There were already at least a dozen casseroles (half of them Chicken Divan) in freezer-appropriate, labeled, and dated containers by the time Myrtle made it over to Connor’s house. There were even some hand-written notes of condolence on the front table.
In the case of a single man like Connor, it would be assumed by the well-meaning ladies of the church that he wouldn’t be aware of anything that needed to be done for the funeral. Mrs. Dawkins, a gray-haired dragon, was dispatched from Agnes’ church Circle to drop in on Connor. She arrived bearing a steno pad and pencil and demanding information for the obituary. The annoying thing about Mrs. Dawkins was that she kept asking questions that she clearly knew the answers to. “Your mother held office for the Bradley Garden Club, didn’t she?” Connor would look a little confused and Mrs. Dawkins would type in, “President, Bradley Garden Club, 1996.”
“I’d advise,” said Mrs. Dawkins with a sniff, “that Agnes’ obituary also run in the Charlotte Observer. And I’d strongly urge that it run in the Roanoke, Virginia, paper too.”
“Why on earth should it run there?” asked Myrtle.
“Roanoke was Agnes’ birthplace.” Mrs. Dawkins looked displeased by the insurrection.
“Seventy-five years ago,” said Myrtle, “and Agnes’ parents moved to Bradley when she was a baby. Which I remember.” She wasn’t above pulling the age card.
“Well, I think it’s proper.”
“I think it’s silly,” said Myrtle. “Besides, all the people who remember when Agnes was born are all probably dead.”
Mrs. Dawkins ignored Myrtle and continued stiffly making plans for the service. She grunted in disapproval when she learned the service would be several days away—quick burials being the norm in the South. She apparently found Connor’s mention of the autopsy the final straw and left quickly afterward.
“What a relief,” said Myrtle. “Hope the door hit her on the way out.”
Connor seemed to be hiding a smile. “I guess funeral preparations are complicated. Mrs. Dawkins was trying to help.”
“They don’t seem complicated to me. And believe me, I’m old enough to have gone to a ton of them.” Connor did look fairly stressed out, however. “How are you doing?”
His face darkened. “I’m furious. Tammy is one thing, because she pushed people’s buttons, but who could have killed my mother? For what reason?”
“It’s crazy, isn’t it? Do you think she knew something, or thought she knew something?” asked Myrtle.
Connor was quiet, then answered, “I did go back to the Beauty Box the night of Tammy’s murder. I wanted to tell Tammy I was sorry for everything I’d said and sorry that things hadn’t worked out for us. I was hoping to stay on speaking terms with her, even if we weren’t ever going to be friends again.” He gave a short laugh. “This town is too small for me to be on fighting terms with anybody.”
Agnes Walker’s dining room window was in plain view of the front of the Beauty Box. “So your mother saw your car pull up to the Beauty Box, I’m guessing. What time was that, Connor?”
He was thoughtful. “I’d gone home after the fight with Tammy, let off some steam. It must have been about ten-forty-five. I pulled up to the shop and parked in front. Then I walked around back to knock on Tammy’s bedroom door. I knocked on her door and called her name. The lights were off, so I figured she’d gone somewhere. She usually turns on every light in the house when she’s there.”
“Was Dina there?” asked Myrtle.
“Not that I noticed.”
“How long were you there?”
“I figured Dina and Tammy might have gone out together for a walk or something. They used to do that before Tammy started drinking so much. I felt like I’d been put through the wringer, so I pulled out my cigarettes and had one. I just sat there on the step. I must have been there twenty-five minutes or more. Then I gave up and walked back to the front of the shop and drove off.”
Myrtle said, “So your mother saw your car leave. And she thought you’d be considered a suspect.”
Connor nodded. “Which I would have been. Tammy and I had argued out in public and I came over to see her afterwards. I told Mother that I had nothing to be worried about—I hadn’t done it and there was no proof that I had.” His face was somber. “Mother was in a state. I thought she might have a stroke or a heart attack or something. She didn’t want even the faintest hint of a scandal. She made me swear that I wouldn’t say anything about being over there. I wasn’t exactly eager to put myself at the scene of the crime, but my first thought was actually for Mother. I promised her I wouldn’t say a word. After all, I knew I hadn’t killed Tammy. She convinced me it might distract the police from finding the actual murderer.”
Agnes probably worried, deep down, that Connor had killed Tammy. Twenty-five minutes was plenty of time to have stabbed Tammy and pushed her down the stairs, and obviously Agnes hadn’t seen anyone else coming or going at the Beauty Box. But Agnes wouldn’t have spent the whole evening at her dining room window; there would have been plenty of opportunities for the murderer to slip in or out.
Connor sighed. “I wish I’d told the police. Mother was behaving in a very cloak-and-dagger way. She must’ve given the murderer the impression she knew more than she did.”
The doorbell rang. Kat stood holding a casserole at Connor’s front door. Connor’s face lit up when he saw her and Myrtle doubted it was because Kat was carrying yet another dish of Chicken Divan.
“You look great, Kat,” noted Myrtle, studying the girl’s toned-down hair. It was now a more natural black color with pink highlights. Myrtle guessed that black must be close to Kat’s actual hair color.
“Thanks, Miss Myrtle. Since I’m a salon owner now, I wanted a more professional look. But I couldn’t give up the pink altogether. I worked on it this afternoon.”
Connor said, “Uh-oh. Slow again over there?”
“Yes, but things are picking up again. I was going to dye it earlier, but then everything went nuts. Dina was going to dye it for me the night Tammy died, but she chickened out after I was sitting in the chair and had gotten the dye mixed and all the equipment out. Probably just as well, considering what Dina did to your poor mom’s hair.”
Myrtle asked, “Dina didn’t want to dye it?”
“No, I apparently intimidated her a little. Her hands were shaking so much when she was pulling the gloves on and getting the colors set up that I was glad when she backed out right before squirting the dye on me.”
Connor snorted. “Yeah, you might have ended up with bright blue hair like my mom. Thank God you dyed it back for Mother. She was furious with Dina.”
Figuring that Kat would cheer him up more than she would, Myrtle said, “I’d better go. Let me know if you need anything else, Connor. And thanks for the key to your mother’s.”
Myrtle walked briskly to Agnes’ bedroom to find her burial outfit. The house seemed like a mere shell without Agnes there providing some soul for the place. She frowned again at the out of place suitcases which was the only sign of untidiness in the house. Really, it just needed some dusting and a vacuum. Myrtle pulled a well-tailored and long-skirted navy suit out of the closet and draped them on the bed for Connor to take to the funeral home later, let Jo and her cleaning supplies in, and left for home. There was really only one remedy for a day such as today. A mind-numbing viewing of a poorly-written soap opera.
Tomorrow’s Promise was already in progress by the time she settled down in front of it. And, as usual, the characters were making horrible mistakes. Sally once again took her cheating louse of an ex-husband back. Timothy was bound and determined to join that cult that anyone could see was full of loonies. Denise was having another affair with a man young enough to be her son—possibly even her grandson, considering how well-preserved she was. And Tony was packing his suitcases to leave Trisha and their baby.
It was the suitcases that made Myrtle stop and think. And then stop and think some more.