A Body at Book Club: Myrtle Clover #6

Chapter 3

There was now no question that Naomi had been too ill to come to book club. The stench of a ghastly illness rose from her and her face in death still had found no peace. She wore a soiled tee shirt and cotton shorts and no shoes.

There sure hadn't been a dead body on Rose's living room floor thirty minutes ago when they were all greeted and told to assemble in Rose's backyard. Had Naomi felt desperately sick and come to book club for help?

Myrtle heard the back door open behind her as she stared at Naomi. Then she heard Miles's voice say, "Myrtle, are you okay? Rose sent me in to check on you. I have a clean tissue in my pocket ..." He stopped short.

Myrtle turned to look at him. Miles was staring in horror at Naomi, looking slightly sick himself. "What happened?" He pulled his gaze away and fastened it with relief on Myrtle.

"I guess she must have come in looking for help while we were outside," said Myrtle. "Rose said she'd emailed to say she was feeling sick and couldn't make book club."

"I'll say she was sick," said Miles, appearing a bit green. "I guess I should tell Rose and prevent anyone else from stumbling across this scene. Then we should call an ambulance or the funeral home or something." He quickly turned and walked toward the back door.

Myrtle stared thoughtfully at Naomi, remembering all the hard feelings against her. "You might want to call Red, actually."

"Red?" Miles turned around. "You're thinking this was foul play? Have you noticed how sick she looks, Myrtle? Maybe it's a natural death. She got terribly ill and then she died."

"Maybe. But that could be by design. Naomi had plenty of people who weren't very happy with her. Here comes one of them now," said Myrtle, nodding at the back door as Rose approached.

Miles groaned. "Rose isn't going to be happy about this. I'll call Red," he said, pulling out his cell phone.

Rose was unhappy indeed. Unlike Myrtle and Miles, she'd immediately spotted the body on her living room floor. Her eyes widened in surprise, and then displeasure quickly took over. She pressed her lips together tightly as she surveyed the scene, putting her hands on her thin hips. "Well, this is certainly inconvenient."

Myrtle could think of many other ways of describing it. "It's not as if she planned it, Rose. I think she must have walked next door for help, realizing how sick she was." Myrtle felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. She had been a proponent of Real Literature, after all. Perhaps the only one in the club who was, besides Myrtle and Miles. The November Choice, indeed!

Rose flapped her hand in the air impatiently. "Yes, I'm aware of that. But at this point, it's simply bad timing. I've got a backyard full of guests. Now I've got a dead body on the floor. Naomi had to crawl in like an animal to die? Typical thoughtlessness from that woman. Not only that, but my housekeeper, Sheila, has just recently quit and I haven't been able to find a new one. What am I going to do?"

Myrtle discovered that she didn't actually like Rose Mayfield very much. She said, "I heartily recommend my housekeeper. Her name is Puddin."

There was a strangled coughing sound behind her and they turned to see Miles there. Miles knew that Puddin was a hopelessly incompetent housekeeper in every way.

Rose frowned at Miles as if warning him that the coughing sound had better not indicate an illness...particularly considering the body on her living room floor. She then said to Myrtle, "Yes, if you don't mind, give me her number. Do you think she has any openings in her schedule?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure she does," said Myrtle smoothly, as she reached in her pocketbook for a piece of paper and a pencil. "Miles, is Red coming?"

"He's on his way," said Miles.