Pretty is as Pretty Dies: Myrtle Clover #1

Chapter Thirteen

Myrtle was apparently Erma's favorite target for persecution. Myrtle had gone through all the precautions, however, peering out her window, making sure that she wasn't the first person to arrive at book club. She couldn't believe it when she saw flocks of white heads entering Erma's house. Didn't they know what they were getting into? Erma should have a sign over her door reading: Abandon hope all ye who enter here. Dante would certainly agree that Erma's front door was Purgatory's portal.

A minute later, Myrtle realized the draw. Miles Bradford stood near the appetizer table, clutching a copy of a thick tome that was completely inappropriate for the type of book club he was attending. Myrtle looked at him in sympathy. The poor man should have been told by whoever invited him that it wasn't a real book club. Miles looked as if he were expecting an intellectual dialogue and exchange of ideas. The book club widows watched him with predatory eyes. He'd obviously been told it was a co-ed club that discussed real books. Poor soul.

Erma, fortunately, had other victims to torture, so Myrtle wasn't the only target of her long-winded conversations. Although she did spend fifteen minutes at the beginning of the book club meeting slyly conniving to put Myrtle and Miles in the same conversation. ("Myrtle, did I get you a drink? Oh, Miles will get you one-he's right by the drinks table...") Luckily for Erma, Myrtle's patience with this tactic didn't wear out before Erma got bored with it. Myrtle rolled her eyes at Miles who gave her a sympathetic smile. He wore khakis and an open-necked button-down white shirt and was apparently creating quite a stir among the book club ladies. Several of them had coyly cornered him at the food table and were laughing heartily at something he said. Myrtle looked over at him with sympathy. Miles looked ready to bolt.

Kitty Kirk was at the meeting and Myrtle almost didn't recognize her. She'd gotten so used to seeing Kitty in ill-fitting tracksuits and poorly-applied makeup that it was a shock actually to see her looking smart in a black tunic top and khaki capris. She seemed focused today, too. Myrtle wondered if she were on medication. It was such a dramatic change from the last meeting. She even had a book with her. Last time at Tippy's house, Kitty looked as though she didn't realize why she was even there. Myrtle wondered over the sudden change.

Myrtle wandered over to the appetizer table to see why no one seemed to be eating any snacks. The table held a big platter full of watermelon slices and a few red napkins. What kind of hostess served watermelon slices as appetizers? With no plates, either. These watermelons were chock-full of black seeds. Where were you supposed to spit them? Maybe Erma swallowed hers. No wonder she was always complaining about her gross health problems. Having a watermelon growing in your belly would explain a lot.

Erma finally started the meeting. The progression of the meeting was rather chaotic. The idea was for everyone to share whatever recommendation she had for the next month's book club selection, followed by a quick vote for a consensus. The little spiels for the selections quickly grew contentious, however, and everyone ended up speaking at once. Miles, holding The Brothers Karamazov, looked bemused and seemed to be searching for an escape hatch. Most of the titles were pretty lightweight reads. Myrtle figured they could compromise by reading several of them before the next meeting. With those kinds of books, it would only take an afternoon.

Elaine leaned over and gave Myrtle a look. "Like dogs fighting over a bone, isn't it? I don't know why Tippy isn't jumping in to impose a little order. She's usually our referee during these crises."

Tippy sat on a sofa near Erma and looked tired and strained. Still chic, thought Myrtle, glancing over her cream-colored suit. But as if she was under a lot of pressure. Always thin, Tippy now looked positively transparent. The blue veins in her arms stood in sharp relief to the rest of her arms and her elegant clothes hung a bit on her frame. She didn't look at all like jumping in and impose order. In fact, Myrtle wondered if Tippy was even paying attention. She seemed miles away. As far away as Miles wanted to be.