Murder on the Ballot, Myrtle Clover #17

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Sorry," she said. She really did look regretful. "I can't let you make that call, Miss Myrtle. It really wouldn't do to have a tipsy Sloan wander back in here right now."

Myrtle pushed the rolling chair back a bit to gain a little distance from Jenny. "So, let's see. We have a few pieces of information that are very interesting, don't we? First off, there's something that a good friend of mine mentioned a while ago. She spoke about the rain."

Jenny lifted a perfectly-groomed eyebrow. "She's a weather forecaster?" Jenny rummaged in her purse.

"No, she's a psychic. You met Wanda. You'd never guess it, but getting these little psychic insights are sort of like a shaky picture on a television full of static. She knows they're important, but she doesn't really know how they fit in. I didn't either, until just a few moments ago." Myrtle hoped that, by stalling, Sloan might realize he really did have a paper to publish before the end of the day. Surely he'd be walking in the door momentarily.

Jenny looked curious. "How does rain figure into the equation?"

"Cindy Cook said that Preston came home sopping wet. But Preston said that he'd left the garage and gotten home before the rainstorm hit. Why else would he lie about his movements?"

Jenny gave a small shrug and very gently removed a large wrench from her purse. "I'm guessing you've reached the conclusion that Preston killed my husband."

Myrtle saw the swish of a black tail behind Jenny and blinked. Then she quickly said, "I can't come to any other conclusion. I believe that Preston was upset with Royce for having an affair with his wife. He left the garage and headed over to town hall. Royce had shaken a lot of hands and had stayed a bit later. He also prided himself on taking the stairs instead of the elevator. I'm going to presume that the custodian, when locking up, used the elevator instead and that's why no one discovered Royce's body until I showed up the next morning."

Jenny's eyes had the thinnest veneer of tears covering them before she briskly batted her lashes a few times to rid herself of them. "I suppose so."

Myrtle took a deep breath. "The problem, Jenny, is that no one else knew how Royce died. Red expressly asked me not to say anything and I know he didn't say a word. But somehow you knew exactly how Royce was murdered."

"That's why your expression changed a minute ago," said Jenny dryly. "I knew a light bulb had gone off in your head."

"I've also been thinking a good deal about love," said Myrtle. "Do you watch Tomorrow's Promise?"

Jenny shook her head.

"Well lately, it's all been focused on different types of love. Naturally, the show being a soap opera, the love all turns out remarkably badly. It made me think of you, actually," said Myrtle. She saw Pasha's face. The black cat's eyes were narrowed as she peered, unseen, at Jenny.

Jenny was too elegant to snort, but she made an approximation of the sound. "Of me?"

"Yes. You seem this sort of tragic figure to me."

Jenny clearly didn't like this one bit. She straightened up in her chair, her hand gripping the wrench. "How do you figure that?"

"Here's how I see it. You're interrupting a love triangle, aren't you? You were the one who didn't belong. Cindy, Preston, Royce—they all went to high school together. They all have this history, this back-story. You're not from Bradley at all and just didn't have any context to their love story. You were the fourth wheel, so to speak."

Jenny didn't say anything, but her eyes watched Myrtle intently.

Myrtle took another deep breath and wondered why on earth Sloan was taking so long.