Pretty is as Pretty Dies: Myrtle Clover #1

Chapter Eighteen

Fear knotted inside her, the color draining from her face as she slowly turned around. Josh stood close behind her, hooded gray eyes revealing nothing. He smiled, but it was a cold smile. He looked pointedly at her bare hands that weren't holding a column.

"It was kind of odd for you to call me with a lead, Miss Myrtle. Especially since you've been bound and determined to solve this case yourself. I thought I might just stick around and see what exactly you were up to."

Myrtle stood straight and faced him squarely, one hand leaning back on Sloan's desk, holding on to the corner for support. "No, Josh. I was looking for you, actually. I wanted to talk to you about Parke Stockard."

Remembering her tape recorder, she slipped her hand inside her dangling handbag to hit the record button. If nothing else, their recorded meeting would give all the evidence Red and Lieutenant Perkins needed for a day in court. Off balance, Myrtle dropped her cane.

Josh leaned over to pick it up, then swung it at her purse, sending it and all its contents flying across the floor. "Remember our lunch at Bo's Diner, Miss Myrtle? You seemed very proud to show off your reporting tools to me." He gave a mirthless laugh and kicked the contents of her purse a few feet away from them on the tile floor as he dropped the cane with a clatter to the floor.

Myrtle's voice came out like a croak. She cleared her throat and said, "I used to think that you blushed when you heard Parke's name because you were lovesick," said Myrtle. "But it wasn't a blush, was it? You were flushing with anger. You hated Parke Stockard for what she'd done to you."

Josh gave a dry laugh. "You've really been doing some investigating, haven't you? You must have finally caught up with Aunt Althea. I should have known she would end up giving it away."

"That Parke was the person who told the Times that you were fabricating details in your articles?"

Josh looked irritated. "That's just it. They were minor details. Small embellishments to make a couple of stories more interesting."

"You and Parke were friends in New York, then? She knew your articles weren't completely factual?" asked Myrtle.

Josh grunted. "Saying we were friends is a stretch. We were professional acquaintances who sometimes ended up in the same places. My ex-wife was a friend of hers, though."

"And one day you added some parts to a story that Parke knew weren't true," said Myrtle.

"It wasn't even a major story. It was just a piece about changes taking place in hospitals around the country. I was under deadline pressure and included some quotes to support the facts I already knew. Parke happened to be at a hospital benefit the following day and realized I couldn't have spoken to the people I quoted." Josh glowered. "She was always looking for information on people. Always looking for something to hold over their heads. A little bit of power to make them nervous with."

"So she told the paper. And they let you go."

Josh nodded. "They'd already had enough bad publicity with other journalists who printed inaccuracies. They fired me and printed a small article about the incident as quietly as possible. Not quietly enough for my wife to ignore, though. She left me. And not quietly enough for me to be able to get a job with any major newspapers in New York or elsewhere."

"So you came back home," Myrtle said. "And you got a job with the local paper and said you'd come back to take care of your parents. And you protected them from knowing what had happened in New York. In their mind, you came home to watch out for your aging parents and your wife was probably painted as no-good. Everything was fine for a while. Until Parke Stockard moved here."