A Body in the Trunk : Myrtle Clover Book 12

Chapter Thirteen

Red looked guilty for about half a second and then he put his own hands on his hips. "I came over because I wanted to talk with you."

"Well, clearly!" snapped Myrtle. Then she turned to Puddin. "What are you doing on my computer?"

"Just looking somethin' up," said Puddin, resentfully.

"Clearly, again, since you have Google pulled up. What is it that you're looking up? And why are you doing it on paid time?" asked Myrtle.

Puddin opened her eyes wide and gestured circumspectly toward Red. Myrtle took this to mean that Puddin didn't want to say anything in front of Red.

"Miles, you get some sense out of Puddin. I'm going to go out the front door with my son, since he's on his way out," said Myrtle between gritted teeth.

Red frowned. "I'm actually not on my way out."

"Yes, you are. Because Miles and I have a lunch date and we need you to be brief," said Myrtle. She stomped out her front door and Red followed her.

"Now what is it?" growled Myrtle as the front door closed behind them.

Red glanced around him. "Wow, between Dusty's mowing, the gnomes, and Elaine's gardening, your yard is a wreck. Elaine tried, of course."

"Yes, bless her heart."

"And the kitchen is a disaster," said Red, studying his mother out of the corners of his eyes. "Plus the fact that while I was in there, I noticed that you desperately need a new kitchen fire extinguisher—the one you have is vastly expired. What were you cooking in there? Were you making something for someone?"

"Soup for Sally Solomon. As is the custom here. A custom you're very familiar with," said Myrtle.

"I just wasn't aware that the custom extended to destroying your kitchen in the process," drawled Red.

"Which is exactly the reason why Puddin is here. Although, as usual, she's being completely useless. Instead, she's been piddling around on my computer—and likely watching my TV, too. Now why are you here? I'm sure you weren't over to perform a kitchen inspection," said Myrtle.

Red leveled a serious look at her. "I understand that you've been threatening to come out of retirement."

Myrtle sniffed. "That's not a threat, that's a promise."

Red put his hand to the side of his head as if to stop a pounding headache. "Mama, what's going on? First off, your bills weren't paid."

"Bill, singular. And I've already explained that the late bill had to do with the unprofessionalism of our mail carrier."

"And now you're talking about going back to work? You're in your eighties, Mama. You think you can handle a classroom of unruly teens?" demanded Red.

"I handled them with a good deal of expertise for decades. Sloan Jones still trembles when I walk into a room," said Myrtle.

Red sighed. "I'm just trying to figure out how this all adds up. Late payments, wanting to go back to teaching. Are you having financial problems? Because, if so, I can't see where your money is going. Definitely not into your wardrobe or cars or shoes or anything. Or am I going to open your bedroom door and discover you've been ordering things off the internet and hoarding them in there?"

"Certainly not! And for your information, I'm just as poor as usual—no more and no less!"

Red continued, "Because you know that I'm happy to help you out. I can even take over your bill paying, like I mentioned. Happy to do it."