Hushed Up--Myrtle Clover Mystery #15

Chapter Five

As Miles drove away, Myrtle said, "Why do I have the feeling that 'golf course' is soon going to be up on their sign along with 'live bait,' 'boiled peanuts,' and 'psychic readings'?"

Miles sighed. "Well, I suppose it's not all that different from miniature golf, if you think about it. At least it was a productive visit, right? You received your permission from Wanda for the news story. And you were warned about imminent danger again."

Myrtle said, "She never said it was imminent. I'll simply keep an eye out, as I always do. Now, let's talk about tomorrow morning."

Miles said uncomfortably, "I hope by 'morning' you mean eight o'clock and not four o'clock."

"Technically, four o'clock is morning."

"For some people. But not for people who haven't slept for days," said Miles pointedly.

Myrtle said, "I'm not hosting Lieutenant Perkins for breakfast at four o'clock, Miles. But I do think I need to prepare fairly early. For one thing, Puddin hasn't cleaned my house for a ridiculous amount of time."

Puddin was Myrtle's unreliable housekeeper. The only reason Myrtle continued employing her was because her husband, Dusty, was an inexpensive yardman. It was impossible to find inexpensive mowing in Bradley.

Miles said, "What else is new?"

Myrtle frowned. "She's been especially insufferable lately. I'm going to go ahead and call her now, although it will be a pain to have her vacuuming while I'm trying to write my story for Sloan."

She took her phone out of her purse and dialed Puddin's number. Dusty picked up.

"Too dry to mow, Miz Myrtle!" he hollered in the phone. "Not healthy for grass to be cut too short when it's dry."

It was always too wet, too dry, too hot, or too cold for Dusty.

Myrtle said impatiently, "Never mind about that, Dusty. I'm calling for Puddin."

Dusty grunted and called for Puddin. A minute or so went by before Puddin said sullenly, "H'lo?"

"Puddin, it's me. I need you to come by and clean for me."

Puddin growled into the phone, "My back is thrown, Miz Myrtle."

Myrtle said, "Absolutely not. That was your excuse for the last two weeks. And the last time I went to my internist, he told me in no uncertain terms that a back can be helped by moderate activity."

Puddin paused and then said, "Speak English, Miz Myrtle."

"He said you should clean for me. Now come on over. I have guests tomorrow morning for breakfast and no time for your foolishness."

Puddin drawled, "Have to see if the car will start."

"Well, if it doesn't, then take Dusty's truck. It sure doesn't sound as if he'll be using it since he says it's too dry to mow anyone's grass," said Myrtle with a sniff. "I'll see you at the house in thirty minutes." She hung up the phone.

Miles said, "About this breakfast tomorrow. You're just planning on eggs and bacon and grits, right? Maybe some cereal?" His voice sounded hopeful.

"Absolutely not! That would be pedestrian and predictable. Perkins is a hard-working police detective and he deserves something special. I was thinking about making quiches. Or eggs benedict. Or maybe even a soufflé."

Miles gave her an anxious sidelong look and Myrtle snapped, "Eyes on the road, Miles! We don't need to have an accident just a few blocks from home."

Miles stared back at the road in front of him. "I think that's taking on a lot, Myrtle. You have a front-page story to write for Sloan. You have to keep Puddin on track with her cleaning and make sure she's not watching TV instead of working. Besides, you probably don't even have all the ingredients you need for these fancy breakfast recipes."