Death at a Drop-In: Myrtle Clover #5

Chapter Fifteen

As Myrtle was walking back home, she decided she wanted her container back from Lucas.  She hadn't spoken to him as much as she'd talked with the other suspects.  And, pitiful though he was, he certainly was a suspect.  He was the husband and he was getting, according to his daughter, a tidy windfall from the life insurance company.  Hazel and Joan had both mentioned the fact that he'd been broke before Cosette died.  He was decidedly grief-stricken, but maybe he was only grief-stricken over the state of his soul.

The books, neither of which she had the smallest intention of introducing to the book club—especially since it wasn't actually her turn for six months—were starting to weigh heavily on her as she walked.  Myrtle decided that she'd go by the library to return them before walking to Lucas's house. 

The library was a two-story brick building with a few too many steps for Myrtle's liking.  She stood at the bottom of the flight of stone stairs and sighed.  This one time, she'd use the ramp on the side of the stairs. She'd used the stairs earlier, after all.  No one would ever know.

She mentally cursed the humidity of Southern summers for the millionth time as she walked up the steep ramp.  The glassed-in foyer was blessedly air-conditioned and she hovered in there a few minutes after sticking the two books in the return slot. After she felt more or less refreshed, she turned to go back out and down the ramp again.

It had been very quiet on the street.  It must be considered too hot for folks to walk around town, which Myrtle hadn't gotten the memo on.  Going down the handicapped ramp was more challenging than going up, although surely that shouldn't be the case, since it required less exertion.

She'd just put one foot down on the ramp in front of her when she felt a sudden prickling at the back of her neck and a sense of movement behind her.  A hand briefly and firmly pressed to the base of her back and shoved hard.  Myrtle started falling as she heard the sound of someone running away.

It was her cane—that hated cane— that saved her in the end.  Her feet had swung out in front of her and her hand had flown off the rail from the force of her fall.  But somehow she'd automatically tightened her grip on her cane with that left hand and jammed down the stick as if she were skiing.  It helped her to sit down, albeit very hard, on the concrete ramp.  That's where she sat, trembling and motionless, until a car drove up to park in front of the library.

When she looked up, she was appalled to see that it was a police car and that Red was hurrying out.  Shoot.  What was he going to think?

Red quickly indicated what he was thinking.  "You fell!  Mama, are you okay?"

            Myrtle wasn't sure if she was okay, but she didn't think anything had broken.  And she certainly wasn't going to own this accident as a fall.  She gingerly started moving her arms and legs.  "I'm okay.  But I didn't fall, I was pushed."

Red's face went from relief that she wasn't hurt to skepticism. "Right.  You never fall down, do you?"

"Red, I was shoved.  I returned a couple of books and I was cautiously making my way down the ramp, and someone came up and pushed me! Look around the library and see if there are any suspects lurking around in there."

Red said, "Suspects?  Mama, I'm more interested in getting you off the staircase and over to a doctor to make sure you're all right."

Myrtle bristled.  "I'm fine. I sure don't need a doctor's co-pay on top of everything else.  This spill will only mean a few bruises.  And if you won't scour the library for who might be responsible, then I guess I'll have to do it."  She struggled to get to her feet, feeling the beginnings of bruising and soreness. Red supported her by her elbows and helped bring her up.