Death at a Drop-In: Myrtle Clover #5

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten 

Red sighed. "The body is in the casket, Mama." 

"Then what's that over there?" she asked, pointing over at the woods. 

"Probably a makeshift camp that teens set up to do some drinking on the sly. Look, I've got to go." He hurried off toward the group standing around the grave. 

"Miles," said Myrtle. "That doesn't look like a makeshift camp to me." 

Miles said, "I don't know. It could be a balled-up sleeping bag, I guess." He looked at Myrtle. "Why do I have the feeling we're going to investigate this lump in the woods?" 

"Because you know I'm a better sleuth than Red," said Myrtle with certainty. She held tightly to her cane and started moving in the direction of the woods. 

"Myrtle," said Miles, "here comes Sloan and that young reporter. I think they're coming to talk to you." 

Myrtle groaned and turned back around. "I need to redirect them. Just in case that's a body over there. All I need is Miss Hot Shot horning in." She pasted a smile on her face as Sloan and the young woman walked up. 

The hot day was getting to Sloan and his face had rivulets of perspiration coursing down it. "Kim, I wanted to introduce you to Miss Myrtle. She's the matriarch of Bradley, North Carolina, and the top source of information and leads. She's taught English to most of the adults in this town." 

"Whether they wanted to learn English or not," said Myrtle with a nod. She beamed at Kim, who was a very attractive young woman with blonde hair and smart clothes. Her eyes had a gleam of intelligence...and also, thought Myrtle, of condescension. 

"It's good to meet you," murmured Kim with a small smile. But her gaze restlessly roamed the crowd as if she wished she were anywhere else but talking to this particular old lady at this particular funeral. 

"As a matter of fact," said Myrtle, "I do have a lead for you, just as Sloan said." 

Kim perked up and refocused her attention on Myrtle. "Do you?" 

"I sure do. I always want to help a fellow reporter," said Myrtle nobly. 

Miles, overcome by a sudden coughing fit, stepped away. 

"Do you see that woman over there? The one who is heading toward the parking lot? She's got sort of a rodent-like face? Her name is Erma Sherman. She has an interesting angle on the case that I think you'll want to hear about."  

Kim was already walking away toward Erma when Myrtle said, "Just keep digging deeper, dear! She has many different stories to relate." Mostly about her ingrown toenails and digestive complaints. And Erma was impossible to get away from. That should keep Kim busy. 

"I'll take her out for coffee," said Kim to Sloan. "Can I expense that out?" 

Sloan looked a little sad and said, "Sure. What's the price of a couple of coffees compared to great journalism?" He gave Myrtle a salute. "Thanks for that!" 

Myrtle smiled at him. "Oh, you're very welcome." She watched as Sloan walked off to talk to Lucas Whitlow-who appeared to be barely keeping it together.  

Miles came back over to join Myrtle, eyes watering. "For heaven's sake," Myrtle said crossly, "it wasn't all that funny." 

"You were such a Lady Bountiful, bestowing leads to junior reporters," said Miles, wheezing a bit. 

"And Miss Kim deserved every bit of it. I saw that belittling attitude. She deserves every awful description of every disgusting malady that Erma Sherman has. Come on, let's check out this campsite thing," said Myrtle, thumping away with her cane toward the woods.