Death at a Drop-In: Myrtle Clover #5

Chapter One

Chapter One

"Miles?" asked Myrtle, peering closely at her friend. "Are you asking me on a date?" 

"Certainly not!" said Miles, flustered. He pushed his rimless glasses higher on his nose. 

"Then why are you asking me to go to a drop-in with you, if I'm not your date?" Myrtle was vastly relieved that Miles wasn't asking her out. She was in her eighties, widowed about forty years. She was pretty sure that she wouldn't be current on dating protocol.  

"I simply don't want to go to this party by myself," said Miles with a sigh. He swirled the ice around in his tall glass of iced tea. They had just finished watching Tomorrow's Promise, a soap opera that Myrtle had somehow gotten him hooked on. Today's installment had featured a lavish party. He'd been reminded about his own invitation, which he'd put off responding to. 

"It's only a drop-in. You could go in, make sure Cosette sees you there and then leave. Or, simply don't go at all. Case closed," said Myrtle. "You're a grown man. Since you're in your sixties, you're very grown up, actually. You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to go." 

Miles traced a finger over the checked tablecloth covering Myrtle's kitchen table. "I've gotten tons of invitations from Cosette to parties and have turned so many of them down that I don't think I have it in me to turn down another single one." 

"Why haven't you wanted to go to any of them?" 

Miles colored. "Cosette is a terrible flirt. I never know what to make of it. And her husband is always right there while she's flirting." 

"That goes to show that she means nothing at all by it. It's tacky, but it's simply the way she operates. Even Lucas thinks nothing of it." Myrtle shrugged.  

"Maybe so, but it makes me uncomfortable. Not only that, but she invites some of her widowed friends over and it's obvious she's trying to match-make." Miles shifted in his seat. 

"That's because you're such an impressive specimen," explained Myrtle, grinning mischievously at him. "You're a sophisticated guy from Atlanta who's gracing us with your retirement in tiny Bradley, North Carolina. You're a former professional-a successful architect...." 

"Engineer," corrected Miles glumly.  

"Whatever. The point is that you're very eligible to the biddies around here. Besides...you can still drive." 

Miles sighed again. "I wish you'd stop bringing that up as a reason for my desirability. It's quite deflating to my ego."  

"Think what people will say about me," said Myrtle. "They'll call me a coyote." 

Miles thought this over. "I'm stumped. What's a coyote?" 

"One of those women who goes out with much younger men. You're about twenty years younger, you know," said Myrtle. 

"I believe you mean a cougar, not a coyote." He paused. "So will you go with me?" 

"To protect you from the flirting hordes? Oh, I suppose so. I can appear quite threatening, I'm sure. I'm six feet tall and I wield a cane. Besides, I certainly don't have anything else to do tonight." Myrtle stared morosely at Miles.  

"Thanks." 

"But you owe me one," said Myrtle. "I don't like Cosette Whitlow one bit. She's extremely annoying. Every time she sees Red, she tells him how wonderful the Greener Pastures Retirement Home is and how much her addled mother loves being there. She brags on her toddler grandson as if he's a genius of some kind. I ordinarily avoid her like the plague." Her eyes scanned her kitchen cabinets. "Now I have to figure out what to bring to the drop-in. Maybe a dip of some kind."