Myrtle, afraid of somehow being forced to spend even more time with Erma, pounded frantically on Miles's door, punching the doorbell a couple of times for good measure. When there was no immediate response, she rapped with her cane on his front window.
Miles finally appeared, his terrified visage peering blearily through the front window. His hair was tousled, stubble peppered his chin, and he wore plaid pajamas. There was every evidence that he had just awoken from the deepest of slumbers.
Miles pushed the door open in a panic. "What is it? A fire? What's happened?"
"Erma happened," hissed Myrtle, pushing her way inside Miles's house as Erma gave them both a jaunty wave.
"For heaven's sake. I thought you had some sort of awful family emergency or that there was a terrorist attack or something." Miles's voice, still early-morning rusty, was now very annoyed. He stomped off in the direction of his bedroom and returned wearing a navy robe with white piping and matching slippers.
"There was an emergency. I was having a conversation with Erma. And ... really? Terrorists in Bradley, North Carolina? Population 1500?" asked Myrtle.
"I'd just woken up," said Miles stiffly. After a moment he said, "You can usually handle Erma better than that."
"It was too early in the morning to navigate an Erma encounter," said Myrtle. She walked into Miles's kitchen and started whipping up a pot of coffee. "I'm suddenly starving, too. Must be my near-death experience with our nasty neighbor. Hungry?"
Miles's irritation was only gradually lessening. "I'm not hungry when I first wake up."
Myrtle said, "Interesting." She proceeded to scramble eggs and microwave a few slices of bacon. As the eggs were cooking, she glanced behind her at the miffed Miles. In a placating tone she said, "I talked to Lyle."
"I thought we were going to see him together," said Miles. "At a more reasonable hour of the way."
Myrtle shrugged, carefully scooping the eggs onto a plate with the bacon. "It was unplanned. I was walking over here to see you. Lyle was already up and working in his yard, believe it or not. That man's obsessed."
Miles nodded. "He's one of those guys who's out there all the time. He thinks the yard is some sort of extension of himself. Maybe he's a frustrated landscaper."
"Or maybe his wife drives him crazy and he takes refuge outside," said Myrtle. "At any rate, we don't really need to scrutinize his motives for being outside all the time. We need to figure out if he was so incensed by Neil's disregard for his lawn that he decided to get rid of him."
"Seems extreme," said Miles. He fixed himself a cup of coffee from the pot that Myrtle had made. "And what if the yard didn't improve upon Neil's demise? Clara didn't really seem like a gardener to me."
"That's right. He might have assumed that Clara would hire a yardman. Problem solved." Myrtle looked at her watch. "I wonder how long it will take for Dusty to finally lumber over to my house to drag my gnomes out. I'll need to hop over and talk to him before he scrambles back out of there. Maybe he and I can go over to Clara's house together."
"Dusty's hardly a problem-solver," said Miles, taking a large sip of coffee.
"He could actually help to solve this particular problem. He's probably the only available yardman in town. You know how we have a terrible shortage here in Bradley," said Myrtle.
"There's always Tiny," said Miles.
"Tiny does a much better job. Tiny shows up on time. Tiny sends invoices. Tiny actually cares about his job. That's why Tiny has zero availability. No, it has to be Dusty. He should be heading to my house shortly. With any luck, he has his reluctant Puddin in tow."
Miles made a face. He was never convinced that Myrtle's house looked cleaner when Puddin left than it had before Puddin arrived. He tried to refocus. "Back to Lyle Solomon. Where was he when poor Neil was being stuffed into his own trunk?"
"Remember how Lyle gives those nature walks for folks at the senior center or at schools or whatever? He claims that he was giving a walk yesterday evening," said Myrtle, finishing off a slice of bacon.
Miles said, "In that rainstorm? That seems unlikely. I can't imagine the seniors of Bradley, North Carolina, loving nature so much that they decided to go ahead and get completely soaked."
"True. I'm trying to think who might have been on one of those walks who might be able to tell us what happened." Myrtle took a thoughtful sip of coffee. "Do you think Tippy does those?"
"I'm not sure I can completely picture Tippy, in her designer clothes, heading off into the woods with Lyle. And I'm fairly certain that Tippy doesn't classify herself as a senior," said Miles.
"Pooh. She's every bit as much of a senior as you are, Miles. It's so tiresome when people won't own up to their age," said Myrtle.
"That may be, but I'd be the last person to suggest that she's a senior," said Miles with a shudder.
"The person doesn't have to be a senior. I think other people go on his walks. It's only that most of them are seniors." Myrtle frowned. "I wonder if even Elaine and Jack go on those sometimes. I want to say that Elaine has mentioned nature walks to me. I'll call her up later and ask her. Sometimes it's good to get a preschooler's energy depleted late in the afternoon."
Miles said, "I'd think that Jack would likely scare away any bit of nature that was out there."
"There would be running," said Myrtle with a nod. "But there would be a sleepy Jack at the end of it." She cocked her head to one side. "By the sound of it, I think that Dusty is on the way."
They listened for a second to the sound of a very loud engine, squeaky brakes, and assorted other noises. It was definitely Dusty's dilapidated truck.
"That's him, all right," said Myrtle. "Want to come over with me? I'm probably going to show up over at Clara's with Dusty in tow."
"No thanks," said Miles, raising his hands. "I want no responsibility for saddling Clara with Dusty. Besides, I'll have to shower and dress."
"I'll check in with you after I go to Clara's. Remember, we still need to go to the Goodwill."
Myrtle heard Miles groaning as she walked out the door.
Dusty was in a decidedly bad mood. He'd brought his wife, Puddin, who was in an actively hostile mood.
"Excellent!" said Myrtle, clapping her hands together. "Dusty, you get started with the gnomes. I want some especially thick coverage on the lawn today. Let's shoot for 90% of the yard covered."
Dusty, a wiry figure in stained khakis and a frayed button-down shirt, stared gloomily at the yard. "Won't be able to mow."
"No, but you do such a good job with your weed trimmer around the gnomes that no one will ever notice. But you do make a good point. Why don't you mow the grass short before taking the gnomes out? That won't take you long, especially with that new mower of yours. Besides, I have some good news for you. I've found you a new client!" said Myrtle.
Dusty did perk up a bit at this. "That so?" he asked, although in a somewhat suspicious voice.
"Yes. It's Clara Albert from down the street. She's in need of a yardman and I thought I'd walk down there with you after you're done here," said Myrtle.
Puddin growled, "That yard's a mess. It'll be a tough job, Dusty." She pushed a lank strand of blonde hair out of her small eyes.
Myrtle rolled her eyes. "It's going to be a tough job once. After that, it'll simply need some maintenance every week. Surely, you can handle that." She gave Puddin a hard look. "As long as properties are maintained every week, it takes a lot less time and trouble to handle them."
Puddin said crossly, "Wish you'd speak plain English."
"I'm saying that if you cleaned at my house once a week like you were supposed to, you'd find that it takes a fraction of the time to finish with the house. And it would take a lot less effort and elbow grease on your part."
"Can't help my back being thrown," muttered Puddin.
"If your back threw as much as you say it does, it should play professional football," said Myrtle. "Come on in and I'll show you what I need done."
A couple of hours later, a surly Puddin and a sweaty Dusty were finished with their jobs. They invaded Myrtle's kitchen in search of lemonade. "Think Miz Albert needs a housekeeper?" asked Puddin. She leveled Myrtle's house with a resentful look as if she couldn't wait to leave it behind for a new client.
"She didn't say anything about that," said Myrtle briskly. "And she's in mourning, so I don't want to saddle her with a difficult employee."
"Mourning?" Puddin's pasty face brightened with nosiness. "Who died?" She took a loud slurp of her lemonade.
"Mr. Albert did. Only last night," said Myrtle.
Puddin snorted. "Sure she's in mourning? Or is she throwin' parties over there? She weren't no fan of Mr. Albert."
"How do you know that?" asked Myrtle.
"One of my cousins heard 'em squabblin'. Said it was epic." Puddin seemed in awe of an epic squabble. She and Dusty, despite their other issues, had a fairly placid relationship.
This was the second time Myrtle had heard that Neil and Clara had a volatile marriage. She was mulling this over when she glanced out her kitchen window into her back yard. She said, "Dusty! I said to cut it short, not kill the grass! You've scalped it!"
Dusty shrugged and said in his laconic voice, "Don't matter in the front. All them gnomes cover it up. Still tryin' to get used to the new mower. At least yer yard won't have to be cut for a while. That way I can help yer friend out."
Myrtle closed her eyes briefly. It was like dealing with particularly obtuse children. She said through gritted teeth, "We should head over there, Dusty."
"I'll just wait here," said Puddin, eyeing Myrtle's sofa.
Clara answered the door right away. While she didn't appear to be throwing the party that Puddin swore she'd be, she didn't seem particularly upset this morning, either.
"Clara, this is my yardman, Dusty. He says that he has the time to take care of your yard for you, if you'd like to hire him," said Myrtle. She didn't mention how difficult it was to get Dusty over to one's house. It was always either too hot, too cold, too wet, or too dry. But no matter how infrequent Dusty's visits were and how poor his mowing, the yard would definitely improve over its current state.
Clara beamed at Myrtle and Dusty. "That's wonderful. When can you start?"
Dusty squinted as he looked at Clara's overgrown lawn. "Better get started now," he said with a sigh. "Might lose my mower in all that grass if I start next week."
Clara said, "That would be wonderful!" She looked at Myrtle. "Would you like to come inside for a few minutes?"
"Only just a few. I know you must have so much to do." Myrtle followed Clara inside the large home. It was tastefully decorated and, considering the condition of the yard, scrupulously tidy. "Actually, is there anything that I can help you do? Prepare for the funeral, go through clothes, write an obituary? You'd made it sound as if you really didn't know many people in Bradley."
"I don't," said Clara with a sigh. "But I don't think I really need that much help. It might sound bad, but I'm not that sentimental of a person. I won't have a problem getting rid of Neil's things. And, since we probably wouldn't have anyone attend a funeral, I'm planning on just having Neil cremated."
Myrtle decided that the residents of Bradley would find this a bizarre choice. They were too fond of entering grieving families' homes bearing potluck suppers. Then she said carefully, "You should do whatever makes life easier for you right now. It must be a tremendous adjustment. And I'm sure you're wanting to just put all this behind you."
Clara met Myrtle's gaze. She sighed. "There are no secrets in small towns, are there? It might sound as if Neil and I didn't get along very well. But that was just the way we communicated with each other. It might sound harsh to outsiders, but we cared for each other."
Myrtle said, "I'm sure you did. And, as I mentioned, it must be such a big change to have to deal with." She paused. "This may be pushing you before you're ready, but Miles and I are actually going to the Goodwill later today. We'd be happy to take a load, if you'd like. At least that will save you one trip, although I know you must have quite a few to make."
Myrtle gasped as Clara flung her arms around her neck. "Would you? That's so kind of you. As a matter of fact, I already do have a load to go. Just a small one, though—I wouldn't want you to have to struggle with a lot of stuff."
"It would be no struggle at all," said Myrtle, gently disengaging herself from Clara with a smile. "Dusty will load it in Miles's car for me. It's our pleasure. We'll just drive over to the Goodwill and they'll help us unload it there. Send as much as you like."
Ten minutes later, Dusty spotted Myrtle waving at him. He stopped mowing and stomped over to the large pile of men's clothing on Clara's front porch. Clara had already given Myrtle a grateful hug and retreated to Neil's closet, the better to weed out more unwanted items.
"Whut's this?" asked Dusty with a scowl.
"These are some things that I need you to carry over to Miles's house. He and I are going to Goodwill." Since Dusty still frowned, Myrtle continued, "We're helping Mrs. Albert, Dusty."
"These are him's old clothes?" Now Dusty had a speculative look in his eyes. "Nice ones, too. Mebbe I could wear 'em."
"Well, I don't think Mrs. Albert intended her front porch to be transformed into a changing room. Besides, Neil was very small. There is no way on earth those clothes would fit you, believe me. Now, if you don't mind?"
Dusty clearly did mind, but he stomped down the street with the load of clothing. Myrtle stooped to pick up items that had fallen behind him every once in a while. He walked up Miles's driveway and up to his front door.
"No, no, I don't have time to deal with Miles right now. Let's just leave the things next to his car. I need to go back home and check on Puddin. Besides, if we interrupt Miles right now, he might not be ready to go to the Goodwill when it's time. He can be poky when he gets ready in the mornings. Now you head on back and finish up Mrs. Albert's yard," said Myrtle.
Dusty rolled his eyes and gave Myrtle a salute. Myrtle ignored him, hurrying on back home. She never liked to really leave Puddin unsupervised. She might get into her cooking sherry or eat all of Myrtle's food.
When Myrtle rushed through her front door, sure enough, Puddin was sprawled out on Myrtle's sofa. Tomorrow's Promise was playing on the television and Puddin was on her phone.
"Puddin!" hollered Myrtle, covering up her eyes, then her ears, then her eyes. "Turn that off! I can't watch Tomorrow's Promise now or I'll have spoilers for when I watch the tape later!"
Puddin made a face and reached for the remote. "Gotta go, Bitty. Miz Myrtle is pitchin' a fit."
"I'm not pitching a fit, I'm simply trying to preserve my ignorance about the upcoming soap opera episode," said Myrtle in a grating voice.
Puddin glanced around. "Where's Dusty?"
"He still has work to do. He'll be along shortly." Myrtle frowned at the telltale crumbs on her sofa. She gritted her teeth. "Glad you helped yourself to something to eat."
Puddin missed the sarcasm completely. "Those brownies were good. Where'd you git 'em from?"
"I might have cooked them," said Myrtle coldly.
"Or might not have," said Puddin knowingly.
"The Piggly Wiggly had them," conceded Myrtle. "But I could just as well have made them."
Puddin looked to be on the point of debating this point, but then decided to change tack. "Cousin Bitty had some information for me," she said. There was a cunning look on her face as if she was thinking about holding this information for ransom in Piggly Wiggly brownies.
That plan was quickly decided against when Myrtle leveled a stern look at Puddin.
Puddin rolled her eyes and said, "She said that she saw that Neil? The dead guy? Kissin' somebody who wasn't his wife."