Murder on the Ballot, Myrtle Clover #17

Chapter Fourteen

Since Jenny had effectively torpedoed Myrtle's plans to bring her food, she was now trying to piece together what she wanted to do next. She still needed to plan for the gnome fundraiser by making signs. Should she serve snacks? She decided to get a few bags of potato chips since there would likely be kids there. While she was at the store, she contemplated what she and Wanda should eat for supper. They'd eaten out a bit lately and Myrtle's pocketbook was feeling the pinch. But she did feel that they should perhaps eat vegetables and fruits. It was unfortunate, since produce was pretty much the most expensive thing at the store.

She bought a motley assortment of some of the least-expensive items in the produce department. This meant that her plastic basket held bananas, corn on the cob, carrots, and a couple of apples. Myrtle was fairly sure that she had hummus at home for the carrots. At least, she hoped so. The plastic basket was heavy enough as it was.

A couple of quiet days later, Royce's funeral was held. Myrtle donned her funeral outfit which was amazingly clean since she'd washed it after she'd worn it at the debate. She swore the garment managed to soil itself as she was frequently confounded by the way it would attract spills. Satisfied with her appearance, she and Wanda rode with Miles out to the cemetery for the graveside service.

The funeral was quite blustery. For a terrible moment, it looked as if the tent over the mourners might become airborne. The funeral director's face was even grimmer than usual.

The family insisted Myrtle sit down under the tent, regardless of its wild undulations. She'd protested, preferring to see the assembled group's reactions. But they wouldn't hear of it and ushered her to a seat. Myrtle looked grimly behind her. Miles, apparently too youthful to get preferential treatment, was uncomfortably standing about six feet away from Wanda, perhaps not wanting to fuel small-town gossip mills that they were some sort of couple. Wanda, her new, used clothes blowing in the wind around her emaciated frame, lent a sort of gothic feel to the proceedings.

The service was short and sweet, which was definitely to Myrtle's liking. There was a mournful-sounding soloist which made many of the gathered mourners surreptitiously dab at their eyes. Jenny, however, stayed granite-faced and pale, eyes trained ahead of her, hands folded in her lap. She was the picture of reserved calm. Scotty kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat and looking away as if wishing he were anywhere else. No one spoke aside from the rather dry minister who kept his comments brief.

Afterward, the minister mentioned that the assembled mourners had been invited to the Rollins home for the funeral reception. Everyone left for their cars and drove to the large home, parking on both sides of the residential street.

Myrtle glanced over at Wanda who was looking very calm in the backseat. "Are you sure you don't want Miles to drop you off by the house?"

"I wouldn't mind at all," said Miles with alacrity. He'd attended quite a few funerals lately and was feeling as if he'd already done his duty by this one.

Wanda shook her head. "I'm okay."

"We won't stay for long," said Myrtle. "There's one thing I'm sure there'll be plenty of and that's food. With Jenny so involved in the community and church, it's going to be quite a spread of delectable goodies."

And it was. There were all the usual Southern funeral dishes: fried chicken, potato salad, pimento cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off, deviled eggs, corn pudding, green bean casserole, and more. But there was already a big line waiting to go through the buffet.

"Pooh," said Myrtle. "I suppose we should mingle for a little while until the line goes down."

Perhaps because it was a funeral reception, people were more willing to leave Wanda alone instead of pestering her for fortunes. But their eyes watched her curiously as she followed Myrtle and Miles to the back of the living room where Myrtle could watch people back.