Pretty is as Pretty Dies: Myrtle Clover #1

Chapter Seven

The diner door swung shut behind her as Myrtle started walking home. It was one of those hot afternoons where the breeze made you hotter instead of cooling you off. She was full of greasy food and taking a nap during her favorite soap opera, Tomorrow's Promise, was the next order of business.

Her plans were foiled, however, with a yoo-hoo from behind her. Myrtle's face was pained as Erma Sherman drove up and pulled over onto the curb. She opened the car door and waddled towards Myrtle. She was wearing a large-print, flowered dress that hung on her big frame like a tent.

Myrtle flinched as Erma sidled up into her personal space to talk. Her large, rodent-like teeth were exposed in what Erma fondly thought of as a smile. "Where are you heading, Myrtle? I'll drive you there. You shouldn't be walking to the store like this-you were at death's door yesterday and you don't look a bit better today."

"Thanks," mumbled Myrtle. There was no point arguing that she hadn't been going to the store or that she felt perfectly fine. Erma Sherman was an unstoppable force of nature.

Erma completely ignored Myrtle's weak refusal as she bulldozed her towards her elderly Cadillac. The inside of the car reeked of menthol cough drops. As they drove off, Erma provided a running commentary about the trouble her bunions were giving her. She was either going deaf or was determined to hold onto her captive audience. They drove by Myrtle's house and Myrtle pounded on the car window, pointing helplessly as Erma's tale of podiatric woe continued. Finally, Myrtle gave in to her misery, slumping in the seat. The amount of nonsense spewing out of Erma's mouth was amazing. Without listening to Erma's monologue, Myrtle watched her face. She half expected whiskers to sprout on either side of her long nose. She really did look like a rat.

"...especially since Kitty poisoned Parke. Because that was no accident. But you know, I've never liked Kitty's casseroles. Especially her chicken a la king. So I had to agree with Parke there. My stomach problems, you know. The other day I was eating tuna...."

"Whoa!" said Myrtle. And Erma reigned in with surprise. "What are you talking about? Kitty poisoning Parke Stockard? What?"

Erma looked nonplussed. "Well, Wednesday night fellowship a few weeks ago. Parke had been complaining for months about Kitty's 'uninspired casseroles.' And everybody knew Parke was allergic to shellfish. Kitty, of all people, knew that. She's been so careful about the flower arrangements for altar guild, you know-no roses. Because that wonderful reporter at the Bugle-Josh Tucker? He's horribly allergic to roses. So she always brings wildflowers-"

"The poisoning?" gritted Myrtle between her teeth, cutting off another Erma Sherman homage to Josh Tucker.

"So she would have been careful not to have any shellfish at the Wednesday night dinners. Because she makes notes about things like that. Besides, the church budget is a chicken budget, not a seafood budget."

Myrtle gave an exasperated sigh.

"But she did-she put crabmeat in a casserole and told everyone it was "chicken surprise." Erma gave a squeaky laugh. "It was a surprise, all right. Parke swelled up, broke out in a rash, had trouble breathing. They took her to the hospital. Did I tell you about the last time I went to the hospital? I had this kidney stone."

Myrtle tuned back out. Was Kitty worried because the police might want to question her over the food poisoning a few weeks ago? Or was she worried because she had lashed out at Parke Stockard again, this time killing her?

"Anyway, I'm glad to see you're all right before I go out of town for the next couple of days." She paused, a cue for Myrtle to ask where she was going. Myrtle didn't comply.