After they finished their lunch and made their goodbyes with Perkins (who had been visibly more relaxed and even a bit fun after Myrtle stopped asking about the case), Myrtle and Miles headed into the parking lot.
"Where to now?" asked Miles.
"I'm thinking that I should check in with Sloan at the paper. Since he tried to tread on my territory with the first murder, I'm wondering if he'll try the same thing with the second," said Myrtle. She started walking in the direction of the Bradley Bugle.
"Plus, you want to play matchmaker," said Miles, rolling his eyes as he followed her.
"I wouldn't dream of matchmaking. Sally hasn't even had a funeral service for Lyle yet. However, I'd simply like to point out what a nice person Sally is. Plant a seed in his mind, you know," said Myrtle.
Sloan was the lone inhabitant of the newsroom, making his way through the piles of paper and photographs in the dim light like a mole. He glanced up in surprise as light from outdoors came streaming through the door with Myrtle and Miles. "Oh, hi," he said, flustered as he usually was when in Myrtle's presence. He smoothed what little bit of hair he had down and straightened his rumpled shirt. "Miss Myrtle—it's good to see you."
"Hi, Sloan," she said. "I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page with the coverage of Lyle Solomon's death. It's part of my Neil Albert story, since the deaths are clearly connected."
"Are they? I just found out about Lyle's death a couple of hours ago. I figured they were probably related, considering that Bradley couldn't have two random murders in one week's time. Sure, that's your story. Of course." Sloan seemed very eager to please.
Myrtle thought that he seemed a little too eager to please. "Once again, I'm surprised that you're so happy to relinquish a crime story to me. Ordinarily, you worry about what Red will say."
Sloan flushed. "That's true. But you know how much a newspaper relies on good working relationships and tips from local cops. Plus, Red can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be. But no, he came by to see me about the story, as a matter of fact." Sloan's broad face wrinkled in concern. "He wanted to see if I could throw a couple of extra stories your way. Something about you having money troubles?" Sloan's voice was apologetic.
Myrtle gritted her teeth. "That's a fabrication of Red's. He added two plus two and came up with twenty. But never mind. I want the story, after all; it doesn't really matter how I acquire it." She paused. "Although it's a rather terrible story, isn't it? Poor Lyle. And poor Sally."
"Have you talked to her? Sally, I mean?" asked Sloan with a lilt of curiosity in his voice.
Miles gave Myrtle a hard look.
Myrtle said, "As a matter of fact, Miles and I went over there this morning to deliver some broccoli soup to Sally."
Miles interjected hurriedly, "It was Myrtle's concoction, actually. I had nothing to do with it."
Sloan frowned, looking even more concerned. "Homemade?"
Miles said, "Tippy was also there helping out and she made sure to label it."
Myrtle waved her hand in annoyance. "Tippy acts as if she knows everything. Labeling the food so that Sally can send thank-yous? As if I need a thank-you note later. Sally has more important things to do than to carefully write notes to everyone who provided her with a meal."
Sloan and Miles exchanged a cryptic look and then Sloan quickly nodded. "I'm sure she does. Is she holding up all right?"
"Actually, she's holding up extremely well. She isn't as broken up as you'd think—I got the impression that she and Lyle had grown apart somewhat during the course of their marriage. I believe she's ready to move on. And she's just such a nice woman," said Myrtle with great emphasis.
To her credit, Sloan now looked rather interested. "She is, isn't she?"
"She certainly is." Myrtle saw Miles looking at her sharply and said, "Well, I suppose that's it. I'll email a story to you later today."
They walked back out into the blinding sunlight and Miles said, "You know that Sally might not have a whit of interest in Sloan Jones."
"Sloan has many loveable qualities," said Myrtle. "And I can be very persuasive. I'll have to point out all of Sloan's attributes to Sally when we see her next."
"Where are we heading now?" asked Miles.
"I think we should head to the high school. After our lunch with Perkins, all roads seemed to lead to Holt, didn't they?"
Miles unlocked his car. "I'm sure he'll be so excited to see us."
Myrtle said, "Well, school is out for the day already. He might as well talk with us, right? It's school business, after all."
"Oh, is this a job interview, then?" asked Miles.
"However I can best get the man to talk. As I've said before, he's not much for conversation. If I get him started with job-related stuff, then maybe I can more easily work my way into the murders." Myrtle put on her seatbelt with a decisive click.
Several minutes later, they found that the high school parking lot was still fairly busy. "I thought school was out for the day," said Miles.
"Yes, but then you also have clubs that meet after school, and athletics, too. You remember, don't you?"
"My last real involvement with high school was a lot longer ago than yours was." Miles pulled into a parking space.
They walked into the school's front office and a few minutes later were sitting with Holt in his modest office. He had pictures of his wife and his dog hanging up, and the walls were lined with books and magazines. It didn't look like the office of a drug dealer, but then, Myrtle supposed that was the whole point.
Holt awkwardly leaned back in his chair and observed them. "What can I help you with today, Mrs. Clover?" His expression indicated that he was very much afraid he knew what she'd come to see him about.
"I wanted to follow up again on being a teacher at your school," said Myrtle with a sweet smile. "As we were discussing at Neil's funeral service."
Holt shuffled papers around on his desk. "There's the matter of your teaching certificate. I'm sure you'll need to have it renewed. You could start out as a substitute teacher and make sure that you still enjoy teaching. Then we could look at having you on full-time." He glanced at Miles. "Are you also interested in teaching?"
Miles shook his head vehemently. "Not in the slightest."
Myrtle said, "Miles is here in a sort of chauffeur capacity."
Holt raised his eyebrows. "You don't drive anymore, Mrs. Clover?"
"Of course I still drive. I simply don't own a vehicle anymore."
Holt fidgeted with his papers again. "How will you get to school and back every day? There's no public transportation in Bradley."
"Oh, Miles will drive me. He doesn't have anything important going on," said Myrtle blithely.
Miles gave a grim smile.
"All right, then. How about if you consider starting as a substitute and fill out the online application when you're ready. You do go online?" asked Holt.
Myrtle's eyes were cold and her voice was haughty, "Every single day."
"Perfect. Glad that you're so computer savvy. That's going to be very necessary in the modern-day classroom," said Holt. He started to rise to his feet, but Myrtle raised a hand to stop him. He dropped back in his seat, reluctantly.
"Did you hear the news about Lyle Solomon?" asked Myrtle.
Holt didn't even try to summon an interested expression. He stared blankly at her and shook his head.
"He was murdered this morning," said Myrtle.
Holt drew in a quick breath. "Murdered?"
"That's right. Such a terrible thing. My son is staying so busy these days. Now he's having to go around and ask everywhere where they were around dawn this morning," said Myrtle. She gave Holt a pointed, questioning look.
"That is bad news. Of course, I was here at school. School starts and ends early here. Our late bell is 7:15 a.m. You do know that, Mrs. Clover? It's quite early." Holt's voice was eager as if he'd possibly found a way out of his hiring conundrum.
"I don't sleep," said Myrtle in a self-satisfied tone. "That's an absolute perfect time for me."
Holt's mouth curved down into its usual dissatisfied expression.
Miles asked, "Do you have any idea who might have been upset with Lyle? Who might have wanted to kill him?"
Holt frowned at his papers and said without looking up, "I'm not a neighbor of Lyle's, as you are, but I did overhear Lyle and Clara Albert arguing in the grocery store parking lot a day or so ago. Over dog mess, I believe. Someone's dog was crossing the line into the other's yard. I can't remember whose." He finally looked up at them. "And I nearly forgot. When I was on my way over to school, I saw Clara's car over at the park."
"You're sure it was her car?" asked Myrtle.
"Absolutely. I always wondered why Clara was driving some old heap of a car when Neil was behind the wheel of a brand-new luxury car. It made their relationship seem very inequitable," said Holt, pursing his lips.
Myrtle nodded. "Well, I suppose we should be leaving. You'll have plenty of things to do before leaving for the day."
Holt smoothly rose to his feet and reached out his hand. "And do let me know what you decide about substitute teaching, Mrs. Clover."
"Yes. And I'll be sure to fill out an application. I know there must be a stringent background check process. It's so important to carefully screen staff that will be spending time with our young people, isn't it?"
Myrtle gave Holt a sweet smile as his eyes narrowed. Hold answered, "Yes. It's very important. Not that I think you'll have any problems with a background check, Mrs. Clover."
She smiled again and they made their goodbyes. As they walked out to Miles's car, he said, "I thought you suddenly were going to bring up his fake identity."
"No, I just wanted to keep him guessing. Knock him off-balance a little. I'm glad that he's not going to be principal anymore. Lieutenant Perkins will be taking care of that soon, I'm sure," said Myrtle. "So, what did you think about our conversation with Holt?"
Miles carefully backed up out of the parking space. "I think that he doesn't want you teaching at his high school."
"Yes, yes, but aside from that! For heaven's sake Miles, you weren't daydreaming again, were you?" asked Myrtle.
"I heard everything he said. The dog mess, Clara's old car. It made me realize once again how very involved everyone in Bradley is with everyone else's business," said Miles.
"Yes, but did you notice what he said about Clara's car?"
"That it was at the park this morning," said Miles with a shrug.
"But we didn't tell Holt that Lyle was found at the park," said Myrtle triumphantly.
Miles blinked. "Didn't we?"
"No. And he acted as though he was hearing the news of Lyle's death for the first time when we were telling him about it."
Miles said slowly, "So you think that Holt is responsible for Lyle's death? And trying to implicate someone else?"
"I think he's definitely trying to implicate someone else. But he might not be involved in the murder. Regardless, he knew about it, one way or another. Either someone else had already given him the details, or else he knew about it because he's the killer," said Myrtle.
Miles said, "He certainly seems to be the most likely candidate, considering his background, the fact that Neil might have threatened to expose him, and the way he knew about the location of Lyle's murder." He paused. "Where am I driving, by the way?"
"Let's follow up with Clara. Everyone knows that the spouse is always the most likely murderer. Neil wasn't the most pleasant of people and Clara had to put up with him all of the time," said Myrtle. "She could have murdered her husband, driven back home, waited a few minutes, and then come running down the street to find us."
Miles said, "We've heard that they argued a lot. But it's a long way from arguing to murder, surely."
"Who knows? Then we have the fury of a woman scorned," said Myrtle.
"Adelaide Pound," said Miles, nodding. "She wasn't happy about Neil not keeping his promise to leave his wife for her. Camping out in the parking lot outside your ex-boyfriend's bank reflects poor decision-making. But would that poor decision-making extend to murder?"
"You're looking at Neil's death the wrong way, Miles. You're looking at it as though you were the murderer. Everything you do is very planned out. But this is a murder that has every appearance of spontaneity. Neil had a flat tire—that could happen to anyone at any time. Someone passed by, saw him outside his car, and thought it was a good time to try and talk with him. There are quite a few people who would have wanted a word with him."
Miles said, "Adelaide, Holt, and Tarleton, to name a few."
"That's right. Adelaide, to convince him of their mutual love; Holt, to persuade Neil to keep quiet about the Boston prison time; and Tarleton, to ask for a job." Myrtle counted the suspects off on her fingers. "They'd have parked somewhere in that row of cars outside the factory, killed Neil, and hopped back in their cars to take off. Undetected."
"But you just said that we're going to Clara's house. Clara lived with Neil and could have had a word with him at any time," said Miles.
"Maybe she was out running an errand, stopped when she saw Neil with the flat, started arguing with him as per usual, and then spontaneously killed him when the argument escalated. It was still a spontaneous murder," said Myrtle.
They drove to Clara's house and saw her out in the yard, planting flowers by her mailbox. She smiled and waved when she saw them, getting up and dusting herself off as Miles parked on the curb and he and Myrtle got out of the car.
"Just wanted to check in with you and see how you were doing," said Myrtle in a solicitous voice. "Can I help you with anything?"
Clara smiled at her and said quickly, "No, you've already done enough with the soup."
Miles made a strangled noise and then started coughing to cover it up. Myrtle glared at him and said, "Well, if there's anything you think of. I worried that you might have had bad flashbacks with all the police cars next door."
Clara looked solemn. "Yes, that was a disturbing way to wake up this morning. They didn't have their sirens on or anything, but the police officers were talking to each other. And poor Sally."
"So you were sleeping in this morning?" asked Myrtle.
"I actually took a sleeping pill last night to help knock me out. Since Neil's death, I've not been sleeping well. And I'm not one to nap," said Clara, grimacing.
Myrtle smiled at her. "Well, you have the right friends for that. Miles and I are both notorious insomniacs. We frequently have middle-of-the-night visits and drink coffee or play cards or watch TV. Feel free to join us at any time."
Miles's smile was fainter and less-welcoming. He looked as if he didn't particularly want to hang out with murder suspects in the wee hours of the morning. He was likely considering Wanda's warning about 'stuff happens.'
"But that's funny that you said you were sleeping in," said Myrtle thoughtfully. "Someone I was speaking with said they were sure that they'd seen you at the park this morning."
Clara flushed and suddenly became very interested in her spade. "Oh. I forget what a small town we live in. All right, let me amend my statement. I slept remarkably well, but the sleeping pill did wear off around four o'clock, considering that I'd taken it at eight o'clock the night before. I took a drive with Amber."
"Amber?" asked Myrtle blankly.
"My dog," said Clara with a smile. She reached into the gardening tote on the ground next to her and picked up a very small, very sleepy Pomeranian. It blinked at them and then proceeded to fall asleep again as Clara placed her back in her bag.
"I thought Amber could use a walk before it got hot. I took her to the park and then came back home and crawled back into the bed again. I was able to sleep some more until I heard the police practically outside of my window," said Clara.
Myrtle asked, "And you and Amber had a good walk?"
Clara shook her head. "Not so much. We started out just fine, but then she saw, heard, or smelled something and she would not stop barking. It wasn't mere barking, either; Amber was howling. For a dog this size, that's something else."
"Did you see anything, yourself?" asked Miles.
"No. To be honest with you, I just followed my gut instinct and left, drove home, and climbed back in the bed. Amber is usually such a laid-back, sweet dog. Seeing her act that way made the hair on the back of my neck stand up." Clara gave a shiver.