A Myrtle Clover Christmas

Chapter Ten

Myrtle's eyes grew big. "Pasha, I thought we'd decided you didn't need to perform "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

The mouse scampered off, terrified, into the house.

"Oh dear."

Pasha looked grimly at Myrtle.

"I know. You wanted me to kill the mouse. Or eat it live. I'm not entirely sure what you wanted, but the Christmas presents need to cease and desist, Pasha."

Suddenly Myrtle brightened. "I just remembered. Holden is an exterminator. That's the perfect way for me to have an excuse to speak with him."

She beamed at Pasha and Pasha gave her a feline smile as if the excuse were her plan all along.

Myrtle called the extermination company. It was easy to know which one Holden worked for, because there was only one in town. And she knew Holden would be working because he and Faith were putting their honeymoon off until Christmas, when both their workplaces would be closed.

The woman who answered said they'd send someone out in an hour.

"Will it be Holden Davis?" asked Myrtle. "He's a friend." Of sorts, finished Myrtle silently.

"Yes, he's the one who has the open slot this afternoon," said the woman briskly.

Myrtle hung up, smiling.

Sure enough, an hour later, Holden appeared. "Hi, Miss Myrtle. I hear you have a mouse problem?" He looked doubtfully at the tidy surroundings.

"I do indeed. Pasha, she's my feral cat, has been bringing me live gifts the last few days. I believe she may be enacting 'The Twelve Days of Christmas.'"

Holden looked even more doubtful about that idea. "Well, I'll take care of it for you. You don't have to worry about that."

"Excellent. My first thought had been to let Pasha handle it herself. But she seems determined that I personally manage the gifts she brings me. Besides, the poor mouse would have come to a gory end, and it displayed some courage and ingenuity to get away from Pasha to begin with."

Holden said slowly, "So you're wanting a humane catch-and-release then?"

"Yes. We must show some humanity from time to time, mustn't we? I feel for the little mouse, but just the same, I don't want the creature residing in my house. Clement Clarke Moore must have never dealt with insomnia or mice."

Holden frowned in confusion at this apparent non sequitur.

"The poet who wrote 'A Visit from St. Nicolas.'"

Holden's frown deepened.

Myrtle bit back a sigh. "You know. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."

"Yes!" said Holden, relieved to understand his elderly customer. "Well, I have a little plastic trap and will bait it with cheese."

"Then do you have time for a small chat?" asked Myrtle in her best tremulous old-lady voice. "It's just that I get lonely, you know. It's nice to visit with the young people."

Holden smiled at her. "I do have some extra time this afternoon. I'd love to chat."

Holden set about putting out the little trap for the mouse. Then he joined Myrtle in the living room, where she had already poured him a glass of lemonade.

"How is married life?" asked Myrtle as she handed him the glass.

Holden said, "Well, we're getting used to it. Of course, it hasn't been quite the way we thought we were going to start out. You know, considering what happened to Glynis."