A Body at Bunco : Myrtle Clover #8

Chapter Sixteen

They watched the rest of the soap opera, the plot of which was at least as unlikely as Briana's conversion to terrorist. After it was done, Miles stretched and idly said, "What did you think of your story in the paper today?"

"I didn't even have a chance to read it. Wait...why? Was there something different about the article?" asked Myrtle.

Miles wordlessly tossed the paper her way.

Myrtle scanned the front page. "Sloan has finally flipped his lid. I don't believe this. Is this the Bradley Bugle or the National Enquirer? 'Alien Spacecraft Reported by Local Resident?' That's Barney Shoemaker and he's reported aliens for the past fifty years...it's not news. It's all tied into his fond relationship with homemade moonshine."

"It's a very colorful newspaper," said Miles, looking sadly into his now-empty bowl.

"But what's this? 'Brainy Beauty Butchered?' What?" Myrtle gaped in horror at the story. "And my name is on the story?"

"Did you notice anyone looking oddly at you at the funeral today?" asked Miles. "Because that's the kind of story that might make people stare."

"No, I didn't see anyone looking oddly at me. Likely because they don't even subscribe to the paper anymore. What nonsense!" Myrtle crumpled up the paper and tossed it far away from her, fuming. "I'm going to have a talk with that Sloan Jones. I'll set him straight and not try to tiptoe around his feelings any longer."

"Before you do that, because I don't want to be around for the moment when that big man starts cowering under his desk, can you fill me in on the case? Who have you talked to, what have you learned, and how was the funeral?" asked Miles.

Myrtle was still thinking about the newspaper, but she gave him a very rote and factual representation of the events that had transpired since he'd become ill. Miles listened intently, nodding from time to time.

At the end of her recitation, he said, "Okay, so now I know all the facts. But what do you think, Myrtle? That's what I want to know. How are you processing all of the events and all of what you know? What kind of sense are you making out of it all?"

"Before I answer that," said Myrtle, "what do you make of it?"

"That's hard to say since I wasn't there and couldn't see the expressions of the suspects or hear their tone of voice. But I could take a stab at it." He thought for a moment. "I'm guessing that Alma simply got in the way somehow. She sure wasn't killed for her vast fortune. Maybe she'd seen the murderer or had some piece of information or evidence that tied the murderer to the crime. The murderer would have been desperate not to be arrested for Luella's death and would have eliminated Alma."

Myrtle said, "That's exactly what I'm thinking. Mostly. Actually, I'm taking it a step further. I think that not only did Alma know something, she attempted to improve her rather dire economic situation by blackmailing the person who was responsible for Luella's murder."

"Surely she must have known that was very dangerous though," demurred Miles. "After all, she would be dealing with someone who had killed once. And very brazenly, too—in a short period of time with a lot of people around."

"That's true, but you're forgetting one important fact. Alma was friends with whomever the murderer is. They played Bonkers together."

"Bunco," muttered Miles.

"Since they were friends, Alma may have underestimated the danger involved. This was likely a person that she'd known for years. She might have felt quite safe. And it must have seemed like a good way to get some extra spending money," said Myrtle.