Myrtle and Miles looked at each other again.
"Is something wrong?" asked Clara, her quivering voice behind them. She appeared to be still unsuccessfully trying to call her husband.
"Just a minute," said Myrtle in her firm schoolteacher voice. Under her breath she said to Miles, "Okay. You give Clara the news and I'll call Red." Having a son who was the police chief could be annoying, but it was occasionally helpful.
"Me?" Miles looked anxious. "I don't think this is my forte."
"Do you think it's mine? All the women in town think you're so charming, Miles. I promise you she'll take the news better from you." Myrtle gave him a tiny shove.
As Miles ministered to the ever-more-distraught Clara, Myrtle made a quick check around the car for any clues. Red was decidedly unhelpful when it came to sharing information about his cases, which required Myrtle to do a little snooping. There were no footprints and nothing outside the car aside from the tire iron and flat.
Glancing back, she saw that Miles and Clara weren't looking her way. She very quickly grabbed the two tissues again and lifted the trunk lid gingerly. She peered at Neil Albert's body for any signs that there might have been a struggle of some kind: torn clothing, defensive wounds on Neil's hands. But all she saw was a bit of oil or grease on him. It appeared that Neil was either taken by surprise, or trusted his assailant enough to keep his back toward him. She put the trunk back down and, using the same tissues, opened the driver's door and picked up Neil's cell phone. He had quite a few text messages. Myrtle pulled her cell phone out of her pocketbook and took a picture of both his messages and his recent calls. Fortunately, Neil appeared to have been very organized about labeling his contact list.
Finally, Myrtle dialed Red's number.
Red answered the phone in a weary voice, as if expecting his mother had been up to some sort of shenanigans. "Mama? What's up?"
Myrtle glanced over at Clara and walked a little farther away. She said in a low voice, "Murder, that's what."
There was a brief pause at the other end and Red said, "I'm hoping you've just been dipping into the cooking sherry. Murder?"
"That's right," hissed Myrtle. "And there's no sherry in sight, cooking or otherwise. Our new neighbor, Neil, is dead in his own trunk. There's a tire iron on the side of the road that looks as if it might be the murder weapon. Miles is trying to comfort Neil's wife, Clara." As if on cue, Clara's wails grew louder. "And I don't think it's going well."
Red's voice was grim now. "Heading over. Where are y'all?"
"On the way out of town, near the factory and bank branch." Myrtle hung up and turned reluctantly to face Miles and Clara.
Clara brushed by her, determined to make sure that her husband was indeed deceased. Seconds later, she turned away, looking pale and shaken, and swayed slightly as she walked past Miles.
Miles gave Myrtle a desperate look as he assisted Clara back to his car. Myrtle slowly followed them. She never knew what to do around tears. Then Clara gave a tremendous sniff and Myrtle, glad to have found a chore, dug around in her pocketbook for her packet of tissues. She thrust them at Clara.
Clara gratefully took them and blew her nose in earnest. She seemed to quiet down a little with Myrtle's presence there.
"I'm very sorry about Neil," said Myrtle, peering carefully at Clara to ascertain that she wasn't about to dissolve into tears again.
Clara, fortunately, seemed to have gotten a handle on her emotions. "I am, too," she said quietly. Her voice was very tired.
Myrtle said slowly, "Do you have any idea what might have happened to him? That is, do you know of anyone who was having an argument with him? Any sort of disagreement?"
Clara shook her head. "We're new in town. I wouldn't have thought Neil would have had the time to make any enemies. We haven't really even been here long enough to make any friends."
Miles asked, "How long has it been since you've moved here? I was trying to remember and couldn't quite figure it out. Were you here last Christmas?"
"We were. We've actually been here for about a year. But most of our time has been spent getting the house updated and trying to get used to a new town. I feel as if we haven't really settled in," said Clara.
Myrtle said, "You said that you didn't think you'd been here long enough for Neil to make enemies. Did he usually make enemies?"
Clara shifted uneasily in Miles's car. "I shouldn't have said that. Not with Neil ... you know." She choked up a little.
Myrtle said firmly, "I think that Neil would want us to find out who did this to him, don't you? And asking uncomfortable questions is the way to start."
Clara took a deep, steadying breath. "Neil could make enemies. I mean, enemies, is kind of an exaggeration. He could rub people the wrong way, let's put it that way. He wasn't a very tall man and sometimes I feel like he was trying to make up for it with an aggressive personality. A Napoleon complex, right?"
"What was it like being married to him?" asked Myrtle. She was aware that she was pushing Clara, but had the feeling that Red was going to make an appearance at any time. And Red could be ridiculously sensitive about Myrtle questioning his suspects. Myrtle was quite sure that Clara was a suspect. The spouses were always the ones who were most likely to have done it.
Clara paused and now Myrtle had the impression that she was thinking through her response and being cagey. "You work for the newspaper, don't you?" asked Clara in a somewhat accusatory tone.
"Me?" asked Myrtle in her most innocent, frail, old lady voice. "Why, I merely write the helpful hints column."
Miles rolled his eyes in exasperation and Myrtle amended her statement. "That is, unless my editor throws me a story, which he does every now and again."
Clara seemed appeased. "Neil could drive me a little crazy. They say opposites attract and I guess that's what happened with Neil and me. He was very smart and had a very smart mouth, too. He was driven where I am more laid back. Except he wasn't so much driven to do stuff around the house or to do yardwork, and that's what we argued over most of the time." She paused and looked pained. "Now our yard is going to look even worse! Who's going to do the yardwork now?"
Miles asked, "There are people you can hire. That is, if you think you have the financial stability." His gaze wandered back to the expensive sedan.
"Oh, we do. Money isn't so much the problem. But you see, for Neil it was a point of pride. He thought it was his job as man of the house to mow the grass. He should have outsourced that years ago, but he always put it off." Clara sighed.
Myrtle heard a car's engine approaching in the distance and impatiently tried to wrestle the conversation back to the murder at hand. "It's hard to get yardmen in this town, but I do have a connection. I'll talk with you about it tomorrow when things have settled down. By the way, I was wondering where you were when you realized that Neil wasn't home."
Clara's face clouded in confusion and Myrtle continued, "That is, did you stay at home all afternoon? Were you out running errands? That's something that my son is sure to ask you when he arrives."
"I was at home. I was folding laundry and making supper. For two." Clara's voice was numb and she gave a shiver as if it were chilly out instead of blazing hot.
"And there's no one you can think of who might have been angry enough with Neil to do this?" pressed Myrtle as a car pulled quickly up beside them.
Clara hesitated. "Well, I suppose our neighbor hasn't been too happy with Neil. Over the state of our yard and everything—you know. But I can't imagine he'd want to kill him over it. And then Neil mentioned the other day that he actually recognized someone here from a long time ago." She shrugged. "That seemed sort of random. Who could we possibly know here?"
A car door slammed and Myrtle quickly asked, "Did he say where he saw this person?"
"Coming out of the high school, I think he said," answered Clara.
Myrtle nodded and then, for Red's benefit, said, "I'll be sure to talk to you tomorrow about my yardman. Everything will be okay, dear."
Red looked at her through narrowed eyes as if he was pretty sure that she hadn't been talking to Clara about yardwork. But since Clara was there, he didn't say anything to Myrtle. Wearing a pair of gloves, he carefully opened the trunk and looked inside.
After a couple of minutes, he returned to them. "Miz Albert? You all right? Need me to call a medic over or anything?"
Clara shook her head and took a deep breath as if steeling herself.
"All right. I'm going to help you get through this. First, let me ask you a few questions." Red gave his mother a pointed look and Myrtle and Miles walked down the road a ways to leave Red alone to talk to Clara.
Miles looked relieved to get away. "That was very unpleasant."
Myrtle said, "It was indeed. For Neil, at any rate."
Miles raised his eyebrows. "You don't think Clara was sufficiently upset over the death of her husband?"
"She certainly seemed upset. But things aren't always what they seem. Did you notice that she spoke of Neil in the past tense when we were looking for his car? That was a little premature," said Myrtle.
They stopped walking and looked back toward the car. Red was talking with Clara and making notes from time to time on a notepad.
"Maybe it was a simple grammatical slip," said Miles with a shrug.
"Maybe," said Myrtle. "But you know that the spouse is always the main suspect."
Miles said, "They made something of an odd couple, didn't they? She's a fairly substantial woman and he's a wisp of a man. And she seemed well aware of his faults. What did you think about Clara pointing at their neighbor as a potential suspect?"
"I thought that it's a wonder that all of their neighbors weren't potential suspects, including you and me. Neil wasn't the greatest at yardwork, that's for sure. Half of us probably wanted to kill him at one time or another—you and me included," said Myrtle.
Miles asked, "I saw you scouting around for clues. Did you find anything?"
"Not too much. It didn't look as if Neil put up any kind of a fight," said Myrtle.
"Well, the likelihood that he knew his attacker was pretty high," said Miles dryly. "We don't exactly have a problem with wandering bandits here in Bradley."
"No. But still, you'd think that he would have had some kind of feeling that he was in danger. The killer must have picked up the tire iron at some point. Why didn't Neil try to fight him or run away or whatever? He was in fairly good shape and a middle-aged man. I'm sure he could have escaped, if he'd tried," said Myrtle.
"Not if he was very focused on changing that tire. He might not have been paying a lot of attention to where the tire iron was at any given time. Besides, Clara gave me the impression that Neil thought he could handle everything life had to throw at him. The yard, for instance. Neil was driving a very expensive car and he lived in a very nice home. He should have been able to afford weekly yard help since yards weren't really his thing," said Miles.
Myrtle nodded thoughtfully. "True. But he felt he should be able to handle his yard and didn't want to subcontract the work out. Maybe he had an over-confidence problem."
"Did you find out anything else?" asked Miles.
"I did manage to take a picture of his most recent text messages and phone calls," said Myrtle, sounding smug.
"Who was he communicating with?" asked Miles. "It's nice to have a good direction to go in, for once. Usually we have to try to figure out who the suspects are."
Myrtle pulled out her phone and frowned at the picture. "Hm. It's a little blurry."
Miles sighed and Myrtle hurried on, "No, no, it's fine. I can make out the names and dates and all." She paused again and then said, "How annoying. It looks as if most of them are work messages."
Miles said, "Well, he did have to work. I guess he didn't use a separate phone."
"No, I guess not. Besides his wife, I don't really see much here that appears to be personal. Pooh. They all say Bank: Tony. Bank: Kate. Bank: Mel."
Miles said, "It sounded to me as if he and his wife really hadn't gotten completely established here yet. Maybe that's why there aren't as many friend names."
"Or maybe there aren't as many friend names because they didn't have any friends," said Myrtle. "I do think we need to check into the neighbor." She frowned. "I wonder which neighbor it is. They have one on either side."
"Oh, it has to be Lyle. On the other side is Millicent Simmons. She barely even leaves the house. I don't know if I've ever even heard her speak. She just scurries like a little mouse," said Miles.
"I suppose you're right. Millicent hardly seems the sort to get confrontational with Neil over the state of his yard. Not unless she'd had a mild stroke," said Myrtle.
Miles said, "We also need to check into the person that Neil recognized."
"Right. Whoever that was. It does seem like Clara didn't pay a whole lot of attention to Neil whenever he spoke. At least she was able to cough up the fact that the person was coming out of the school," said Myrtle.
Miles rolled his eyes. "It's not as if there are only one or two people who work there. It's going to take ages to figure that out. It could even have been a lunch lady in the school cafeteria. And won't we look a little odd walking around the high school campus?"
"Maybe you will look odd, Miles. I, on the other hand, will be returning to my natural habitat. I taught at that school for a good many years of my life, remember? They'll be so happy to see me back," mused Myrtle.
They looked up to see an SUV with the logo for the North Carolina state police, or SBI, pulling over.
"Someone must have been in the area," said Myrtle. "I hope that I get the chance to see Lieutenant Perkins again. He and I always have such a good time. I need to invite him over to dinner sometime."
Miles was about to splutter out a deterrent to Myrtle when Red hurried back over to them. "Okay," he said grimly, "So the SBI is here to secure and investigate the scene. I'm going to go ahead and drive Clara back home. I know she rode over with y'all."
"We can take her back home," said Myrtle, thinking perhaps Clara might have some additional insights that she hadn't yet realized.
"That won't be necessary," said Red sternly. "Besides, you'll need to talk to the state police and give them your statements."
Myrtle made a face. "With some random officer?"
"Lieutenant Perkins is on his way," said Red with a long-suffering sigh. "I know he's your favorite."
"The Lieutenant and I understand each other. He treats me as his peer," said Myrtle with a sniff.
"His peer? He's forty years younger than you are!"
"I mean his intellectual peer. He respects my investigating skills," said Myrtle. "He respects my wisdom. He respects my brain."
Red frowned. "Speaking of your brain, there's something I wanted to ask you about. I believe your brain may be malfunctioning."
"Certainly not!" said Myrtle, giving Red an icy glare.
Miles took a few cautious steps back as if the conversation might grow too heated for him to safely remain where he was standing.
"The mailman accidentally delivered a piece of your mail to my mailbox," said Red.
Myrtle made a face. "Exactly like the kind of incompetence I'd expect from this particular mailman. I want Alvin back. Surely he must have recovered from his hip surgery by now."
Red didn't seem inclined to debate the finer points of Alvin's recovery. "The point being, Mama, I noticed that one of the envelopes was stamped late notice. I wanted to make sure that there wasn't anything I ought to know about your finances."
"Anything you ... why, Red! I can't believe you. You actually think that I'd pay a bill late? You know how I feel about late payments. The only thing you need to know about my finances is that they're in perfect order. The very idea!" Myrtle's eyes were wide and scandalized.
"Can you explain the late payment notice, then?" asked Red, rubbing his forehead.
"I can explain that sometimes payment processing places are incredibly poor at processing payments. I've no doubt that whoever sent me that notice will be calling and begging my forgiveness," said Myrtle.
Red raised an eyebrow, skeptically.
"At any rate, I haven't seen this mystery bill of which you speak. You placed it in my mailbox?" snapped Myrtle.
"No, I went ahead and paid it. Because ... water. You kind of need to have a water supply, Mama. And if you need me to take over the payment of any other bill, you know where to find me. Now I've got Clara Albert to take back home," said Red. He stomped off, leaving a fuming Myrtle behind.
Miles cleared his throat. "Well, at least he's looking after you."
"Looking after me? He's looking to fling me into Greener Pastures retirement home and throw away the key. I never got a bill from the water company. With our new and profoundly amateurish mail carrier, who knows where it got delivered? Perhaps the man even dropped it down the storm drain to torment me," said Myrtle. She was now in quite a state and appeared to have completely forgotten about the mystery at hand.
Miles, worried he'd be hearing a long list of Red's transgressions while waiting for the state police, said, "Back to the murder—who do you think might be the most likely person at the high school for Neil to have recognized?"
Myrtle, fortunately, was rather easily distracted. "The principal is his age. And there are several teachers in their forties. Of course, it wouldn't have to be someone exactly his age—it could be someone from another age group that he knew."
"And where were they originally from?" asked Miles.
"Boston. Couldn't you tell from the accent?"
Miles asked, "Do you know anyone from the high school who was from Boston?"
Myrtle squinted her eyes as she mulled over the staff members. "You know it was a million years ago that I taught there, so I only know these people as acquaintances."
"You said that they'd be happy to see you back!"
"Of course they will. I was a legend at the high school. But it's not as if I'm friends with any of these people. They're Red's age. I taught them, for heaven's sake. Oh, look: Lieutenant Perkins is here. Thank heavens," said Myrtle.
They watched as Lieutenant Perkins walked over to talk to the state police and observe the scene. He was a tall, wiry man with a close-cut military haircut and a rather grim expression.
"Animated as always," said Miles dryly.
It was true that Lt. Perkins had the demeanor of a Buckingham Palace guard. As usual, Myrtle felt the need to shake things up. When he finally approached them, Myrtle gave him an enthusiastic hug, which startled him and knocked him slightly off-balance. Miles, more sedately, shook his hand.
"Good to see both of you," said Lt. Perkins. "It looks like you're back on the trail again."
"Indeed we are! And we were simply minding our own business, as usual. Clara Albert came rushing over to talk to us when we were innocently loading the car with a charitable donation. Be sure to relay that information to Red, since he never seems to believe a word I say," added Myrtle darkly.
They proceeded to fill Lt. Perkins in. He nodded and occasionally jotted down a note in a small, spiral notebook. At the end of their interview he said, "You two have been most helpful. Mrs. Clover, you always have excellent insights."
Myrtle preened. "It's nice to have someone appreciate one's efforts. You'll have to come over for supper one night while you're in town."
The very slightest wrinkle of anxiety briefly and nearly imperceptibly passed across Lt. Perkins's brow. Miles said hastily, "Except that Lt. Perkins will likely be very busy with the case."
Myrtle said, "Pooh. The man has to eat, doesn't he?"
Lt. Perkins smiled at her. "You're absolutely right. I do have to eat. But this time I insist on taking you out to dinner. I've impinged on your hospitality in the past, and wouldn't dream of doing so again."
Myrtle said, "What a wonderful idea!"
"What's the best place to go out in Bradley?" asked Lt. Perkins.
Miles said, "Unfortunately, there aren't an abundance of choices."
"There really aren't," said Myrtle, giving Miles a quelling look, "but there is an excellent diner. Bo's Diner has been around forever and has a variety of different menu choices."
"Perfect. I'll get back to you later on that. We could invite Red," said Lt. Perkins.
Myrtle paused. "We could invite Red, but would we have as much fun?" Red would spend the entire dinner trying to prevent Myrtle from finding out information.
Lt. Perkins smiled. "I'll leave the inviting up to you. Red, Miles, nobody—whomever you like. Now I'd better return to work. See you soon."
He walked away and Miles said, "It's dark now and a bit of a drive. We need to start heading back. Besides, I think the shift will be ending at the factory and we won't want to be stuck in that traffic."
A few minutes later as he drove toward Myrtle's house, Miles said, "What's on the agenda for tomorrow?"
"We'll start with the irritated neighbor. Since we're usually the irritated neighbors, we should start with what we know best," said Myrtle. "So, early tomorrow?"
Miles said dryly, "Are we sure that Lyle Solomon will want to see us early? With his rumored hotheadedness, perhaps it would be better if we interviewed him after he's had coffee and breakfast."
Myrtle said impatiently, "Lyle must be a morning person. All gardeners are morning people. They want to start in their yards before it gets too hot outside."
"Yes, but our definition of morning might be different from his," said Miles tightly. "Especially considering that your insomnia means you're sometimes up for the day at three a.m."
"And you think I'd go see Lyle at three a.m.? Such nonsense, Miles. I'd never do such a thing. Unless I saw their lights on, anyway," said Myrtle. "But don't worry. We'll go mid-morning."