Miles turned a bit green at the thought of the diner. "I'm not sure fried food would sit well on my stomach right now."
"They have plenty of other options," said Myrtle. "You know you usually end up with a salad over there. Besides, Red wants us to leave and he'll continue glaring at me until we do."
Miles was finally, and reluctantly, convinced and soon they were walking into Bo's Diner in downtown Bradley. The restaurant hadn't changed in decades with its vinyl booths, laminated menus, and linoleum flooring.
Before long, Myrtle was contentedly eating a pimento cheese hot dog and French fries. Miles looked askance at her plate and pushed around salad greens without any of them actually getting put into his mouth.
Myrtle watched him for a moment as she took a sip of her iced tea. "You're not really going to get any nutritional benefits that way, you know. The food must be digested. You're just pushing it into the corners of your plate to make it appear you've eaten something."
Miles sighed. "I'm just not that hungry."
"Thinking about Darren again?" asked Myrtle.
Miles nodded and Myrtle pursed her lips in thought. "As a matter of fact, there's one thing I can distract you with. I'd like to discuss something with you."
Miles frowned. "That sounds ominous."
"Oh, it's perfectly fine, Miles. It's just that I need you to go to book club with me tomorrow afternoon."
Miles pushed his salad so far to the edge of the plate that a bit hit the table. He scowled at it.
Myrtle continued, "You haven't been to the last three meetings. It's a source of some concern with the ladies. You know how you brighten their day by being there."
Myrtle smirked and Miles rolled his eyes at her. He said, "It's a little dispiriting to attend book club when there are only ten minutes allotted to the chosen book. And, frankly, when the allotted book isn't even worth ten minutes."
"I'd agree. But you know your methods aren't exactly helpful. We have to ease into literature with that club and those women. You practically killed book club when you introduced The Mayor of Casterbridge."
Miles sighed. "I can tell you have a plan."
"I do. I already changed the book club meeting this month to the library's community room to remind everyone that our club is about books." Myrtle sat back in the booth and beamed at Miles.
Miles said grudgingly, "It might work. But you realize the problem with that approach is the alcohol. The library won't allow it. The rest of book club won't want to show up if it means giving up their vodka and tonics. Attendance might be very low."
Myrtle said in a severe voice, "The book club has become entirely too tipsy in recent months. I believe a drying out stretch might be best. Besides, we can still have food in the community room and the snacks are also popular. And that's another reason why I need you to come. Like I mentioned, you're a big draw."
"I haven't read the book."
"Believe me, Miles, no one has read the book. Probably not even Tippy, who proposed the silly thing. I have a good idea for the next book, though."
"The Sound and the Fury?" asked Miles hopefully.
"I'll overlook your little Faulkner obsession. There's no way book club can handle his streams of consciousness. They'll end up quite dizzy. No, I thought we should revert to high school English and try House of Mirth. I have the feeling the group will enjoy it. Or they won't read it, which will put us at the same point we are now. At any rate, nothing bad will happen with that particular book choice." Myrtle polished off the last bite of her hot dog.
"I suppose that will be fine," said Miles. "I do like Edith Wharton."
Myrtle said, "Well, thank goodness you'll come. I was concerned you'd drag your feet. I know how you don't like attending when you haven't read the selection." She knit her brows as Miles lay down his fork and left the salad untouched. "There's actually another reason I think you'll want to be at the meeting. Pansy Denham will be there."
Miles pushed his plate away. "She's not a member, is she? I haven't been gone that long."
"She's not, yet. But I think she's about to be. Tippy invited her. And, as a matter of fact, I believe Pansy is something of an anomaly for our group in that she appears to be an actual reader. Despite how silly she can appear sometimes, she actually seems to be fairly clever."
Miles said, "Well, she was dating Darren, after all. I don't think anyone but another reader would have been a good match for him."
"Exactly. Anyway, I think she'll fully support my plan to read House of Mirth. And we'll have the chance to speak with her about Darren," said Myrtle.
Miles shook his head. "There's no way she'll be there, Myrtle. Darren just died. She's probably just found out about it from Red. Tomorrow morning she may want nothing more than staying in bed all day with the covers pulled over her head."
Miles had sounded far too wistful at that last bit. She'd have to do everything in her considerable power to keep him distracted. "Ordinarily, I'd agree with you. But you know how Tippy is. She thinks the best way to handle grief is distraction. I bet you anything Tippy will go right over to Pansy's house and trot her directly over to the library for our meeting."
The waitress came by the table and glanced at Miles's untouched salad. "Can I box that up for you, hon?"
Miles winced and shook his head rapidly. "I'm all done."
Myrtle said, "For heaven's sake, Miles! Box it up and eat it for supper. You'll be hungry again eventually."
Miles shook his head stubbornly and Myrtle sighed. She asked the waitress, "Do you mind boxing it? I may eat it for supper, myself."
As the waitress whisked it away, Myrtle said, "Here. I saved you some French fries." Miles shook his head again and Myrtle pushed the plate at him. "Have one. Sometimes greasy food is better."
Miles could tell that Myrtle wasn't going to be dissuaded. He reluctantly put a fry in his mouth. It sat well enough, however, that he ended up eating the rest of them.
Myrtle gave the empty plate a look of satisfaction. "Healthy food isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes a little good old-fashioned comfort food is better."
They paid their bills and headed back to Miles's car. Miles started up the engine. "How about if I drop you back home, Myrtle? I think I may take a nap."
Myrtle didn't think much of that plan. Miles might have a maudlin tendency to dwell on things. "Actually, I need your help. Let's go to the grocery store and I'll pick up a few things for book club tomorrow."
Miles gave her a startled look. "You're not cooking, are you?"
"The expression on your face, Miles! Why shouldn't I cook? I want everyone to enjoy being at the library tomorrow."
"Precisely." Miles's voice was dry.
"I have some really wonderful old recipes for hors d'oeuvres that the rest of the ladies are sure to love."
Miles said pointedly, "Do you have the recipes with you? Sometimes you don't remember the ingredients when we're shopping. It forces you to make creative substitutions."
"People go to school to learn how to cook. We went to school to learn how to cook. It's an art . . . a creative endeavor. Substituting is the way to make something average truly great."
Miles appeared doubtful at this. "What are you planning on bringing?"
"A couple of favorites from the 1970s."
Miles flinched. "I don't recall the 70s being especially well-known for its culinary contributions."
"You're clearly forgetting olive balls."
Miles said fervently, "Clearly, I am."
"They were very good and very easy. They had olives and cheese and whatnot."
It was the whatnot Miles was worried about.
Myrtle said, "And I really think I should make something for poor Orabelle."
Miles muttered something that sounded very much like she doesn't deserve that.
Myrtle gave him a sharp look and continued, "Perhaps a casserole of some sort. One filled with the comfort foods we were just talking about."
Miles looked alarmed. "A French fry casserole?"
"Don't be silly, Miles. Of course not. No, this would be a tater tot casserole. That's much fancier than French fries, but has the same tummy-filling comfort."
"And you remember the ingredients?"
Myrtle said, "Certainly. I've made it many, many times. Red will remember."
"So the last time you made it, Red was still a kid?" Miles now looked even more alarmed. Red was in his late-forties.
"Making it will be muscle-memory. It will all come right back to me. It has cream-of-something soup in it and some vegetables." Myrtle didn't sound too certain about the pesky particulars.
In a few minutes, they were at the grocery store. Miles morosely pushed the cart while Myrtle thoughtfully perused the shelves, trying to remember the suddenly elusive ingredients of the tater tot casserole.
"Well, we know it has tater tots in it," said Miles dryly.
"We do. Good point, Miles. Let's start with what we know and then the rest of the ingredients might naturally fall into place." They walked to the other end of the store and got a bag of the frozen grated potatoes.
Myrtle became distracted in the frozen food section and ended up with ice cream and frozen waffles.
"Surely those aren't going in." Miles frowned at the items as Myrtle threw them in the cart.
"Don't be absurd. Of course, they won't. But now I need to find something for me to snack on. It occurs to me that I don't have much in my house right now. Besides, both these things are on sale."
There were, apparently, many things on sale at the store. Miles watched glumly as the groceries piled up in Myrtle's cart. "Have you figured out what else might be in the recipe?"
"Olives," muttered Myrtle as she threw in a box of cereal.
"In the tater tot casserole?" Miles's voice was scandalized.
"No, no, in the olive cheese balls. I have two recipes, remember?"
Miles was trying hard not to.
Myrtle ended up getting olives and tater tots and cream of mushroom soup. She felt sure she likely had the other ingredients at her house. Besides, the cart was getting quite full with sale items and she wanted to make sure her bank account was able to handle the hit.
After checking out, Miles pushed the cart full of bags to his car. Myrtle grumbled, "That was an excessive amount to pay for groceries. Those things were all allegedly on sale."
"I don't think it's the price of the individual items. I think it's the collective price as a whole."
"Spoken like a true CPA." Myrtle plopped down in the front seat and scowled out the window.
"Engineer," said Miles coldly.
"Whatever. This will curtail my spending for the rest of the week until my retirement check comes in. That's so bothersome."
"Were you planning on spending money? That sounds rather unlike you."
"I suppose not. But I might have wanted to return to the grocery store for a few items. I didn't have my list with me so I just shopped the sale. Now I'm not altogether sure if the things I purchased can be assembled into any sort of a meal or not." Myrtle frowned.
Miles thought back over the items in the cart. "Well, I know you can make meals out of cereal. You did purchase a box of cereal."
"But I'm not at all sure I have milk. This is all very vexing! Miles, you're so reasonable . . . you should have stopped me."
"You're a force of nature, Myrtle. Unstoppable. You were very focused on buying things on sale."
Myrtle said, "Which seems fiscally conservative until you realize you don't actually have anything to eat. I recall putting a good deal of laundry soap in the cart."
"It was buy one, get one free, I believe." Miles pulled into Myrtle's driveway.
Myrtle mused for a moment. "Hm. Perhaps it would be a good time to see more of my family. And friends." She gave Miles a sideways glance.
Miles sighed. "You know you're welcome to eat over at my house. But you usually don't like the offerings there."
"That's only because you have a very odd taste in food. There's always a lot of watercress at your house. And cucumber. And blue cheese-stuffed-olives."
"You just bought olives. Clearly, you like them," pointed out Miles reasonably.
"Not as an entire meal."
Miles frowned. "Have I eaten olives as an entire meal?" He shook his head. "Anyway, I have a simple solution for this. You'll find your grocery list here at the house. We'll head back to the store with your receipt and we'll return items you don't want. You'll get the things you need to make meals for the next week and you'll have food until your check comes."
Myrtle said, "That's no good. You know who works at the customer service counter."
"Do I?"
"That Tracy Thudmore. She's ghastly and she has a big mouth." Myrtle made a face.
Miles said mildly, "I'm not sure returning unwanted food would constitute a scandal, Myrtle."
"Of course it would. We're in Bradley. Tracy would tell everyone that I lost my mind and bought a cart full of groceries and returned nearly every bit of it. Then the next thing I know, Red will stick me in Greener Pastures Retirement Home and I'll be stuck eating their disgusting food. You'll come visit me and we'll be enduring canned pears with mayonnaise and grated cheese." Myrtle shuddered.
"Or she'll say you're a smart shopper who realized too late that she didn't shop around her weekly menus."
Myrtle said, "Or she'll say that I'm too broke to take home random groceries. No, Miles, the damage has been done. I'll simply snack on whatever I purchased and then camp out at your place and Red's for meals. I suppose I can get used to cucumber and olives."
"Great," said Miles without enthusiasm. He followed her in, helping to carry groceries. "Do you need a hand putting this stuff away?"
"Nope. I'm all good." She peered at him through narrowed eyes. "But now I think we should watch Tomorrow's Promise together."
Miles looked at her suspiciously. "Are you trying to keep me here under false pretenses?"
"Since when has our soap opera constituted false pretenses? Besides, we can sit around and snack on chips. I appear to have lots of chips."
Miles said, "You're not worried about me, are you?"
"Me? Of course not. After all, at our age, we're accustomed to losing friends." Regardless of the questionable truth of that statement, Myrtle suspected Miles could still use a diversion.
"We're not quite the same age," said Miles stiffly.
"But we're both seniors. We're in the same age category. And Tomorrow's Promise is going to be especially good today. We'll get to find out who poisoned Antonia and who's the father of Gretchen's baby."
Miles shook his head. "I just don't know. I'm feeling a little restless. I'm not sure I can sit down and even pay attention to a TV set."
Myrtle unloaded a few more of the bags and thought this through. She brightened. "I know exactly what we should do. We should visit Wanda." Wanda was a friend of Myrtle's, a cousin of Miles's, and was a psychic to boot.
Miles groaned. "I'm pretty sure I'm not up to a visit with Wanda today."
"You know how helpful she is. She has a completely different perspective on things."
"I'll agree with that." Miles watched glumly as Myrtle put away a can of French-fried onions. "At least, I'll agree on the 'completely different perspective' part."
Myrtle said, "It's important to hear her thoughts at the very beginning of an investigation. Otherwise, we waste time. It's also likely time for us to check in with her and see how she's doing."
Miles sighed. "That's the part that's so difficult. She's always struggling."
"Not true. She gave up smoking and that's really helped her health."
Miles said, "Except she still coughs and her voice is completely ruined."
"She's given away all the piles of junk that her brother had collected in the shack."
"Except Crazy Dan keeps bringing in more," said Miles.
"And Sloan has improved her lifestyle by giving Wanda a well-deserved raise for her column."
"It's a horoscope, not a column," pointed out Miles.
"The way Wanda writes it, it is a column." Myrtle put away the last of the groceries and headed for her front door.
Miles sighed. "Just hop in the car and I'll be there in a minute. I need to run home. I'll need to grab cash and some hand sanitizer."
Myrtle knew better than to try to argue. Whenever they saw Wanda, Miles was always exceptionally paranoid about touching things without using hand sanitizer. And he never left Wanda without putting a bit of cash into her hand.