A Dyeing Shame Part 7

"It's awful, isn't it? It makes a body wonder what this world is coming to." Prissy's s.h.i.+ver seemed more excited than frightened.

Myrtle scanned the Beauty Box to see if any guilty faces peered her way. She hoped to have one anguished soul yearning to unload its ghastly secrets. To her disappointment, the roaring air conditioner and the droning domed dryers drowned out her conversation with Prissy.

Myrtle cupped her ear. "I've forgotten to put in my hearing aid this morning. Can't hear a thing without my ears. Could you speak up for me, sweetie?" she yelled.

Prissy cleared her throat. "I said that I wonder what this world is coming to." She clicked her false teeth nervously.

Myrtle bellowed, "That poor girl. Killed right in the prime of her life."

Regulars and walk-ins stared at Myrtle with interest. She looked innocently around the room, gauging reactions to the high-volume conversation. Kat said mildly, "Tammy wasn't exactly what I'd call a helpless victim, Miss Myrtle."

Could this conversation even be heard above the din? Myrtle shrugged helplessly. "Could someone translate, loudly? I forgot my ears this morning."

Bootsie Davenport rolled her eyes. "Tammy was sweet and sour, Myrtle. And we saw nothing but sour lately. n.o.body's crying themselves to sleep over Tammy."

Dina Peters burst into noisy sobbing. "But she was my only friend and I miss her. Oh, Tammy!" She flung her head down on the manicure table, frizzy curls quivering with histrionics.

Agnes Walker patted Dina gingerly, trying not to smear newly-applied c.o.c.ktail Carnival red polish on Dina's thin shoulder. "Dina, everything will work out-you'll see. Here, you mentioned wanting to experiment with dyeing. Want me to schedule an appointment with you? The only way to move ahead in this world is to try new things."

This was very rash of Agnes and just went to show how desperate she was to distract Dina. Hopefully she was planning on Dina coloring her hair gray or slightly blue. She couldn't imagine the old lady as a blonde or redhead. Dina blinked at her, thinking it over, then started howling again before running out of the room.

Agnes frowned reprovingly at Myrtle. "Look what you've done now! You're meddling, Myrtle. Did you have to bring up the topic of Tammy?"

"I'm not meddling. I'm simply talking about what happened."

Agnes glowered at Myrtle. "I think you need a vacation, Myrtle Clover."

Myrtle smiled brightly. "Want to come with me?"

"No, I do not, as you well know. I told you my traveling days are over." Agnes whipped a book from her pocketbook, reading it with determination.

The customers were silent for a few minutes before the idle chatter resolutely resumed. This was the South, where outbursts were politely ignored first and gossiped over later. Prissy, all genteel confusion, had exited. Bootsie admired her fresher, less-matronly, Kat-inspired hairdo until her cell phone belted out its rap song ringtone. Agnes blew on her nails to dry them. Myrtle regarded the visit as a total bust. The exception came when Kat received a bouquet of flowers and a card that made her blush. At least her matchmaking was working out well. She hummed the old hymn under her breath.

Myrtle picked up Good Housekeeping again, flipping to the recipes. Finding a tasty prospect, she scanned the shop furtively, tore the page out, and stuck it in her bottomless pocketbook. You just never knew when another in-sympathy ca.s.serole might be necessary.

Myrtle offered to listen out for Jack, who was napping, while Elaine ran errands. It was also time for Tomorrow's Promise, which was Myrtle's favorite soap opera. Red came through the back door, looking grouchy and hungry. He opened his mouth to say something to Myrtle, but she lifted her hand to hush him. Soleil was just about to tell Rohan that she'd always loved him...and she wasn't about to miss it.

When the commercial break started, Myrtle joined Red in the kitchen. "This is a late lunch, isn't it?"

Red grunted. "And I didn't get breakfast. I can't wait until this case wraps up."

"Early start this morning?"

Red glowered at her. "No earlier than you, Mama. Did you ever go back to bed after your two-thirty jaunt in the kitchen?"

"No, I was wide awake. Who knows-I might join Jack for a nap later." She paused for a moment. "Gotten any closer to identifying the killer?"

Red answered cautiously, "We've got a few ideas."

"The M.O. makes it look like the perp is a novice, doesn't it?"

"Why, yes, Mama. The murderer's a real greenhorn. Did you think there's a Mafia hit man terrorizing Bradley?" His eyes were hard slits. "Perp? M.O.? You watching Murder, She Wrote reruns on cable again?"

"What if I am?" Myrtle gave him a disdainful look. Red had never given Jessica Fletcher her proper due.

Red held up his hand. "I don't have time to argue, Mama. Got to grab a quick lunch before heading back to work."

Myrtle gave a look that she hoped was just polite interest.

Red looked at Myrtle sideways like he was trying to figure out whether he should tell her something. "Detective Lieutenant Perkins wants to go back and question some folks again and wants me to join him. Says I should know how to approach the suspects and what they might be trying to hide." Red sighed. "I don't have a clue what was going on in these people's private lives, Mama. I think this town is chock-full of secrets, too."

It would be better if this ended up being Red's idea. Red pulled mayo, mustard, lettuce and roast beef out of the fridge. Slathering bread with h.e.l.lmann's, he said, "Hey, Mama, hear any juicy gossip while you were hanging out at the Beauty Box? Did you know who Tammy was picking on or what dirt she was holding over their heads?"

"Well, I did hear some gossip," said Myrtle, in a tantalizing way. "Was there anybody in particular you were looking for information about?"

"Okay, let me tell you who we're looking at...but don't spread private police business all over town. We've talked to Prissy Daniels a couple of times, which you probably already know since every busybody in town was dangling out their windows when our car pulled in front of Miss Prissy's house. We'll drop in on Bootsie Davenport next. Both ladies have been evasive."

Red took a bite from his sandwich and mumbled through it, "We got nowhere with Prissy. She kept spilling her tea all over the table, which made me wonder why she was so nervous. What do you know about her? I just know she taught me Sunday school when I was a teenager."

"Prissy was probably just nervous because you were at her house. No man has probably ever pa.s.sed through her door. Tammy was being snide about her, though."

Red leaned forward on the kitchen stool. "Do you remember exactly what Tammy said?"

"Tammy was just taunting everybody-sort of a cat and mouse thing. She was making fun of Prissy as soon as she walked out the door. Prissy, as usual, forgot something and came back in the shop to overhear Tammy snickering over 'our Prissy. She's not as sweet as she looks.'"

"What dirt could anybody possibly find on Prissy Daniels?"

"Maybe she's a closet alcoholic with a DUI in her past? Maybe it's something scandalous that would really mess up her gig at Little Lambs Preschool. That preschool is her favorite place in the world. She's always asking people at the Beauty Box if they want to come by and tell stories to the kids there."

"A DUI? I've never even seen Prissy Daniels drink root beer. And the DUI, if there was one, didn't happen in my jurisdiction." Red rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes. "It's the end of the world if Miss Prissy is an alkie. What next? Bootsie Davenport was abducted by aliens?"

"According to Tammy, something a lot more human abducted Bootsie. She supposedly has some young man she's seeing. Someone mentioned to me that she thought it was Connor."

Red grunted noncommittally, but raised his eyebrows.

"Agnes' son is the only lothario I can think of," added Myrtle, studying Red. He looked like he might know something about Bootsie's love life."

"Connor must've had his hands full with Tammy."

"Tammy was enough to keep anybody busy," Myrtle agreed. "I don't know if Connor was cheating on Tammy or not. I don't know whom Bootsie is seeing, but Tammy seemed pretty sure it was someone."

"I really don't see Connor being interested in Bootsie," said Red.

Myrtle felt a touch of guilt over Kat. Had she sent a pink-haired lamb to the slaughter? What if Connor were some kind of lady-killer...for real? "I guess you're right. He's probably just not ready to settle down.

This conversation with Red wasn't going as well as it should. He was giving her some hints as to whom they were interested in investigating closer, but she was talking too much. What she needed was some fresh information. And another cop. "Red, I was thinking, why don't you invite Detective Lieutenant Perkins over to supper tonight? He's a visitor to Bradley, after all, and it would be the polite thing to do."

Red peered at her through squinty eyes. "You're not planning to pump him for information, are you?"

She looked down her nose at him. "Of course not. We should extend our hospitality, that's all." Thunder rumbled ominously outdoors and Red frowned at her suspiciously.

"Well, I don't know. It's kind of last minute for Elaine."

Myrtle said, "I'll call Elaine's cell phone real quick-she was going to finish up her errands at the store. She could pick up some food from the grocery store deli; fried chicken, coleslaw, potato salad, fruit. I'll even pay for it!" She felt very benevolent. "Oh, and Miles can come, too. You know how he enjoys going out for dinner."

Red sighed. "I guess so. Thanks for hijacking my quiet evening."

Myrtle acted as demure as a very big-boned woman could. "You know, Red, I've been meaning to drop by and visit with Prissy for a while. Just to see about volunteering to read for the preschool cla.s.ses," she hurried on as Red opened his mouth to object. "After all," she said with a sanctimonious air, "it's important to give something back to the community."

Red politely overlooked that his mother had been immune to the need for community involvement for the past eighty years. "You're messing with a hornets' nest."

"I'm visiting Prissy, that's all. She's hardly a homicidal maniac. Besides, she'll actually talk to me. When you were there, she was probably too stunned to even say anything."

"Be careful, Mama."

It was the second warning she'd received that day. But humming the hymn put the warning right out of her head.

Prissy's cottage was just a short walk from Red and Elaine's house. Myrtle strolled down the sidewalk through downtown Bradley. The old street was divided by a gra.s.sy median with a row of dogwoods down the center. The streetlights flanking the road were hung with American flags. What could have been hokey in another town was perfect for Bradley. She gave an appreciative sniff as she pa.s.sed Bo's Diner, packed with the lunchtime crowd. She walked by the small city hall with the fountain in front and took a left down the next street.

Prissy's little yard was plucked, pruned and manicured with luscious zoysia gra.s.s, yellow Jessamine enthusiastically climbing her fence and English ivy scaling the shady side of the house. Steep concrete stairs climbed to the cheery red front door. Myrtle took a deep breath and carefully mounted the steps. They were even steeper than they'd looked and she gasped for breath as she leaned against Prissy's buzzer.

Prissy answered the door, bleating in distress as Myrtle wobbled on the porch. "Myrtle! You shouldn't climb those stairs. If you'd called ahead, I'd have met you in the yard..." and so on while pulling her inside with hands much stronger than they appeared. To Myrtle's dismay, Prissy was yelling at full volume. Myrtle remembered that she'd claimed deafness in the beauty parlor. "Got my ears in now, Prissy!"

Prissy ushered her into a prim parlor where Prissy's dead ancestors glared reprovingly from the walls. The scent of lemon oil polish competed with a faint smell of mothb.a.l.l.s hanging in the air. A well-worn Queen Anne chair and an old-fas.h.i.+oned settee gave a half-hearted welcome. Myrtle gratefully plopped on the settee, accompanied by a screech of springs. Prissy, still fussing, perched her cadaverous figure on the edge of a chair.

This didn't need to be a long visit. She'd just launch into her spiel. "I wanted to see if you needed a storyteller at the Little Lambs Preschool. I know you've mentioned it a few times at the beauty parlor. I could volunteer once every week or two and read to the children," said Myrtle.

Prissy's face brightened at her offer. Now Myrtle felt guilty. She'd go to the church and read to the little urchins, after all. Maybe she could check out the program while she was there and see if it might work for Jack.

While Prissy extolled the virtues of storytelling, the preciousness of the preschool and of children in general, Myrtle stole glances around the room. It was painstakingly neat with a Spartan lack of clutter. Myrtle was disappointed the parlor's tables weren't littered with love letters, poison pen mail or smoking guns. Myrtle gazed longingly through a door that appeared to lead to Prissy's bedroom and bathroom.

Myrtle interrupted Prissy's reverent monologue. "Prissy, I hope you don't mind, but I need to use your powder room."

Prissy said, "Of course, Myrtle! The bathroom connects to my bedroom."

Myrtle walked through a narrow hall to a small bedroom. At first, Myrtle saw nothing interesting about the room. The bed was covered in an attractive old spread that looked like an heirloom. A handmade quilt from the same era was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. There were two clutter-free bedside tables. Myrtle was about to give up in disgust at the anonymous neatness of the room when she spotted a desk in the corner of the room with a computer on top.

She was halfway across the room when she heard the squeaking of floorboards in the hall and hurried to the bathroom instead. She shut the door quickly behind her and flushed the john. Then she washed her hands in the porcelain washstand, drying them on dainty finger towels hanging next to the sink. Was Prissy hovering out in the hall, making sure Myrtle wasn't snooping?

Myrtle made sure the coast was clear before hurrying back into the bedroom. Prissy called after her, "Miss Myrtle? Everything all right?"

She's checking up on me. "Just fine, Prissy. As I told you, I needed to use your powder room all of a sudden. No reason for alarm."

There wasn't enough time. She'd have to find a reason for a follow-up visit. And a reason for a second bathroom visit. Plus a way to distract Prissy for a longer time. As she walked back into the living room, Prissy gave her a weak smile. Myrtle felt rea.s.sured. Prissy had no reason to suspect her, after all. She was in the bedroom legitimately and hadn't touched the computer.

"Prissy, I'm so impressed! I'd no idea you were computer savvy. Red and Elaine have one of those contraptions, but they're young people. I just don't have a clue on those machines."

She'd expected Prissy to preen at the praise and register that supposedly computer-illiterate Myrtle wouldn't be hacking into the thing, but instead Prissy turned a mottled red color. She must really have some dirty stuff on there. Myrtle threw Prissy a lifeline. "You use it for school email and that type of thing?"

Prissy spluttered out gibberish. Since she obviously wasn't going to regain her composure anytime soon, Myrtle promised to check into reading to the preschool children and, carefully balancing on her cane, slowly descended the steep stairs. She felt Prissy's eyes burning into her back as she left.

DETECTIVE LIEUTENANT PERKINS was no fool- a fact that was very irritating indeed. Myrtle very delicately brought up a couple of questions, and he'd said, "No offense, Mrs. Clover, but I'd rather enjoy this delicious supper and forget about work tonight." Myrtle finally gave up in disgust and concentrated on the fried chicken and the crumbly corn bread m.u.f.fins.

Elaine and Red gamely made conversation with the stern-faced Perkins. After a few minutes, he loosened up and quick intelligence and dry humor surfaced. Too bad he took his work so seriously.

After supper and dessert, Myrtle excused herself and went into the den to play with Jack. Red nodded his head towards his mother and said to Detective Lieutenant Perkins out of the corner of his mouth, "Don't let Mama fool you. She's smart as they come. Buys those New York Times crossword puzzle books by the dozens and knocks them out in minutes. Took the Mensa tests for fun and blew the top right off of them."

"Really?" Perkins was impressed but not surprised. Red was sharp, too, and Perkins figured his good-old-boy act was just a front.

Myrtle returned to the dining room, saying crossly, "Red, where's the remote? Elaine says she taped Tomorrow's Promise this afternoon and I can't find the thing anywhere."

Perkins smiled at Red's sheepish expression. "She can't always watch Masterpiece Theater," Red mumbled.

The only positive part of the night was that the combination of fattening Southern food and boring conversation had given Myrtle her first good night's sleep in a long while. The next morning Red greeted her at the breakfast table with a smile. "Just got a call on my cell from the air conditioning people, Mama. They're going to be at your house in twenty minutes. I'm going over there to let them in and talk with them about the system."

He looked pleased as punch. It made Myrtle feel a little sour. She hadn't even gotten the information she wanted on the case, yet. It was all very discouraging.

After she'd eaten and gotten dressed, she looked out the window and saw Red talking with the repairmen.

There was a rap at Elaine's front door. She pulled it open and saw dumpy Puddin standing on her front step with a baleful look on her pale face. "Puddin! What are you doing here!"

"Went over to your house, didn't I? To clean? And Red sent me over here to talk to you."

"You're not even supposed to clean my house for another few days. Are you sick or something?" It was a record show of productivity for the lazy Puddin. Myrtle would have to make it a red letter day in her diary.

"Just thought I'd clean." Puddin ambled in and plopped down on Elaine's sofa, ready to visit.

"Puddin, I don't have time for your foolishness today. You have the worst timing of anyone I've ever seen. I haven't even been over at my house to make a mess. The air conditioner is broken."

"Beauty Box doesn't need me right now and this was one of my days over there. Kat doesn't need a cleaner, she says." She rolled her eyes.

"Probably because Kat works harder than Tammy did. I'm sure she's doing her own cleaning now." Or maybe she was tired of Puddin's nonsense. "Well, today isn't a good day to clean at my house. Come back again on your normal day."

Puddin gave her a resentful look. "All right, I'm going. Maybe Mr. Connor's house needs a cleaning."

Myrtle raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you were cleaning for Connor Walker. When did this happen?" If Puddin were Connor's housekeeper, that would explain why his house was so messy.

Puddin relaxed into the sofa a little more. "Since his house started being dirty."

"He's a bachelor. His house must have been dirty for years."