An hour later, Miles returned. He gave a cautious tap on the door.
"Come on in!" hollered Myrtle from deep in her house.
Miles opened the door and cautiously sniffed. He relaxed. There was no acrid smell of burning, which was a good sign.
"Everything all right?" he asked as he headed for the kitchen.
He glanced around wordlessly. There was spilled milk, several used mixing bowls and other containers, and an assortment of spoons and forks on the floor and counter. Shredded carrots were orange accents scattered about everywhere. Additionally, there were muddy footprints all over the place.
Myrtle was glowing with perspiration and looked cross. "This soup was a pain. And I kept dropping things. Call Puddin, would you, and ask her to come out here? I don't have the time or patience to clean this stuff up—I just want it gone."
Miles nodded and tentatively approached the mess. He picked up the nearly-empty milk container that was sitting on the kitchen table and peered at it. "Myrtle, this milk is expired."
She glared at him. "The 'best by' date is just a suggestion. It's the store's way of forcing you to go back in as often as possible. A scam!"
He delicately smelled the container. "It's sour. Did you use this milk in the soup recipe?"
"Naturally—that's why it's not in the fridge. And it's perfectly fine, Miles. It's an essential part of the recipe. It will simply give the soup a distinctive taste." Myrtle spoke between gritted teeth.
"No argument there," said Miles with a sigh. He cautiously approached the pot on the stove and peered inside. "It looks very thin, Myrtle. Did you add flour to it?"
Myrtle hesitated. "Good question. There was a lot going on during the middle of the recipe. Elaine and Jack finished in the yard and talked to me for a few minutes. Jack was so excited to help Elaine water the plants, but he apparently spent some unsupervised time jumping in a mud puddle and tracked it all through the house."
Miles looked around. "Well, I don't see any flour on the floor. There seems to be a sampling of all the other ingredients on the floor."
Myrtle scowled at the floor as if it were responsible for her kitchen malfunction. "Then I'll go ahead and add some now."
"But the soup isn't even steaming now!" said Miles
Miles gaped as she grabbed the flour from the cabinet and scooped out what looked like a half cup, vigorously stirring it into the lukewarm liquid. "There. Now, let's go. I don't want to mess around anymore. We need to make our lunch with Lt. Perkins at one-thirty."
"Hold on. I still need to call Puddin for you. Unless you want to talk to her?" asked Miles.
"I don't have the patience for any of her foolishness today," growled Myrtle. "She's sure to say that her back is thrown or some such nonsense as soon as you ask her to come by."
Miles dialed Puddin's number, which Myrtle had up on the fridge. He cleared his throat.
Puddin answered, a suspicious note in her voice. "Hullo. Who's this?"
"Puddin, it's Miles Bradford. Listen, Myrtle would like you to come over and help her out with cleaning her kitchen—not the rest of the house, just the kitchen. There was some ... ah ... spilling going on in here."
Puddin said, "Be right over, Mr. Miles." And she hung up.
Miles looked at Myrtle and shrugged. "She's coming over."
Myrtle's eyes narrowed. "That somehow makes me even more irritated. She apparently responds better to a male voice than a female one. How irritating."
"Well, at least she's going to take care of it." He glanced around. "Do any of these many containers have a purpose? To transport the soup in, perhaps?"
"Just pick one of them. There was an avalanche in the container cabinet and those were the ones that fell out," said Myrtle.
Miles picked a container and carefully spooned some of the now-gloppy mixture into it. He put the container in a bag. He looked at the soup as if he would like to put a warning label on it.
"Let's go," said Myrtle impatiently.
"Are we driving down there?"
Myrtle said, "I think it would take us just as long to drive as to walk. Let's just walk it."
They were nearly there when Miles said, "Now remember, this is a grieving widow, Myrtle. We shouldn't be giving her the third degree or anything. She may not really want to talk about what happened to Lyle. She may just want us to leave the soup and go on our way."
Myrtle said, "I'm not really wanting to press her about what specifically happened to Lyle."
Miles raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"No. That would be in poor taste." Myrtle sniffed.
"That's never stopped you before," said Miles.
"Well, this time I have an alternate source for information. We're having lunch with Lt. Perkins, remember? I'm more interested in finding out if she has any idea who might be behind Lyle's death. I want to know the who and not so much the how," said Myrtle.
Miles peered ahead of them. "It looks like you'll have the chance. The police have vacated. A good thing, since I wasn't looking forward to explaining to Red or Lt. Perkins why you and I were questioning their victim's widow."
"You keep throwing widow around as if it's this horribly tragic thing. For all we know, Sally may be a merry widow. We don't know anything about her relationship with Lyle. After all, Lyle could be a bit prickly. Think about how he blew up at Neil over an un-mowed lawn." She looked around as they walked past Clara Albert's driveway. "Speaking of, it looks as if Dusty did a nice job. I think he did a better job on Clara's yard than he does on mine. How annoying."
Miles said, "Dusty probably just wanted to do a good job to convince Clara to continue employing him."
They reached Sally's driveway and walked up. When they reached the front door and Myrtle rang the doorbell, Miles thrust the bag of soup at her. "Here. It's your soup. You should be the one to give it to her."
"We could say it's from both of us. Otherwise, it looks a little odd that you had to accompany me here," said Myrtle.
"I want no responsibility for that soup." Miles's voice was stern. "I was simply carrying it for you since you walk with a cane. That's our excuse for my presence here. Although I doubt she'll think twice about it."
Sally Solomon, when she opened the door, didn't appear to be thinking much of anything. Her eyes were red as if she'd been crying and her shoulder-length blonde hair was mussed. Her cotton top had coffee stains on it as if the police had kept thrusting coffee at her to try and get her through it all. She gave them a faint smile when she saw them. "Hi, Miss Myrtle. Hi Miles."
Myrtle said, "We heard the news this morning and are so sorry. We brought you some broccoli soup."
Miles interjected hurriedly, "Myrtle made it. It's from Myrtle, actually. I merely carried it here."
Myrtle glared at him and Sally said, "How kind of you Myrtle. And Miles, for lugging it. Please come inside. And excuse the mess."
Myrtle and Miles followed Sally inside. But there was no mess. Myrtle dreamed of her house being this neat and tidy. The floor was spotless. Dust wouldn't have dared to settle on any of the surfaces. Apparently, Lyle liked the inside of the house being just as tidy as the outside.
Sally motioned wordlessly to them to sit down and they sat next to each other on a leather sofa. She put the soup in the kitchen and then joined them in the living room, sitting in an armchair. She shook her head and gave them a tight smile. "Can you believe it? Lyle! Who would want to hurt Lyle?"
Myrtle leaned forward on the sofa. "That's exactly what we were interested in finding out. Do you know who would want to hurt Lyle? It seems sort of incredible."
Sally said, "It wasn't like he was mugged or anything. There was no attempted robbery. Nothing was taken. So ... do you think it had something to do with Neil's death? Is some lunatic trying to eliminate all of the neighbors on Magnolia Lane?"
Miles said carefully, "I think that's extremely unlikely. But I think it's more likely that Neil's death and Lyle's death are related."
Sally looked baffled. "They didn't even like each other. Neil's yard was always such a disaster area and it drove Lyle crazy. They weren't friends. It's not as if Neil would have told Lyle anything that would have made the killer want to get rid of him."
Myrtle said, "I spoke to Lyle about Neil's death. He didn't think that he really knew anything—at least, nothing that was really incriminating against anyone."
Sally asked, "Did he mention the fact that Neil and Clara argued a lot?"
Myrtle nodded. "He sure did. He said that they yelled at each other and threw things."
"The spouse is always the most likely suspect, right? Isn't that what Red says?" asked Sally. She glared out the living room window at the house next door. She gave a short laugh. "I guess it's good that I had such a good alibi. I was with a church group at the crack of dawn this morning, helping feed breakfast at the soup kitchen in Lenoir."
"That will definitely deflect attention from you. And I'm sure Clara is considered a suspect. But, at the same time, she'd have had to really hurry, if she were the murderer. Let's say Neil called her right after he realized he had a flat tire. Clara would have had to speed over to him in the car, kill him, go home, and then run outside in alarm and notify Miles and me that she was worried about her husband."
Sally looked dubious, but nodded. "But couldn't she still have done it?"
"She certainly could have. But it's not as if the case is totally wrapped up. There's no definitive proof that Clara is responsible. There were other people who had issues with Neil," said Myrtle.
"Like Lyle?" asked Sally with a sigh. "You know, he just couldn't get Neil out of his mind. Lyle would drive past Neil's house and all he could think about was how terrible the yard looked and how he wanted the homeowner's association to put some pressure on Neil about it."
"Except there isn't a homeowner's association. Lyle and I talked about that, actually," said Myrtle.
Miles said, "Some people would think that having their neighbor's yard in such a state simply makes their own yard look better in comparison."
Sally said, "Yes, except with all the work that Lyle put into it, his yard looked better in comparison to everyone's yard."
Myrtle said, "Did Lyle say anything to you about Neil's death? Who might be responsible or the circumstances of his death? Maybe he remembered something about Neil? Really, just anything."
Sally hesitated. "He did say something. Lyle saw Neil. Probably right before Neil died, which made it even worse. Lyle had been on a nature walk and it started raining, so everyone had to go home. He realized that he needed to go by the ATM and get cash out, so he drove to the bank. On the way home, he saw Neil's car." She made a face. "Besides Neil's yard, Neil's car was something else Lyle hated. He thought he was being very ostentatious about it. Nobody really drives luxury cars in Bradley."
Miles said dryly, "Neil probably didn't get the memo on that."
"No. It was unreasonable of Lyle, but that's how he saw it," said Sally.
Myrtle said in an impatient voice, "So Lyle saw Neil's disabled car?"
"Yes. He saw the car, saw the flat tire, and saw Neil, wearing a baseball hat and holding a tire iron, crouching by the car," said Sally.
Miles said slowly, "And Lyle didn't stop to help Neil with the tire."
Sally shook her head. "He said he was sure that Neil had it covered. He was laughing because it was raining and Neil was out there trying to change his tire."
"Did his attitude change after he found out that Neil had been murdered out there?" asked Myrtle.
"It did. I think he felt bad about not stopping to help him. After all, the murderer wouldn't have tried anything with two men out there. But in another sense, his problem with Neil as a neighbor was taken care of. The yard looks so much better now than it did the whole time the Alberts lived there," said Sally. She sighed. "I cared for Lyle, I really did. But the truth is that he also could be difficult to live with. I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him anymore." She gave a short laugh. "I can't believe I'm telling you this."
"Grief takes many different forms," said Myrtle. "And you've gone through quite a shock, as well. Lyle's death was unexpected."
Sally nodded. "We just didn't have as much in common. For one thing, I wasn't as much a fan of the great outdoors as Lyle was. Whenever I went outdoors, somehow the mosquitoes always seemed to zero in on me and they never bothered Lyle. And I get sunburned almost immediately and even if I'm wearing sunscreen. Then there's the fact that I spend a lot of time volunteering at the church and Lyle really didn't have much of a church background."
Myrtle said carefully, "Lyle told me that he was at the nature walk when Neil was murdered. But you've confirmed that the walk had to be canceled because of weather. Do you have any idea why he didn't tell me the truth?"
Sally sighed. "I'm sure it must be because he didn't want anyone to suspect that he could have had something to do with it. After all, everyone knew that he was angry with Neil over the state of Neil's yard."
The doorbell rang and they all jumped. Myrtle stood up. "I bet it's the ladies from the church. I'll get the door."
Sure enough, there were several different ladies there, all wearing sympathetic expressions and bearing casseroles. One of them was Tippy. Her eyebrows raised and she frowned when she saw Myrtle was the one opening the door. Just as quickly, the frown vanished and Tippy smiled at her.
"Good morning, Myrtle! How nice of you to come by and help Sally," said Tippy.
Myrtle stepped aside and the ladies bustled in to the living room. They hugged Sally and all said a few words to her. Then Tippy said, "Sally, I'll make some room in the fridge and freezer for food. There will be quite a bit coming."
Sally said, her eyes a little misty, "Everyone's being so kind. Myrtle brought me some soup."
Tippy's eyes narrowed. "Miles did? Or Myrtle?"
Miles hastily interjected, "Myrtle. It's Myrtle's soup." He seemed to be trying to convey some sort of cryptic message to Tippy with his gaze.
Tippy said briskly, "I'll make sure it's labeled properly. Everything must be carefully labeled, naturally, for clarity's sake. Miles, if you could help me for a second in the kitchen? Just to identify the container in question."
Myrtle frowned. Tippy's tone suggested that she was going to label the soup with a skull and crossbones.
She glanced around. It certainly looked as if the church ladies had set up camp. One had out a notebook and a pen and was helping Sally write Lyle's obituary. Another was pulling out her phone and said to Sally, "Since Lyle would want his yard perfect and I know he was about to mow, I'm going to have my yardman come by and take care of it today. I insist! And it's absolutely my pleasure!"
Miles surfaced from the kitchen and Myrtle cleared her throat. "Sally, it looks as if you've got some great helpers here. Miles and I are going to have to run."
Sally waved to her and said in a sincere voice, "Thanks so much, Myrtle. For the soup, and for lending an ear."
Myrtle and Miles walked outside and down the sidewalk. "The church ladies were conducting an almost military-precision operation in there."
Myrtle shrugged. "They've had enough practice. They'll help Sally polish her silver so she won't feel embarrassed when she has visitors. They'll host her out-of-town family members in their homes. They'll make sure that Sally has everything she needs for the next few weeks. Everything but Lyle, that is." Her eyes opened wide. "I have an idea. Do you know who she'd probably get along with? Sloan?"
"Sloan Jones?" Miles face was skeptical. "But Sloan can be so awkward."
"Sloan's problem is that he's out of practice with dating." Myrtle thumped her cane on the sidewalk as she walked.
"Has he ever been in practice?" asked Miles doubtfully.
"Regardless, it's very likely a good match," said Myrtle. "And Sloan really just wants someone to go to the movies and out to dinner with. That might really serve as a distraction for Sally through the grieving process."
"But Sloan is so messy and Sally's house was so tidy." Miles was not sold on the compatibility factor.
"I have one word for you. Wanda." Myrtle gave him a triumphant look.
"But that horoscope could be regarding anyone. Wanda is notoriously unspecific in her predictions. She told you not to be nice, for example. That hardly suffices as a specific warning that could actually help you avoid the danger she states you're in."
"That's not how the sight works," said Myrtle. But she sounded distracted. "You know, I was thinking that we could just hop in the car and wait for Lt. Perkins at Bo's Diner. But I have the feeling that I really should check on Puddin before we do. Giving Puddin free rein in my house is a disturbing idea."
"How did she even get in?" asked Miles.
"Oh, I have a key hidden in a particular gnome. From time to time I need Puddin to come by when I'm not there. But I really like to limit those times since Puddin abuses them dreadfully. It did come in useful today, when I have a busy day," said Myrtle.
They walked in to see Red in Myrtle's kitchen and Puddin on Myrtle's computer. They both jumped as Myrtle walked in with her hands on her hips and her schoolteacher voice used with its best effectiveness. "What's going on here?"