at 4:00, then I'm hungry for lunch at 9:30 or 10:00. That puts supper at 3:00 in the afternoon. Before I know it, it's 7:30 in the evening and I'm nodding off over my book."
Myrtle said sternly, "That doesn't completely explain why you're falling asleep now. It's only 9:00 a.m."
Miles shrugged. "I guess the lack of sleep is catching up with me. And today isn't the day for that to happen."
"I still say you should simply have told the ladies no," said Myrtle, pursing her lips.
Miles held out his hands helplessly. "I was caught off-guard! I had no idea there was a plan afoot to invite me to join garden club."
"You keep your yard too tidy," said Myrtle. "They see you out there with your pair of clippers making sure all the blades of grass are exactly the same height."
"No, I really think it's because occasionally there's heavy lifting involved for garden club," said Miles thoughtfully.
Myrtle shrugged. "Then the husbands usually help out. And I drag Red into it."
Red was Myrtle's long-suffering son. He was never excited about helping out with Myrtle's garden club, but was always relieved she at least was keeping busy and out of trouble. And wasn't investigating murders.
Miles said, "Perhaps the husbands have revolted. After all, it couldn't be too pleasant to load and carry things for the botanical sale or the fundraising soiree. Maybe they just reached the point where they decided enough was enough."
"And they said 'no.' Which is exactly what you should have done, Miles!"
Miles said in a glum voice, "I've gotten very good at saying no via email. I've even gotten pretty good at saying it on a phone call. But when I'm approached at my front door, I'm apparently unable to do it."
Myrtle said, "You should simply have told them you needed time to consider it. That you have many other obligations and needed to see if you would be able to consistently make the meetings."
"They were holding balloons," said Miles forlornly. "It's hard to put anyone off when they seem so excited and they're holding a bunch of balloons."
Myrtle tilted her head thoughtfully. "Is that so? They must really need some help. It sounds like sorority rush. That's exactly what happened, Miles: you were rushed."
"Well, the pledge period seemed awfully short," said Miles. "Now I'm already in the stage of membership where they're making me do heavy-lifting."
"Or perhaps you're being hazed. What is it you're picking up today?"
Miles said, "I'm supposed to be picking up donations. That's actually the reason I'm here right now. Today is the last day for you to donate something for the garden club silent auction. Some people are giving away packages, some baskets of items, and some are donating individual things."
"What kinds of things are being donated?" Myrtle frowned and started a mental evaluation of her rather modest possessions.
Miles said, "Tippy is donating an 'experience package.'"
"What in heaven's name is that?"
"She has a travel agent friend who has helped her put together a trip to wine country with lodging and food," said Miles.
Myrtle scowled. "What are other people giving? Regular people?"
Miles said, "Is Blanche regular?"
"Perhaps more regular than Tippy is."
Miles said, "Blanche is donating a hot air balloon ride through a company in South Carolina."
Myrtle scowled. "Neither of those folks is regular, clearly." She sat deep in thought for a few moments and then snapped her fingers. "I know. I have something that might be of some interest for a certain type of person."
She walked into the back of her house and returned with a small, framed sketch. "Will this do?"
Miles pushed his glasses up his nose and studied the artwork. He nodded. "I think this will do the trick. So, this is an artist's rendition of downtown Bradley? Circa . . . ?"
Myrtle said, "From about fifty years ago. He was actually drawing what he saw, not drawing from memory. It's kind of fun to see what stores were around then."
"You took this off your wall, though. You won't miss it?"
"Oh, no. I remember very easily what downtown Bradley looked like fifty years ago. I wasn't even particularly young," said Myrtle with a snort. "Besides, having this off my mind is a relief. I was fretting over the stupid donation since Tippy announced the blasted silent auction."
Miles nodded. "I know what you mean. Fortunately, they didn't make me participate since I'm such a new member."
Myrtle raised her eyebrows. "Then you are still in the pledge period, after all." She glanced at the clock. "After you make your rounds, do you want to come back by? I have some of the best-looking tomatoes you've ever seen. I can make us tomato sandwiches and we can watch Tomorrow's Promise."
Miles said, "As long as the show is particularly riveting. I need to stay awake, remember?"
"It's a soap opera. Being riveting is its stock-in-trade."
Miles nodded and stood up, stretching a little. "All right. I'm off to Lillian Johnson's house, then."
"Now she's something of a regular person! What are you picking up there?" asked Myrtle.
"It's a basket called 'Dog Days.' It's going to be heavy," Miles added gloomily.
"What's in it?"
"A dog bed, a feeding station, toys, treats, grooming set, the works," said Miles.
"Does Lillian even own a dog?" Myrtle frowned.
"I hope not. Lillian said she'd leave the door unlocked for me in case she's not home. All I need is an overprotective pet assuming I'm some sort of threat to its property." Miles shuddered.
"For your sake, I hope Lillian isn't there. She's nothing but trouble."
Miles raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's not the kind of statement you can just throw out there without any explanation."
Myrtle waved her hand around impatiently. "She gossips, for one."
"Isn't that what we're doing now?" asked Miles.
"Yes, but she does it maliciously. Lillian is quite malicious," said Myrtle with a bite in her tone.
"How awful," said Miles dryly.
"It isn't only that, either. She hangs out with Erma Sherman. That should tell you something about her," said Myrtle with a sniff.
Erma Sherman was Myrtle's next-door neighbor. Myrtle considered Erma to be her nemesis.
Miles said, "Everyone needs a friend, don't they?"
"That's debatable when the subject is Erma. Anyway, they seem to have lots in common. That's a bad sign right there. Plus, there's the fact Wanda warned me about her."
Miles leaned forward slightly. "Really? What did Wanda say?"
Myrtle shifted uncomfortably. "That's not the point. The point is, Wanda mentioned her."
"But in what capacity?" pushed Miles.
"What does it matter? You never believe Wanda has a gift at all," said Myrtle.
Miles said slowly, "But the fact of the matter is, Wanda seems to know things. I don't know how she does, but she does. And if Lillian is dangerous in any way, I think I have a right to know that before I head over to her house to pick up a silent auction donation."
Myrtle looked cross. "All right, then. Wanda's prediction wasn't to stay away from Lillian. It was that Lillian was in danger."
Miles relaxed a bit. "Well, but that's Wanda's stock prediction, isn't it? She always thinks people are in danger."
"Because they are," said Myrtle, still irritated. "Anyway, when I attempted to share Wanda's warning with Lillian, she was not receptive."
Miles snorted. "I can only imagine."
"She should have been appreciative that Wanda was looking after her! And that I had passed along the message. People are so ungrateful these days," said Myrtle with a sniff.
"What did Lillian say?"
"She acted as if I were completely senile. Lillian acted so condescending. Then she asked Erma Sherman to keep an eye on me. And she threatened to tell Red about the whole thing." Now Myrtle was in danger of sulking. The thought of Red brought it out in her.
Miles looked uncomfortable, as he frequently did when he and Myrtle were discussing Wanda. "Maybe Wanda meant something different."
Myrtle frowned at him. "How could you possibly mean something different when you tell someone they're in danger? Lillian, you're in danger of spending too much money on a silent auction basket?"
Miles shrugged. "I'm only saying maybe she didn't mean an outcome as dire as she usually does."
"Lillian, you're in danger of getting cavities if you don't go in for a cleaning?" Myrtle shook her head. "Wanda doesn't deal in the trivial."
"Of course she does! Think about her horoscopes for the paper. You know as well as I do that half of them have to do with Wanda warning someone they need to take their dog to the vet or their roses will be eaten by Japanese beetles unless they spray them."
Myrtle said impatiently, "So her gift is a broad one. She can advise on big problems and small ones. But when she says someone is in danger, they're in danger. And if Lillian read the paper, she'd know Wanda wasn't a quack and neither am I."
Miles walked toward the door. "Well, at least perhaps I can relieve your mind. I'm heading over there first and I'll report in. Even if she's not there, there should be breakfast dishes still in the sink or other signs of life."
"My mind doesn't have to be relieved. I wrote off Lillian Johnson as soon as she started looking at me as if I were crazy."
Miles said, "I can relieve Wanda's then. I know she worries about people."
Myrtle's expression softened a little. "That's true. All right, just let me know."
But when Miles called just fifteen minutes later, he said grimly, "Myrtle, Lillian is dead."