Pretty is as Pretty Dies: Myrtle Clover #1

Chapter Seventeen

At first Myrtle didn't believe her eyes that the witchlike apparition that greeted her was the normally trim and elegant Althea. The hair that had always been neatly wound into a French twist lay in disarray on her shoulders in clumps. Bambi sat forlornly next to her, looking at his mistress with anxious eyes. Myrtle reached forward and held Althea by the arm. "What has happened, Althea? Something awful?"

She soon realized that something awful had happened.

Althea said vaguely. "I'm sorry I took so long. I couldn't find the door." She was dressed in a heavy flannel nightgown and thick robe and looked flushed.

Myrtle had the sudden sinking sensation that she knew the secret Althea desperately tried to hide over the past couple of weeks. She was in the early stages of Alzheimer's disease. Myrtle wasn't sure why she didn't notice it earlier-the way she mysteriously showed up in the sanctuary on the day of Parke Stockard's murder when she was supposed to be in the dining hall. The inappropriate clothes she wore to the book club meeting. The way she was avoiding the activities and people she usually enjoyed, to conceal her condition. The overgrown state of her beloved yard. The minister must know-that was why Nathaniel had so quickly changed the subject when Althea had materialized in the sanctuary. And now here was Althea on what was obviously a bad day for her-getting lost in her own home, apparently just waking up at 1:00 p.m., and wearing dirty clothing for the wrong season. Myrtle felt a wave of sadness come over her.

But Althea was leading Myrtle into the house. Myrtle wasn't entirely sure that Althea knew who she was, but she seemed determined to get Myrtle inside. "I'm glad you came to help," she was saying. "I can't find the iron anywhere."

Myrtle put out a hand and stopped Althea. "But I'm not here to help with that, Althea. It's Myrtle. I was coming over to talk with you about Parke Stockard's murder."

Althea knitted her brows together, a hint of awareness crossing her features. "Parke Stockard." She made a face. Yes, she remembered, all right. "That woman!"

She seemed deep in thought and Myrtle worried she might not be able to return from the fog. But Althea continued, "She was so awful to him. So ugly for a pretty woman. She ruined his life." She put her finger in front of her mouth. "But we don't need to tell anyone."

Myrtle felt as confused as Althea. "She ruined Tanner's life? By trying to get him to sell your property to her?"

Althea looked at Myrtle with blank eyes. "Tanner? No. She ruined Josh's life. My nephew, Josh Tucker."

Myrtle heard a buzzing in her ears while her brain whirled, processing the information. "She ruined Josh's life?"

Althea looked a little vague. "Said he didn't really talk to the people he wrote about in his articles. He got fired from his job. His wife divorced him and he had to come back home."

"But why was this such a big secret? And how do you know about it?"

"His parents were so proud of him. He didn't want them to know. And I knew-" She thought hard for a moment. "What were we talking about?"

Myrtle said, "How did you know about Parke getting Josh fired from his job?"

"Because I always took the New York Times. I was that proud of him. I read a story about him being suspended from the paper for problems with his stories." Althea looked sad, but then looked vacant again.

Myrtle mentally kicked herself for not making more out of the New York connection. She'd known they'd both spent time in New York and had recently moved to Bradley, but New York was such a big place, she hadn't seen a link. But with both of them working on newspapers in the same city? "Althea, I've got to go."