"Well, that was very nice," said Myrtle.
Miles merely gave a relieved sigh.
"He really is such a nice young man. I'm glad I finally had the chance to have him over for a meal. I should do this every time."
Miles closed his eyes briefly. "Can I help you clean up?" he asked.
Myrtle looked around the kitchen and made a face. "I've half a mind to drag Puddin back over here and have her do it. It's amazing how a couple of simple recipes can make for so much mess. Puddin definitely owes me one. That silly Bitsy called and Puddin didn't even have the chance to do any cleaning at all."
Miles looked at the clock. "I'd say your chances of getting Puddin over here at this time of the morning are slim to none."
"It's not even that early anymore! But I know what you mean. Puddin is so slovenly, she probably is still buried under the covers." Myrtle looked at the clock, herself. "I think we should head over to Martin's house with the casserole. I'll just have the dishes sit in some dish soap for a while. That should make clean-up easier for either me or Puddin."
Miles said, "Are you sure Martin wants to be faced with a casserole at this point of the morning?"
"Faced with it? What a peculiar turn of phrase, Miles. And, yes, I think he would want it early so he could even have it for lunch if he wanted. Or he could have it for lunch and supper."
"Weren't you going to divide it up so we could give some to Lillian's daughter, as well? It made an awful lot?"
Indeed, the casserole completely filled a large dish. It was also quite dense, somehow, and heavy.
"Yes, I think it should be divided up. I think we'd have a hard time even trying to hold the thing in one container. That way, we can see Annie right after we see Martin." Myrtle studied the casserole. "I'm going to need you to help me transfer the thing over. It looks like it might be unmanageable." She glared at the casserole as if it were being purposefully obstructive.
"Do you have a couple of containers that will work?" asked Miles. "It's kind of a rectangular shape."
Myrtle pulled open a cabinet and frowned as she surveyed the different plastic options. "This one is sort of a rectangle."
"It's a square," said Miles.
"It couldn't be. It's shorter on these sides."
Miles said, "It's exactly the same on all sides."
Myrtle sniffed. "If you really were an engineer, it seems as if you should know your shapes a bit better."
Miles said tightly, "May I have a look in your cabinet?"
The cabinet was a riot of orphaned lids and containers. Some of them appeared to be from old butter containers, others from hummus. Most of them didn't seem to be appropriate for transporting casseroles to the bereaved.
"I have some containers at home," said Miles. "I'll be right back."
He returned a few minutes later with a couple of rectangular plastic containers. "These should do the job," he said.
They struggled a bit with the transferal process. The casserole was decidedly uncooperative. Both of them wielded spatulas and finally just wrestled the mixture into place.
Miles stared down glumly at the two containers when they'd finished. "It doesn't look very good."
"But I'm about to cover them with the cream-of-something soup," said Myrtle. "You won't be able to tell how broken up the casserole is once I smooth the soup over it."
Miles looked less-certain. "Is this chicken in the casserole?" he asked suspiciously.
"Tuna. Lots of protein," said Myrtle.
Miles didn't look any happier.
Myrtle said thoughtfully, "Come to think of it, perhaps that's why Pasha happened by. She could smell the tuna cooking. Darling Pasha. She's so very bright!"
Myrtle opened a can of cream of broccoli soup and carefully spread it over the various pieces of casserole in the containers while Miles looked on. Then she lay them in the bottom of plastic bags and said, "That's it, then. Let's head out."
"Where are we going first?" asked Miles a minute later as he backed his car out of Myrtle's driveway.
"Let's talk to Lillian's son. Martin will hopefully be able to give us some sort of information."
"What's he like?" asked Miles a bit nervously. "Is he the sort of man who will be upset at having his doorbell rung very early? Or at receiving a container of tuna casserole before breakfast?"
Myrtle gave him a sharp look. "Certainly not! He's very gregarious. He's in sales of some sort, I think. From what Lillian has said, anyway. I haven't seen the man in years."
"Pharmaceuticals? Real estate?"
"Insurance, I believe," said Myrtle.
Miles looked even gloomier. "I'm frequently a target of insurance salesmen. They always seem to think I don't have proper coverage."
A few minutes later, they arrived at Martin's house.
Miles raised his eyebrows as he drove down the driveway. "This place is tremendous. Martin lives alone here?"
"That's what I understand," said Myrtle with a shrug.
"And he has this huge property . . . on the lake . . . from selling insurance?"
Myrtle said, "Unless he has family money of some sort."
"His mother owned a flower shop!"
Myrtle said, "Maybe he won the lottery or something. Who knows?"
"Or maybe he's been living beyond his means," said Miles.
They rang the doorbell and waited. There was no answer.
Myrtle frowned. "Maybe the doorbell isn't working."
"Or maybe he's asleep," said Miles dryly.
Myrtle rang the bell again and then rapped briskly at the front door. Finally, the door opened and a bleary-eyed man in his thirties gazed sleepily at them. He looked at the bag Myrtle carried with confusion. "Can I help you?" he asked.
Myrtle gave him a sad smile. "Martin, you may not remember me because it's been many years since I've seen you. I'm Myrtle Clover and this is my friend Miles Bradford. We were friends of your mother's."
Martin didn't immediately seem to remember Myrtle, but his natural affable manner started coming through as he woke up. "Of course," he said, beaming at them both. "Please come inside. I hope you'll forgive my appearance—I had a rather long day yesterday and I'm afraid I'm getting something of a later start."
Myrtle and Miles followed him in. They stood in a massive stone atrium that made their voices echo. Martin clearly ascribed to a minimalist style of decorating because there wasn't much in the way of furniture, art, or even photographs in the rooms nearby.
Myrtle said, "We were so sorry to hear about your poor mother. Miles and I have brought you a casserole for later."
Miles said emphatically, "Actually, it's Myrtle's casserole. I just wanted to express my condolences in person."
Martin said, "Thank you both so much. You're very thoughtful. Please have a seat for a few minutes." He gestured into the living room and they perched on a silk sofa as Martin sat down in a very modern looking Swedish-influenced armchair that didn't seem to go with the antique sofa at all.
Martin said, "How did you know Mama?"
Myrtle said, "Oh, Miles and I are in garden club with Lillian. Lillian, of course, is such a plant expert with her florist business. We loved hearing her talk about different types of native plants and flower arranging. Didn't we, Miles?"
Miles shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He hadn't really known Lillian well at all and had just joined garden club. He nodded, giving Martin a tight smile.
Martin looked thoughtful for a moment. "Wait a minute. Miles. I want to say the police chief said a gentleman named Miles had found Mama yesterday morning. Was that you?" he asked of Miles.
Miles now looked even more uncomfortable. "I'm afraid so. I'm very sorry," he said miserably as if the entire problem would have been avoided if he simply hadn't been at Lillian's house the previous morning.
"I'm sorry for you," said Martin. "That must have been pretty awful." He paused. "The police chief didn't mention why you were there." His voice was curious.
Miles flushed and spluttered a bit until Myrtle cut in smoothly, "The police chief is my son, Red, as a matter of fact. He can be rather absentminded sometimes. Miles was there to collect your mother's donation for the silent auction the club is having."
A spark of remembrance crossed Martin's features. "Ah. Now that you mention it, I do remember Mama talking about the silent auction. Her donation had something to do with dogs, didn't it?"
Myrtle nodded. "That's right. Actually, one of the reasons I'm here is to ask you about the auction. Our garden club president, Tippy, was most concerned about Lillian's death. She didn't want to proceed with the auction if it might bring any discomfort or sadness at all to you or your sister."
Martin raised an eyebrow and then lowered it again. He gave them a big smile. "I appreciate Tippy's concern. But then, she's always seemed like a really thoughtful person. Mama thought she was, at least. But I don't think there's anything in the slightest that would upset either Annie or myself about the garden club silent auction."
Miles's eyes were amused as if he'd half-expected as much.
Myrtle said, "I'm sure Tippy is going to give some sort of tribute to your Mama at the event, too. We're all sorry Lillian will no longer be part of our group. And I'm sure Tippy would want me to extend an invitation to both of you to the auction."
Martin said, "That's very kind of you. I'll be sure to check in with Annie and see if that's something we're able to do." He shook his head. "The whole thing still seems totally unbelievable to me. Who on earth would kill Mama? And your son doesn't appear to believe it's a break-in. Why would someone want to kill a florist?"
"Why indeed?" said Myrtle, tilting her head to one side and looking at Martin.
He paused for a moment and then said, "Although Mama could be strong-willed. She was also very particular about things and could be hard on a person if she perceived they had faults. Do people really commit murder over a perceived wrong?"
Miles cleared his throat. "Maybe. Maybe it depends on the wrong."
"Even something very silly? Because small-town grievances can be really petty. Take, for instance, Mama's neighbor. Have you met her?" Martin asked them.
They shook their heads.
Martin said, "Mama and she have been in something of a spat. I have absolutely no idea what it's over, but it's guaranteed to be something ridiculous. Mama told me about it, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was all about." He absently reached out to the coffee table in front of his chair and picked up a sterling silver business card holder and started fidgeting with it.
Myrtle, having been a schoolteacher for many years, was never fond of fidgeting. She stifled a sigh and said, "Did you mention the neighbor to Red?"
Martin flipped the card holder into the air and caught it. "No. It just seemed like something so innocuous. I didn't want to tie up police time by having them chase a false lead."
Myrtle said, "I'd think it's one of those things that wouldn't immediately come to mind anyway, would it? After the shock of the bad news."
"That's true. I just started thinking about the neighbor when I finally turned in last night. I can't even remember the woman's name. Medea or Valentina or something. Sort of exotic."
Miles looked surprised, remembering the rather pedestrian appearance of the neighbor chatting with Erma. "The neighbor is exotic?"
"No, her name is," said Martin.
"Oh, I think I remember Erma telling me the neighbor's name. Tallulah, wasn't it?" asked Myrtle.
Martin nodded. "That's it. Anyway, you're right about the shock. I don't know if I've quite shaken it. I'd been sleeping in yesterday morning after fishing all day the day before."
Myrtle frowned. "Are the fish biting when it's this hot? I thought they'd be at the bottom of the lake trying to stay cool."
Martin looked surprised and then gave her an admiring look. "I can tell you've lived on a lake for a while."
"Eighty or more years," said Myrtle casually.
Martin said, "Well, I could have used your advice day-before-yesterday because the fish were not biting. They weren't even considering it. I was out there early in the morning and then went in around lunchtime and came back out again by mid-afternoon. I was out there until right before sunset. Didn't catch a single fish. Although I did relax, and that was something I really needed. Had a few drinks, chilled out with the fishing pole."
Myrtle said, "I'd imagine that being in the sun all day would be very exhausting."
Martin pointed the silver business card holder and said, "Bingo! Yes, it was. I came home, fishless, and had a microwave meal for supper. Pretty pathetic, since I'd thought I'd be cleaning fish and having a wonderful fish dinner. Then I could barely keep my eyes open when I was watching TV, so turned in early. I slept until the police knocked on my door yesterday morning." He shook his head. "I'm going to miss Mama. She and I were very close. There's something special about a mother and son relationship, isn't there?"
"Is there?" asked Myrtle archly, thinking darkly about Red.
Martin chuckled, "Well, in my case there was, anyway. I just can't believe she's gone. She was so health-conscious that I'd always thought she'd outlive me."
Miles asked, "What will become of the shop?"
Martin sighed. "I suppose I'll be the owner of a flower shop. I'm running by there later today to check in. This whole thing is going to be a mess." Despite whatever mess Martin thought might be involved in only a flower shop, Myrtle noted his eyes lit up with greed for a moment.
Miles asked, "You mean, you and your sister will own it?"
Martin fumbled the silver card holder, nearly dropping it. "Of course. Annie and me."
"How is your sister handling everything?" asked Myrtle. "You're both awfully young to be losing your mother. We have some food for her, too. Is there anything else we can do for her?"
Martin's eyes narrowed for a moment. "She's taking it all pretty hard, actually. She and Mama would scrap all the time over silly stuff, but that's pretty natural with mothers and daughters, isn't it? The problem is that she and Mama had words, as usual, and Mama died before Annie had the chance to make up with her. I think she's sick over it. I know she'll appreciate the food."
"Is she in town?" asked Myrtle. "I'd heard she might be moving? Something like that?"
"Annie wanted to move, yes. But she's still in an apartment here in Bradley. Mama was trying to make her work in the flower shop, but Annie had bigger ideas." Martin shrugged. "Actually, I might be the sole owner of the shop."
"Do you know much about arranging flowers?" asked Myrtle, quirking an eyebrow.
"Ah. No, I don't. I'll have to hire a florist." This detail had apparently not occurred to Martin before now. "Perhaps it would be best to just sell the shop's real estate. Plenty of time to figure that out, though." He paused and then said, "You know, all of this business with poor Mama had gotten me to thinking about the shortness and fragility of life."
Miles looked alarmed and shifted in his chair.
"That's one reason why I have such good life insurance—to ensure my family won't have to go into debt for my funeral and other expenses," added Martin smoothly. "You may not know this, but I'm in the insurance business. This tragedy might provide a very natural time to evaluate the coverage you have."
Miles spluttered that he had lots of insurance. Martin looked doubtfully at him. Myrtle said offhandedly that she was set for insurance.
"But are you sure you are?" pressed Martin. "There's nothing like peace of mind when it comes to insurance. You don't have to worry about your loved ones struggling after you're gone."
Myrtle's voice was complacent, "I don't worry. They'll be just fine."
Martin started wheedling. "Maybe you're set with life insurance, but you might be surprised to find how inexpensive some vital insurance can be. Take roofing insurance, for example. You know how expensive it can be to replace an entire roof. It's outrageous! And we do get some really extreme weather in this section of the country. All we need is another hailstorm and you'll need to spend a lot of money to put a roof over your head."
"That's what homeowner's insurance is for," said Myrtle placidly. "Which I have."
"Yes, but homeowner's insurance might not always come through. There are certain conditions that have to be met. You'd be amazed to hear there is roofing insurance available for only seventeen dollars a month."
Myrtle shook her head, a slight smile around her lips. Miles looked longingly at the front door.
Martin continued, "Hail can also do a lot of damage to windows. The cost of window replacement is steadily climbing, but you can get a special rider with my company for only four dollars a month." He looked archly at Myrtle.
Myrtle said with a laugh, "Martin, you are quite the salesman. But what you don't know is that I'm on a fixed income. There is absolutely no way on this green earth you'll be able to convince me to add a recurring charge to my regular expenses."
Martin looked flummoxed for a moment and then gave a hearty laugh. "A lady who likes to take her chances! Well, that's just fine. You know who to see if you ever change your mind." He reached into the silver business card holder and handed Myrtle his card.
Myrtle took it with a sweet smile and stuck it into the depths of her cavernous purse.
Miles said to Myrtle, "Perhaps we should leave, Myrtle. I'm sure Martin has a busy day ahead of him."
Martin stood and said, "Yes, planning a service for poor Mama. At least there will be beautiful flowers there—when I run by the shop, I'll have Bianca make some really special arrangements."
"Do you know when the service will be held?" asked Myrtle. She knew from past experiences that she needed to make sure her funeral outfit was in good condition.
"Not yet, but the police didn't think they'd need Mama for very long. I'm hoping in a couple of days," said Martin.
They walked to the front door and Martin said, "Thanks again for the casserole. That's very thoughtful of you both."
Miles said in a somewhat strangled voice, "It's Myrtle's casserole, actually. But I send my very best regards."
Myrtle shot him a look and then asked Martin for his sister's address so they could bring her food, as well.