They watched the rest of the soap opera, the plot of which was at least as unlikely as Briana's conversion to terrorist. After it was done, Miles stretched and idly said, "What did you think of your story in the paper today?"
"I didn't even have a chance to read it. Wait...why? Was there something different about the article?" asked Myrtle.
Miles wordlessly tossed the paper her way.
Myrtle scanned the front page. "Sloan has finally flipped his lid. I don't believe this. Is this the Bradley Bugle or the National Enquirer? 'Alien Spacecraft Reported by Local Resident?' That's Barney Shoemaker and he's reported aliens for the past fifty years...it's not news. It's all tied into his fond relationship with homemade moonshine."
"It's a very colorful newspaper," said Miles, looking sadly into his now-empty bowl.
"But what's this? 'Brainy Beauty Butchered?' What?" Myrtle gaped in horror at the story. "And my name is on the story?"
"Did you notice anyone looking oddly at you at the funeral today?" asked Miles. "Because that's the kind of story that might make people stare."
"No, I didn't see anyone looking oddly at me. Likely because they don't even subscribe to the paper anymore. What nonsense!" Myrtle crumpled up the paper and tossed it far away from her, fuming. "I'm going to have a talk with that Sloan Jones. I'll set him straight and not try to tiptoe around his feelings any longer."
"Before you do that, because I don't want to be around for the moment when that big man starts cowering under his desk, can you fill me in on the case? Who have you talked to, what have you learned, and how was the funeral?" asked Miles.
Myrtle was still thinking about the newspaper, but she gave him a very rote and factual representation of the events that had transpired since he'd become ill. Miles listened intently, nodding from time to time.
At the end of her recitation, he said, "Okay, so now I know all the facts. But what do you think, Myrtle? That's what I want to know. How are you processing all of the events and all of what you know? What kind of sense are you making out of it all?"
"Before I answer that," said Myrtle, "what do you make of it?"
"That's hard to say since I wasn't there and couldn't see the expressions of the suspects or hear their tone of voice. But I could take a stab at it." He thought for a moment. "I'm guessing that Alma simply got in the way somehow. She sure wasn't killed for her vast fortune. Maybe she'd seen the murderer or had some piece of information or evidence that tied the murderer to the crime. The murderer would have been desperate not to be arrested for Luella's death and would have eliminated Alma."
Myrtle said, "That's exactly what I'm thinking. Mostly. Actually, I'm taking it a step further. I think that not only did Alma know something, she attempted to improve her rather dire economic situation by blackmailing the person who was responsible for Luella's murder."
"Surely she must have known that was very dangerous though," demurred Miles. "After all, she would be dealing with someone who had killed once. And very brazenly, too—in a short period of time with a lot of people around."
"That's true, but you're forgetting one important fact. Alma was friends with whomever the murderer is. They played Bonkers together."
"Bunco," muttered Miles.
"Since they were friends, Alma may have underestimated the danger involved. This was likely a person that she'd known for years. She might have felt quite safe. And it must have seemed like a good way to get some extra spending money," said Myrtle.
Miles said, "But the killer wasn't a safe person to approach. And it was the kind of person who would not only murder a friend at a party, but would break into someone's house in the middle of the night to silence them."
"That's the thing, though...everyone would know that Alma kept her windows open at night to stay cool. She's the only person I know of who wasn't running her a/c. Clearly, she was trying to keep costs down. The only problem with that, is that it ultimately cost her her life." Myrtle stretched her legs out. She'd been sitting for a little while now. "What other conclusions did you reach, Miles? Or what else stood out to you? You're doing a good job."
Miles said slowly, "I suppose the mysterious earring. Do we know who wears earrings and who doesn't?
Myrtle counted on her fingers. "Poppy doesn't wear earrings or have pierced ears. Florence does wear earrings. Estelle wears earrings but they're just those stud kinds—not the big, dangly kinds. And Poppy reported that Mimsy wears earrings. Actually, Mimsy apparently lost an earring at my party."
"It sounds as if Mimsy is the most likely suspect then," said Miles.
"It does sound that way, doesn't it?" asked Myrtle.
"But you're thinking something else, it appears." Miles sounded a bit stiff at his lack of imagination.
"That's right. I'm thinking that anyone could have set Mimsy up. It would be very easy to have planted Mimsy's earring at the crime scene. Then you've nicely diverted attention from yourself if you're the killer," explained Myrtle.
"How would someone have ended up with Mimsy's earring?" asked Miles in exasperation. "Did they break into her house, too?"
"No, that wouldn't have been necessary. Remember? Mimsy lost an earring at my party. Someone could have seen it, taken it as an insurance policy of sorts, and then cleverly planted it as evidence against Mimsy at Alma's crime scene."
"But why? Why would someone do that? And really—do you think the killer spent that much time planning ahead?" asked Miles. He rubbed his temple as if he were getting a headache.
"I do think the murderer thought the crimes through, yes. Luella's murder was a crime of opportunity, but it wasn't something the killer hadn't thought about. This wasn't some sort of crime of passion where the murderer is suddenly boiling over with rage during an argument. As far as we can tell, there was no argument. Luella went outside to smoke. No one reports hearing loud voices, or an argument, or anything at all," said Myrtle.
"Maybe it was simply so loud inside that the guests couldn't hear the argument going on outside," suggested Miles.
"And that's a very good point, Miles. Except for one important fact—Erma Sherman was next door. And Erma is the nosiest, most obnoxious neighbor ever. If there had been a violent argument taking place mere yards from her house, she'd have known about it. She probably had all her windows open trying to listen in," said Myrtle.
Miles said, "This still doesn't explain the 'why.' Why would someone try to set Mimsy up?"
"Plenty of reasons. It could have been a personal reason—maybe someone really dislikes Mimsy would like to see Mimsy hauled away in handcuffs. Or maybe it was just a very practical reason...the opportunity to divert suspicion away from the killer presented itself and the murderer leaped at the chance."
"So let's think who might have something against Mimsy," said Miles. He stared blankly at Myrtle's television. "You know, if I had to place a bet on someone, I'd pick Poppy."
"Maybe you're confused about who Poppy is. Remember, she's the one who's Mimsy's best friend. You might be thinking about Estelle," said Myrtle.
"I'm most definitely not thinking of Estelle. That's because I can't think of a reason on this earth why Estelle Rutledge would want to set up Mimsy Kessler."
"That's because you're not using your imagination, Miles. Estelle was angry with Luella for denying her a loan that would have saved or jumpstarted her storm chasing career. Alma may have spotted Estelle coming in from the backyard and decided to blackmail her," said Myrtle.
Miles interrupted. "But Alma would know that Estelle wasn't exactly rolling in cash. Wouldn't she be a poor mark in terms of blackmailing?"
"Well, yes, but beggars can't be choosers. And Estelle is certainly more solvent than Alma is. If Estelle were desperate enough, Alma could probably have gotten a couple of decent payments from her. I'm just saying that's what Alma might have thought. But perhaps Estelle really is as bad off as you're thinking. Then she might have had a very strong motive for murdering Alma...to keep her quiet because she couldn't afford to pay her and she didn't want to go to prison." Myrtle waved her hands around to demonstrate the importance of shutting down a blabbing Alma.
Miles nodded slowly. "Okay. I'm following so far. And you're saying that she might have had an opportunity to take Mimsy's earring and snagged it, thinking that planted evidence could potentially be valuable in the future."
"Well, let's think about the order of events there. We don't really know when Mimsy's earring fell out. We know she reported it missing later in the party. What if Estelle or someone else saw the opportunity and grabbed the earring before Luella's murder, planning on planting it at the scene of the crime. ? And then, in the heat of the moment, maybe they forgot to plant it. Or perhaps they ran out of time—they thought that someone was about to come out the door, or something else spooked them and they weren't able to leave the earring, but they retained possession of it," said Myrtle. "It's the kind of thing that could come in useful later. And then there was a good use for it not long after."
Miles said, "This theory could work for just about everyone else, too. Poppy, for instance."
"I'm starting to think that you just don't like poor Poppy very much," said Myrtle.
"Let's consider it, though. This would be an example of someone wanting to set Mimsy up, since we couldn't find a motive for Poppy to kill Luella."
"And the motive for Poppy to kill her best friend?" asked Myrtle archly.
"Jealousy," said Miles decidedly.
"Okay, let's explore that. So you're saying that Poppy has had some sort of growing resentment against Mimsy. A resentment that got to the point where she couldn't stand it anymore and decided to plot her friend's downfall. Publicly humiliating Mimsy by having her dragged off to prison in handcuffs would surely accomplish that," mused Myrtle.
Miles was warming to his topic. "Think about it. Poppy has a weak chin and a really beaky nose. She's incredibly awkward. She wears braces. She fights weight gain."
Myrtle murmured, "And Estelle intimated that Poppy and Mimsy were definitely not in the same crowd in school."
"Maybe Mimsy and her clique even bulled Poppy?" suggested Miles.
"Isn't that taking things a little far?" asked Myrtle. "Mimsy doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd participate in bullying."
"But adults frequently aren't the same people they were in high school," said Miles.
"What were you like in high school, Miles?" asked Myrtle. "What type of group did you hang out with?"
Miles flushed a bit.
"What kinds of clubs did you join, then?" pressed Myrtle.
"Well, I was in Future Business Leaders of America," said Miles. "And the Key Club."
"Any sports?"
"Not on school teams, no. I played a bit of table tennis sometimes," said Miles a little defensively.
"And your friends. What types of professions did they end up going into?"
"Medicine. Law. Engineering. Technology." Miles shrugged.
"Okay. So you hung out with the nerds," summed up Myrtle. "There's nothing wrong with that, Miles. Nerds rule the world. But my point is that you haven't changed all that much. It's hard to imagine Mimsy as a mean person when she's so pleasant now."
"Point taken. But even if Mimsy wasn't bullying Poppy in high school, it doesn't mean that Poppy isn't resentful of Mimsy. Mimsy is...cute," said Miles with that flush again.
Myrtle grinned at him. "Ah, so you think Mimsy is cute. I won't give you a hard time on that Miles. She is cute. She has a beautiful complexion and lovely black hair. She reminds me of Snow White, as a matter of fact."
"And she doesn't have to work two jobs, either," reminded Miles. "Poppy is slogging away to make ends meet by working as a preschool teacher and as a waitress. Mimsy stays at home."
"Well, she does volunteer quite a bit. But you're right, there's a big difference between having to work two jobs and volunteering. And she'd have to tamp down any of that resentment she showed when she was with Mimsy. I think it's definitely a possible motive," said Myrtle. "And then we have Florence."
Miles sighed. "Myrtle, I still just can't see it. So you're saying this slightly batty old lady is whacking people over the head with wrenches and climbing in through windows to murder her friend? Why is this difficult for me to picture?"
"Your bias against the elderly is showing, Miles. Florence Ainsworth isn't a stereotype. Florence has perhaps the strongest motive of the group. She is desperate to maintain her freedom and her treasured relationship. She would be forced to give both of them up if her daughter moved her hundreds of miles away or put her in assisted living. Florence may be a bit batty—or she may be playing it up—she's definitely not stupid. And she's a lot sprightlier than you're giving her credit for. I wouldn't sell her short at all," said Myrtle.
Miles sighed. "And then there's still Mimsy. I guess she's sort of the obvious choice, since she benefitted from Luella's death and since evidence that most likely points to her was found at the crime scene at Alma's house."
"We'd have to go with a financial motive if we're considering Mimsy for Luella's murder. I think they got along just fine, so it wouldn't have been something personally against Luella, I don't think. And then Alma's death would have just been because she got in the way," said Myrtle. "Although Mimsy certainly seems financially solvent. And she's just so stinkin' nice."
Miles said thoughtfully, "What were you like in high school, Myrtle? Who did you hang out with?"
"Amazing people," said Myrtle with a sniff.
"Then some things really don't change," said Miles smugly.
After Miles had left to check on Puddin's progress, Elaine called to report that Jack had taken a short nap and that Red was available to drive them to Roger's Automotive.
As Myrtle suspected, Tim Rogers was glad to see them. He was very deferential to Myrtle and made sure to listen very carefully to Elaine when she was telling him what she was looking for in a new minivan. Apparently, business had been slow at the dealership lately, which explained why he pulled the expensive ad from the Bradley Bugle.
Myrtle said, "Red was going to drive us over to Creighton, Tim, but I told him I was sure we could work out a deal here and save us all the trouble. But my only requirements are that you give Elaine and Red an excellent deal and that you resume advertising at the Bradley Bugle. I'm prepared to send two other customers your way if you just agree to run those ads again."
"Miss Myrtle, you're an angel," said Tim, beaming.
Elaine strangled on something at these words and began violently coughing.
"No, I mean it. And I think that's a fine trade. Thanks, Miss Myrtle."
The afternoon went so well that by the end of it Elaine was in the office signing paperwork for a new van while Myrtle attempted to entertain Jack in the showroom of the dealership. Once the dealer installed Jack's car seat in the van, Elaine drove them out of the lot. "This is wonderful!" she said in a happy voice. "And I think we got a very good deal for it."
"I think so, too," said Myrtle. She thought about having Elaine drop her off at the newspaper office but then decided that it might be nice to stretch her legs and walk over. And it would give her some time to think of a nice way to tell Sloan that everyone despised the paper now.
After getting home and having a short snack, Myrtle decided to head back out. Myrtle decided that the best approach with Sloan was to attempt to make him see reason. If that didn't work, she could always use intimidation. That would be a piece of cake since she intimidated Sloan anyway.
As soon as Myrtle walked out her front door, she had an Erma Sherman sighting. Fortunately, Erma appeared to be busily cleaning out her car with antiseptic wipes of some sort. Myrtle quietly slipped past her.
It only took a few minutes to walk to downtown Bradley. Myrtle was so busily mulling over the next things she wanted to do that she failed to notice that Pasha was trotting along behind her on the sidewalk.
Once Myrtle reached the splintery wooden door of the Bradley Bugle office, she turned to see Pasha standing right behind her. The black cat looked pleased with herself.
"Pasha! What are you doing, pretty girl? You shouldn't be here. You're supposed to be hunting the pesky squirrels at my feeders and causing havoc among small mammals. Subduing nature, and all that. This is no place for you."
Pasha seemed to disagree. Forwhatever reason, she was in the mood to be with Myrtle. Perhaps the animalsensed that Myrtle was on a mission and she'd decided to come along to help out... because, when Myrtle opened the door into the office, Pasha bounded in.
A Body at Bunco and all eleven Myrtle Clover mysteries are available at Amazon: http://amzn.to/2uKSkq8 and other online retailers. I'll post a chapter of A Body at Bunco every Wednesday, but if you can't wait, it's available online for $3.99. Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoy the story, please vote for it.