“Okay,” said Myrtle as soon as Miles picked up the phone. “I’ve overheard a little about Cullen and Simon and why they might want Jill dead. I have a pretty good idea about Sherry and Blanche’s motives. And I know Georgia was upset with Jill over money. The problem is,” said Myrtle, “that I don’t have a good excuse to talk to Georgia. And I can’t just go up to her house and knock on her door with no good reason to be nosy. If I start going around and having little afternoon teas with all the suspects, that would really worry the killer.” Myrtle thought about the iced tea and wondered again if the killer was already on to her.
Miles straightened his steel-framed glasses. “Is Georgia a regular at Bo’s Diner or anything? Does she have any kind of routine that you can interrupt?”
“I don’t think so. I think she’s trying to save money and doesn’t really go out that much except to work and collect angels from garage sales.”
“Well, can you go to her work?” asked Miles.
“That’s no good. She works in a law office.”
Miles blinked at this. “A law office. Looking like that?”
“I guess she has good typing and phone skills. Who knows? Maybe the lawyers were hard-up or something.”
“Seems like you could just pop by her office for some made-up reason.”
If I just walk through a lawyer’s door it’ll cost a hundred dollars.” Myrtle sighed. Then she slapped her palm on Miles’s end table. “I’ve got it! Since she collects ceramic angels, I’ll invite her to come by and see my collection.”
“You have a collection of ceramic angels?” Miles asked doubtfully.
“No, but I have a collection of gnomes. Aren’t collectors interested in seeing other people’s collections?”
“Not really,” said Miles. “I think they’re just interested in their own collections. You’d better try again.”
“Or ... I could buy a few angels from the drugstore and then have a yard sale. Georgia said she spends her Saturday mornings combing yard sales for angels.”
“Could you rummage up enough stuff to make up a yard sale? Your house seems pretty uncluttered.”
Myrtle waved her hand dismissively. “I could dig up some old things to sell. Or Elaine can go in with me and put out some old baby clothes or something. She’s been talking about having a yard sale for ages. And there’s no time like the present.”
“How ‘present’?”
“This weekend, of course.”
The yard sale merchandise was a little scarce, but there was definitely enough there to qualify it as a bona fide sale. Elaine had brought over a bunch of layette clothes, a baby exer-saucer, and assorted bottles, blankets, washcloths, and hooded towels. After thoroughly combing her house, Myrtle was able to come up with a few pots and pans (cooking wasn’t Myrtle’s favorite hobby, anyway), some old sheets, a few yellowing paperback books, and the angels she’d bought on the sale aisle of the drugstore.
Myrtle didn’t have the patience to put stickers on everything, especially since she wasn’t really interested in selling the stuff to begin with, and so grouped things together on blankets with signs indicating the price of everything on the blanket. It was a good thing she was a raging insomniac because a couple of what appeared to be professional yard sale shoppers rang her doorbell at five o’clock in the morning. Myrtle, who’d been up for two hours already, wasn’t nearly as cross as she could have been. They took a few of the baby things, but when the couple turned their attention to the ceramic angels, Myrtle shooed them away. This done, she settled into a yard chair to wait for Georgia Simpson.
It didn’t take long for Georgia to show up. She was in an aging pickup truck that under the best of circumstances was probably white. Myrtle noticed there were already clothes, books, and other odds and ends bundled in the back of the truck, so she knew she wasn’t Georgia’s first stop. Myrtle pushed herself out of her yard chair with some difficulty. “Hi Georgia!” she said.
Georgia barely gave her any sign of acknowledgement as she scanned the sale items. It was clear that Myrtle was faced with another yard sale pro. She took some of the baby clothes (the better ones, Myrtle noticed ... probably to resell them on the internet) and then gravitated inevitably to the ceramic angels, picking them up and cradling them in her hands.
“These almost look brand-new,” she said in a reverent voice.
Imagine that. “They’re in great condition, aren’t they?” said Myrtle. “Georgia, I was wondering about what you said at the pancake breakfast ... ”
“How much are you asking for them?” Georgia looked longingly at the little angels.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Myrtle crossly. “Do you remember at the pancake breakfast when you were talking about Jill?”
Apparently, nothing else in the world existed but Georgia and the angels because once again she interrupted, “How much are you asking?” she murmured. “I just don’t know if they’re in my budget ... ”
“Oh for heaven’s sake! Just take the darned things,” said Myrtle. At Georgia’s startled expression, Myrtle continued in a sweeter voice, “I mean, feel free to accept them as a gift from me. I know how much you enjoy your angel collection and it would mean a great deal to me if you provide them with a good home.”
Georgia was still looking at her with a perplexed expression. Myrtle said, “Sorry to jump down your throat like that, Georgia. It’s been quite a week.”
“I know what you mean, Miss Myrtle. Every week is like that for me. Well ... thanks. These little angels will fit right into my collection.” She paused. “Was there something you were trying to ask me?”
Now that she had Georgia’s full attention, Myrtle wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed. “Uh. That’s right, I was going to ask you about Jill’s death.” Georgia made a face and Myrtle hurried on, “You see, I think it’s therapeutic for me to talk about it to people. It was just so traumatic coming across her body that way. Right in the middle of supper club, too!”
Georgia appeared somewhat discomfited. “I guess it would be a picture that would stick around in your head for a while. I wasn’t with the supper club then, though. You know—I stayed behind. I fell asleep.” She looked hard at Myrtle as if to search for any signs of disbelief.
Myrtle tried to direct the conversation back to the pancake breakfast. “I remember your saying that you were upset with Jill about something ... .” She trailed off the sentence in the hopes of eliciting information from Georgia, who was perilously close to being distracted by angels again.
Georgia snorted. “Upset? I was more than upset, Miss Myrtle. And you would be, too. Jill Caulfield robbed me. She robbed me just as much as if she’d taken a gun and held me up.”
Myrtle waited and Georgia continued with an impatient sigh. “Jill and I went in together to buy lottery tickets at the gas station about six months ago. The deal was that if we won anything, we’d split it.”
“And you got a winning ticket?” asked Myrtle. She hadn’t heard anything about a lottery winner in Bradley, but then that wasn’t usually the kind of news she spent much time following.
“Well, it was fifty thousand dollars! Not the big pot, but a lot of money, you know? She’d bought the tickets and held them, and then turned in the winning one herself. I guess she didn’t want any lowlife relatives creeping out of the woodwork, so she didn’t say anything about it to the newspaper.”
“Didn’t you confront her about it?” said Myrtle.
“I’ll say I confronted her about it. Gave her a black eye, didn’t I? Of course, everybody thought that Cullen gave it to her, and she let them think it because she liked people feeling sorry for her. Saint Jill.” Georgia rolled her eyes.
“It seems like you could have found a lawyer at your office to get the money back for you,” said Myrtle.
“Not really. It was her word against mine, right? It wasn’t like we’d signed a contract with each other, and no one was around us when we decided to go in together to buy the tickets.”
&nbs
p; “So Jill had more money than I thought,” said Myrtle, leaning forward onto her cane thoughtfully. “But she didn’t do very much with it, did she?”
“Well, no,” said Georgia in a sour voice, “She wouldn’t, would she? Because of the Saint Jill thing. She wanted to work the two jobs and have everybody think she was God’s gift. So she just sat on the money. But she was worth a lot more than people thought.”
Was that enough money to kill for? Myrtle wondered about Jill’s will. Was there a beneficiary whose life would improve with a quick infusion of cash?
“Besides,” said Georgia, waving an angel in the air, “I wasn’t the only person who had issues with Jill. Her own sister was fighting with her the night of her murder. So you can’t tell me that there weren’t others who saw through her phony-baloney stuff. Maybe Willow was trying to straighten her out.” Georgia gave a vindictive toss of her head.
Myrtle was getting a little bored at the lack of new information. “Well, we all know that Willow was mad at Jill for not leaving Cullen. And she hated Cullen for being a bum and making Jill work to support them.”
“I think it was more than that. Willow saw that Jill would rather complain about Cullen than divorce him. It was more like Jill’s fault than Cullen’s. Besides, Willow hated the way that Cullen treated Kojak, his dog. She’d get right up in his face and yell at him. Kept trying to kidnap the dog and take him to her house—then Cullen would show up and drag the animal back home. Cullen was just being spiteful because he didn’t like Willow’s meddling.” Georgia shrugged her shoulders. She looked down at the angels she’d cradled in her arms. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to take the angels, Miss Myrtle? I’m used to paying for things I want. I’m an honest person, anyway.”
“I think the angels will be much happier at your house than mine, Georgia,” said Myrtle.
As soon as Georgia left, Myrtle saw Red driving slowly down the street. He gave her a grim look. Rats, thought Myrtle. He must have seen Georgia. Well she had a perfectly legitimate reason for visiting. Myrtle smiled carelessly at Red and gave him a cheery wave. She could tell even from this distance that his face was a mottled red. She worried about his blood pressure sometimes.
Myrtle had actually tried to go to bed at a reasonable time, but the effort had proved a miserable failure. Warm milk, soothing bedtime routine, dull novel, the works. Nothing seemed to help. She decided to go on a walk, and glanced at the clock. Right before two a.m. Great ... now she was predictable, just like Erma was saying at the supper club.
She dressed and got her cane. The air outside was warm, despite the hour. She looked cautiously over at Erma’s house but it was dark. She imagined adenoidal Erma snoring away and shuddered as she hustled past her house. She was very careful not to thump with her cane.
Miles’s house was dark, too. It was probably his catch-up night. He seemed to go several days with no real sleep before catching up again during a couple of good nights. So this would just be a solo walk.
Her mind went back again to Jill’s murder. Jill had been a puzzle to her—a mix of good and bad. Solving the case would be another feather in her cap, and a mini-blow to Red. She could find her own activities to do, thank you very much.
It was really a very quiet night, except for crickets chirping and some frogs calling to each other off in the distance. A lightening bug lit on Myrtle’s arm, but she was so deep in her ruminations on the murder that she didn’t even notice. She’d been surprised to discover that there were so many people who didn’t like Jill. Sherry thought Jill was a candidate for World’s Worst Neighbor. Blanche avoided Jill at all costs, whatever her reason was. Georgia seethed whenever Jill’s name came up. Her own husband, Cullen, didn’t seem to be that much of a fan. Her sister, Willow, was furious that Jill put up with Cullen in the first place. And Cullen said that Simon hadn’t liked Jill either. Myrtle sighed. There was no shortage of suspects.
Myrtle later wondered why she’d never heard the car racing up behind her. She did hear, though, a sudden, raspy meow in the darkness as Myrtle felt a furry body brush against her leg. Myrtle turned abruptly, caught her toe in a gap in the sidewalk, dropped her cane, and went sprawling into a neighbor’s yard ... just at the moment a car swung over the sidewalk, exactly where she’d been standing, before speeding off into the darkness.