Death at a Drop-In: Myrtle Clover #5

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven 

"Wait!" called Miles. "What about Red? Doesn't he need to talk to you?" 

"He knows where to find me," called back Myrtle without turning around. 

Puddin and Dusty didn't exactly look pleased to see her, but they never did. Puddin was a pale, dumpy woman who avoided housework whenever a shortcut presented itself. Dusty was actually a half-decent yardman, but it was difficult to get him to regularly come by the house. Together...they were the best Myrtle could do. 

Puddin appeared to be eating a fig and the juice was running unchecked down her chin. "Need a ride?" she reluctantly asked. "Dusty and me was going to your house just now." 

"Yes, Miles brought me, but he has a flat and it's too hot for me to walk back," Myrtle climbed into the backseat, pushing aside a laundry basket full of cleaning supplies as she did. She glowered at the supplies, which all appeared untouched and brand-new. Puddin was fond of using up the homeowner's cleaners instead of her own.  

"What's going on up there?" asked Dusty, bobbing his head to indicate the throng of mourners near the woods. 

"A murder," said Myrtle, scowling at her black pants. Did she still have that much cat fur on them? It looked as if she were wearing a pair of angora slacks. 

Dusty nodded as if that were a perfectly reasonable and acceptable explanation.  

"Who of?" asked Puddin, turning around to look at Myrtle. Her piggy eyes squinted at her. 

"Tobin Tinker," said Myrtle. 

Dusty grunted. "More business for me, then." 

Myrtle felt, but didn't say, that people who had gotten used to Tobin's level of competence and expertise wouldn't be particularly interested in hiring Dusty to help them with yard work.  

Neither Puddin nor Dusty seemed inclined to inquire any more about the murder. They pulled up into Myrtle's driveway and Puddin calmly wrapped the rest of her fig in a napkin.  

"Where do you get your figs?" asked Myrtle. 

"My backyard." 

"How'd you keep the birds and squirrels and ants away from those figs, Puddin?" 

"They'd have to fight me for them," said Puddin simply.  

Dusty had an ancient lawnmower in the trailer behind the car. He rolled it out while Puddin waited for Myrtle to fish her keys from her purse. "Sure is a lot easier mowin' yer lawn with no gnomes sittin' in the middle of everything," he observed. 

Myrtle was sure that it was. However, she wanted to reserve the right to pull gnomes out of her little storage building whenever she wanted. "Just remember we have a deal where you weed-trim whenever they are out there. Red's been behaving lately, so I haven't had to drag out the gnomes in protest. That could change at any time." 

Dusty shrugged. "It's yer property." The tone intimated that there would never be gnomes of any sort on Dusty's own lawn.  

Myrtle glanced at her doorstep. "By the way, Puddin, there's a corpse on the front step that you'll need to dispose of. I guess just put it in a plastic grocery bag and toss it in my outside trash bin." 

"What!" Puddin squinted at the front step. "That witch cat again." 

"Nonsense. Your superstitions exhaust me, Puddin." 

Myrtle finally fished her keys from her pocketbook, and she and Puddin walked inside, carefully stepping over the dead rabbit as they entered. "As you can see, there's dust everywhere. So I need you to dust first and then vacuum. The kitchen and bathroom could use a scrubbing, if you have time after that." She almost laughed as she said it. Puddin would not have time because it would take her fifteen minutes to even start. Ten minutes of that would be her getting the cleaning supplies ready. Myrtle's cleaning supplies.