Chapter Two

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Myrtle and Miles looked at each other again.

"Is something wrong?" asked Clara, her quivering voice behind them. She appeared to be still unsuccessfully trying to call her husband.

"Just a minute," said Myrtle in her firm schoolteacher voice. Under her breath she said to Miles, "Okay. You give Clara the news and I'll call Red." Having a son who was the police chief could be annoying, but it was occasionally helpful.

"Me?" Miles looked anxious. "I don't think this is my forte."

"Do you think it's mine? All the women in town think you're so charming, Miles. I promise you she'll take the news better from you." Myrtle gave him a tiny shove.

As Miles ministered to the ever-more-distraught Clara, Myrtle made a quick check around the car for any clues. Red was decidedly unhelpful when it came to sharing information about his cases, which required Myrtle to do a little snooping. There were no footprints and nothing outside the car aside from the tire iron and flat.

Glancing back, she saw that Miles and Clara weren't looking her way. She very quickly grabbed the two tissues again and lifted the trunk lid gingerly. She peered at Neil Albert's body for any signs that there might have been a struggle of some kind: torn clothing, defensive wounds on Neil's hands. But all she saw was a bit of oil or grease on him. It appeared that Neil was either taken by surprise, or trusted his assailant enough to keep his back toward him. She put the trunk back down and, using the same tissues, opened the driver's door and picked up Neil's cell phone. He had quite a few text messages. Myrtle pulled her cell phone out of her pocketbook and took a picture of both his messages and his recent calls. Fortunately, Neil appeared to have been very organized about labeling his contact list.

Finally, Myrtle dialed Red's number.

Red answered the phone in a weary voice, as if expecting his mother had been up to some sort of shenanigans. "Mama? What's up?"

Myrtle glanced over at Clara and walked a little farther away. She said in a low voice, "Murder, that's what."

There was a brief pause at the other end and Red said, "I'm hoping you've just been dipping into the cooking sherry. Murder?"

"That's right," hissed Myrtle. "And there's no sherry in sight, cooking or otherwise. Our new neighbor, Neil, is dead in his own trunk. There's a tire iron on the side of the road that looks as if it might be the murder weapon. Miles is trying to comfort Neil's wife, Clara." As if on cue, Clara's wails grew louder. "And I don't think it's going well."

Red's voice was grim now. "Heading over. Where are y'all?"

"On the way out of town, near the factory and bank branch." Myrtle hung up and turned reluctantly to face Miles and Clara.

Clara brushed by her, determined to make sure that her husband was indeed deceased. Seconds later, she turned away, looking pale and shaken, and swayed slightly as she walked past Miles.

Miles gave Myrtle a desperate look as he assisted Clara back to his car. Myrtle slowly followed them. She never knew what to do around tears. Then Clara gave a tremendous sniff and Myrtle, glad to have found a chore, dug around in her pocketbook for her packet of tissues. She thrust them at Clara.

Clara gratefully took them and blew her nose in earnest. She seemed to quiet down a little with Myrtle's presence there.

"I'm very sorry about Neil," said Myrtle, peering carefully at Clara to ascertain that she wasn't about to dissolve into tears again.

Clara, fortunately, seemed to have gotten a handle on her emotions. "I am, too," she said quietly. Her voice was very tired.

Myrtle said slowly, "Do you have any idea what might have happened to him? That is, do you know of anyone who was having an argument with him? Any sort of disagreement?"

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