Hushed Up--Myrtle Clover Mystery #15

Chapter Thirteen

But Annie proved difficult to find. Myrtle and Miles made a couple of unsuccessful passes downstairs in case Annie was on the move. But she was nowhere to be found.

Myrtle said, "Let's split up. I'll check outside and you can check upstairs."

Miles balked. "I'm not going upstairs. That seems rather off-limits. The family quarters."

"It's not a family. It's only Martin. But all right. I'll go upstairs and you go outside. We can text each other if we find her." Someone jostled Myrtle, spilling wine on her. "Watch it!" she snapped at the middle-aged man. He reddened, mumbled an apology, and hastily retreated. "Something always happens to my funeral outfit," she growled.

Myrtle headed for an elaborate staircase under a tremendous crystal chandelier while Miles set off through a couple of French doors to what looked to be an amazing deck with lake views.

The elaborate staircase was steeper than Myrtle anticipated and required a certain amount of athleticism to ascend. She boosted herself with her cane and it thumped on the marble as she went. She knew if anyone questioned her about being upstairs, she could easily get away with acting confused. It was an excellent trick and she'd occasionally rely on it. No one would challenge an octogenarian on that point, after all.

But no one seemed to be paying attention at all as the party downstairs became louder and louder.

Myrtle paused at the top of the stairs, slightly winded, and peered down the long hallway with what appeared to be a dozen or more doors. The place was more like a hotel than a house. All the doors seemed to be open, at least. She slowly walked down the hall.

Myrtle had passed several empty bedrooms when she came upon what appeared to be a library. She raised her eyebrows. She wouldn't necessarily have pegged Martin as a reader. She'd have to ask Carolyn, her school librarian friend, about that. Myrtle, never able to resist a library, walked in.

"Hi, Miss Myrtle," said a quiet voice.

Myrtle startled and turned around to see Annie on a leather sofa behind her.

"Oh, goodness," said Myrtle. "Annie, I'm sorry to disturb you, today of all days." She decided she didn't need her old lady act with Annie. Annie might not believe it. Instead, she said, "I heard about Martin's library and I thought I'd take a look. I can't seem to pass up a library."

Annie smiled weakly at her. "That's okay, Miss Myrtle. It's probably better for me to talk to somebody, anyway. I just came up here to be quiet for a few minutes and then things got so loud downstairs that I didn't want to go back down. What's going on down there?"

"Alcohol," said Myrtle simply.

Annie made a face. "I told Martin not to offer an open bar but he never listens to me. Well, I'm definitely not going back downstairs now." She hesitated. "Like I said, I probably needed to talk to somebody, though. I'm glad it's you."

To Myrtle's alarm, Annie burst into tears. Myrtle stood up and looked frantically around for a box of tissues. There were none to be seen, so she pawed through her tremendous purse until she found a packet of travel tissues buried somewhere near the bottom. She thrust them at Annie and made comforting sounds until Annie finally stopped crying.

"Sorry," said Annie behind several tissues. "I think it's all just hit me now. Mama's death, I mean. And I feel terrible about it—the way she died, the fact we weren't on better terms, all of it. I also feel really guilty that it didn't make me upset to hear Mama was dead. I felt . . . relieved." She stared down miserably at the wad of tissues in her hand.

Myrtle made some tut-tutting noises. "Well, of course you felt that way. Death affects everyone in different ways on different days. But I'd think your mother also would have felt badly too, if you'd been able to ask her. She'd have been sorry she hadn't developed a better relationship with you. That was more of her responsibility and less of yours."