Myrtle and Miles exchanged a glance. Myrtle said, "You see, Lyle was murdered at the park this morning. He apparently went out there early in the mornings to fill the feeders and clear the paths. Maybe Amber was picking up on something."
Clara's eyes opened wide. "Then she's a little heroine for getting me out of there! In the park with a killer? Ugh." She hesitated and then sighed. "That does make me sound really insensitive. Poor Lyle. I was sorry to hear that he was dead. And poor Sally, too. I know what she's going through now. I'll have to go over and visit."
"You were on good terms with Lyle?" asked Myrtle.
"I wouldn't have said that we were best friends or anything, but we never had a problem with each other. And it was easier to be civil once Neil died. The argument was between the men, really," said Clara.
"Did you ever engage in an argument with Lyle over dog mess?" asked Myrtle, tilting her head to one side.
"What? Who is doing all this gossiping? Or, in this case, lying. I never argued with anyone over dog mess. And I didn't kill Lyle, if that's something else that people are saying." Clara was now looking really annoyed.
Miles said in a comforting voice, "No one has said anything about you killing Lyle."
Myrtle said, "Do you have any ideas who might have wanted to murder him?"
Clara shrugged, clearly done with their conversation and wanting to return to her gardening. "No idea. He was probably just someone who knew too much."
Myrtle frowned. "It seems like I wanted to ask you something else, but I can't remember what it was."
Miles said, "It's just as well, because we really should be going. You wanted to check and see if Puddin had finished cleaning, right?"
Myrtle nodded and Clara said, "That's your cleaning lady? I was thinking I might want one now. Could you give me her name and number?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of inflicting Puddin on you," said Myrtle. "You should ask someone like Tippy who she uses. I'm just stuck with Puddin. She's in my price range and I've employed her too long."
"Well, I certainly like the job your Dusty has done in the yard," said Clara beaming. "Thanks for sending him my way. He came by to check and see how I liked his mowing and if I needed to be on his schedule next week. We chatted a little. He's really very witty, once you get to know him. Such a delight!"
Myrtle was too stunned by the accolades for Dusty to do anything other than nod.
They made their goodbyes and drove back to Myrtle's house. Myrtle said, "The only reason she liked Dusty's yardwork is because her own yard was so awful. And are we sure it was Dusty who stopped by? He has a schedule? I very much doubt that. And if he was witty and a delight, perhaps he's been dipping into the cooking sherry. My yard is a complete disaster. Despite the fact that Dusty scalped my yard because he still isn't used to the new mower, the rain made my grass grow like a weed. Now it needs to be cut again and I have no hope of being able to get him out to my house. Between his mowing, the grass growing between the gnomes, and Elaine's pitiful attempts at landscaping, my yard is doomed. It's just as well that Lyle Solomon isn't around anymore. I'm sure I'd be on his hit list."
Miles said, "At least it's mowed regularly. I think tall grass is the only thing that Lyle really had a problem with." His phone started ringing from the center console of the car. "Can you grab that, Myrtle?"
Myrtle gave him a droll look and answered, "Miles Bradford's answering service. Myrtle speaking." She paused. "Oh, hi, Blanche."
Miles rolled his eyes, which alarmed Myrtle, since he was pulling into her driveway and needed not to hit her house. She waved a hand at him.
"A question about The Mayor of Casterbridge? What's your question?" asked Myrtle.
Miles parked the car in Myrtle's driveway and dropped his head into his hands.
"I see. Well, the meeting is tomorrow, isn't it? Unless I've completely gotten my days messed up. Why don't you bring that up as a point of discussion tomorrow, in case the rest of the group has questions about the same thing? That's right. I'll see you then." Myrtle hung up. "What is wrong with these people?"
"I don't know. That's the last time I pick anything even remotely challenging," said Miles.
"But it's not challenging. It's not difficult reading," said Myrtle, fishing her key from her large pocketbook.
"Others apparently disagree. Maybe next time I can figure out something somewhat literary that can be understood by our club," said Miles morosely as he followed Myrtle into her house.
"Maybe The Old Man and the Sea? Most people read that in middle school so it certainly shouldn't be a challenge. And you won't have to pick for a while, after all. It's my pick for next month. But don't worry, I'll choose a different book in case you want to do Hemingway," said Myrtle. She walked into the kitchen and started making a bowl of microwave popcorn as Miles turned on her television to find the recording of their soap opera.
"I think the only person besides Georgia who hasn't asked a bunch of questions about the book is Erma," mused Miles.
"That's rather depressing. I prefer my enemies to be stupider than that," said Myrtle.
"Thinking about contentious relationships, how does your kitchen look? Did Puddin manage to clear away the mess from the soup?" asked Miles.
Myrtle glanced around her kitchen and shrugged. "She did a fair-to-middling job," said Myrtle. "I wouldn't give this cleaning an A, but at least most of the stuff is cleaned up."
The phone rang and Myrtle picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hi," croaked a ruined voice on the other end.
"Wanda!" said Myrtle, a smile on her face. "What a surprise. Is it time for more horoscopes? I suppose it must be." She dug in a kitchen drawer for a notepad and pencil.
Wanda said, "Georgia Simpson will go broke if she don't stop buyin' angels."
Myrtle's pencil paused. "All right. I'll have to finesse that a little bit. I don't think Sloan will want us putting people's dire financial conditions in his paper. But I know she searches far and wide for angels for her collection."
Wanda was moving on, not concerned over publicizing individual finances whatsoever. "Sloan should be bold with his love life," she intoned.
Myrtle duly wrote it down, along with the rest. When Wanda reached the end of her list, she said, "Got one for Miles, too."
"Well, he's here. Want to deliver it in person?" asked Myrtle, looking at Miles with raised eyebrows.
Miles shook his head, scowling.
"Naw. Just tell 'im not to pick Old Man and the Sea fer his next pick. Won't go over well."
"How odd and interesting. The mysteries of book club will never cease. You wouldn't have any suggestions for me would you? I'm picking the next month's selection," said Myrtle.
"The Outsiders," said Wanda's growling voice.
"Got it. Well, that makes sense. Miles and I always feel like outsiders there and that book can also be taught in middle school so book club should be able to manage. Oh, and do you have any updates on Miles needing to keep an eye open? He's about to drive me crazy by thinking everything is a hazard to his health."
"He avoided the trouble headin' his way. He kin relax," said Wanda.
"Excellent. Anything else?" asked Myrtle.
"Yer in danger," said Wanda.
"Yes, thank you. I received that message during our last visit. And I haven't been especially nice—I've just been myself," said Myrtle.
"And listen to Red," said Wanda.
Myrtle stopped cold.
"You should listen to him," insisted Wanda.
"Wanda, that statement is entirely too broad. We should attach a start and end date to this prediction of yours. The last thing I want to do is start listening to my son," said Myrtle. "If I went along with everything he said, the next thing I know I'll be standing in the lunch line at Greener Pastures waiting for my fish sticks and green peas."
"Start listenin' now. End when it's over," croaked Wanda. She paused. "That is all." And she hung up.
Miles said, "I'm scared to ask."
Myrtle pulled the popcorn out of the microwave. "You should ditch Hemingway for Hinton."
"The Outsiders? Really?"
Myrtle shrugged. "It's still in the literary realm and apparently will mean fewer phone calls from the book club. At least, I suppose it would. Who knows? I'm simply passing along what Wanda told me to tell you. Oh, and your 'stuff happens' window has closed. It's expired, or something. You can resume being completely careless about your general health and safety."
Miles, despite his doubtful attitude toward Wanda's predictions, looked extremely relieved. Then he politely asked, "And you? I'm guessing she reminded you that you were in terrible danger again?"
Myrtle said, "Naturally. That's her standard prediction. Although she also told me something deeply troubling."
"To go visit Erma Sherman?" asked Miles.
"Even worse than that, as hard as it may be to imagine. She said for me to listen to Red." Myrtle frowned.
Miles raised his eyebrows. "Listen to Red? But that flies in the face of everything you believe in."
"Exactly. Combining that with the 'don't be nice' warning, and I don't really know what to think."
Miles said thoughtfully, "I'm trying to piece together when you might have been nice lately, and I'm coming up blank."
"Thanks." Myrtle made a face at him.
"Although I suppose that trying to set Sloan and Sally up on a date might qualify as being nice," said Miles.
"If this is your way of trying to stop me from matchmaking, you can forget it. Those two should at least explore the idea of having a relationship. No, I think it must be something else."
Myrtle put the popcorn in a large bowl and Miles walked into the kitchen to pour them iced tea. They brought everything into the living room, settled into their usual spots, and Miles hit 'play.'
The doorbell rang and Myrtle sighed. "This is typical. Whenever we want to watch Tomorrow's Promise there seems to be an interruption."
She pushed up from her armchair and strode to the front door, yanking it open. "Hi, Tarleton. Did I forget that you were coming by today?"
Miles hastily switched off the recording, being somewhat sensitive about watching the soap opera around Tarleton.
Tarleton walked in, respectfully taking off his baseball cap. He still hadn't seemed to get the hang of workman clothing. He wore a pair of elderly khaki pants and a somewhat-faded button-down shirt. "No, you haven't forgotten anything. But I was next door and thought I'd pop over. Red seemed to think that you might want me to run to the store and buy you a new kitchen fire extinguisher? Would you like me to do that?"
Miles gave a gasping laugh that finished in a cough. Myrtle glared at him.
"That's very kind of you, Tarleton. As much as I would not like you to get me a fire extinguisher, I realize that Red will not stop in his quest to replace mine. Plus, I'm trying to listen to Red for reasons too complicated to get into. But I hate you to have to go all the way to the store for just the one thing," said Myrtle.
Tarleton smiled and said, "Oh, it won't be just the one thing. Red also gave me a list of things for himself, too. Seems he's so busy that he doesn't have time to run his own errands."
Myrtle nodded and looked at him closely as she said, "He's been busy, all right. Since you were next door at Erma's—my sympathy, by the way—you're probably aware of Lyle Solomon's passing."
Tarleton looked solemn. "I did hear the news. Ms. Sherman was quite alarmed about losing another neighbor."
Miles groaned. "She's probably going to try to spend more time with the neighbors she has left."
"Apparently, Lyle would head out to the park very early in the morning to fill feeders and whatnot. You weren't there that early this morning, were you? I thought perhaps you were someone who liked a walk first thing," said Myrtle.
Tarleton chuckled. "As a matter of fact, I've always thought of myself as a morning person ... or, at least as someone who could handle early mornings. But this morning, I think the stress of losing my job finally got to me and I slept in."
"Did you know Lyle?" asked Miles.
"I did. I only knew him as a bank customer, but I'm sad to see him go. He found out that he and I share an interest in vegetable gardening and since then he'd always talk gardening with me," said Tarleton.
"Do you have any idea who might be responsible for such a thing?" asked Myrtle.
Tarleton looked thoughtful. "I suppose it must be connected with Neil Albert's murder, since I can't imagine that there would be two murderers in Bradley. In that case, I imagine that Lyle must have seen or heard or known something about the murderer."
"And you don't have any idea who this person might be?" pressed Myrtle.
Tarleton said, "I can only make guesses. And what I know seems a lot like gossip."
Miles said, "Myrtle and I are very discreet."
Tarleton said, "It's just Adelaide Pound."
Myrtle sighed. She'd thought Tarleton had something new to tell them. "Yes, you'd told us about her. That she seemed to annoy Neil when she met him outside the bank in the parking lot. That maybe their relationship was on the rocks."
"Yes. But I didn't mention what happened the next day that she waited for him in the parking lot. This time, I could tell that Neil meant business. He had his shoulders squared and looked like he was really going to tell Adelaide off in no uncertain terms," said Tarleton.
"And did he?" asked Myrtle.
"He never had the chance. Adelaide ... well, she sort of exploded. She was screaming and yelling and pitching a real hissy fit." Tarleton shook his head. "She has a real temper. Plus, she's a stalker. The more I think about it, the more I think she could somehow be involved."
"But do you see her killing Lyle in the park?" asked Miles doubtfully.
"I don't think she'll stop at anything to get what she wants," said Tarleton. He paused and then gave a small laugh. "Wow. We got serious really quick, didn't we? Whew! I'm going to go get that fire extinguisher and let you two watch your soap in peace."
"It's not really our soap," muttered Miles.
Tarleton waved to them. "See you soon." And he left.