A Dyeing Shame Part 10

She rubbed Pasha for a few minutes, talking to her in a soft voice, before walking back into the house again. Myrtle was just walking to the back door when she saw with horror that the painting was back on her mantle. When had Miles returned it? How had he gotten in?

Myrtle s.n.a.t.c.hed the painting off her mantle. It was time to return the favor. And she just happened to still have a set of keys to Miles' house from when she housesat for him.

Miles' back door made all kinds of squeaks and groans. She froze, but he never appeared. She took the painting and slid it in the narrow s.p.a.ce between his refrigerator and counter. There. That should take a while for him to find it.

The doorbell rang and Red raised his eyebrows. "Kind of early, isn't it?" he muttered. He looked out the door. "It's Miles," he told her before he pulled open the door.

"Sorry if it's early," said Miles, carrying a bag with one hand and pus.h.i.+ng his steel-framed gla.s.ses up his nose with the other. "Well, I knew Myrtle would be up and Red, I figured you'd be about to head off to the station. But Jack and Elaine..."

"Elaine is already at the gym doing a yoga cla.s.s or something," said Red, taking a last bite of his English m.u.f.fin and wiping his mouth off with a napkin. "And Jack is...well, he's really quiet. Which probably means he's up there coloring on his wall with a Sharpie or something. I'll check on him before I head out," he said, hurrying off. "Help yourself to some coffee, Miles."

"You know," said Miles in a thoughtful voice, "I had terrible nightmares last night."

"Did you, Miles? I'm sorry to hear that," said Myrtle. She spread some b.u.t.ter on a m.u.f.fin.

Miles poured himself a cup of coffee. "Yes. It was almost as if there was some horrible piece of artwork that was poisoning my dreams just by its very presence in my house."

Myrtle took a bite of the m.u.f.fin and shrugged.

"Then," said Miles, speaking very precisely, "I discovered that there was a horrible piece of artwork in my house."

"How very observant of you. Interestingly enough, I made the same discovery myself recently."

"Yes. Well, while I was over getting your mail, I dropped the painting off for you to enjoy it for a while. I'm supposed to be having houseguests shortly-some family coming through town to visit. I think it might be best if the painting stays at your house for a while. Especially considering that you're not even there, yourself."

"Fine. I guess. Well, thanks for the mail, anyway," said Myrtle, taking the small stack from him. "You know, I used to wait for the mailman every day because I actually had real mail. Now it's just a few bills or statements or maybe a little junk mail. That's probably why I forgot to get it-it's just not interesting anymore."

Miles pointed at one envelope. "This one looks a little interesting. Or at least it doesn't look like junk mail."

"It might be something for my helpful hints column," said Myrtle with a puffy sigh. "I keep thinking I'm done with that stupid column now that I'm an investigative reporter for the Bugle. But Sloan keeps yanking me back into it because people still send tips and read the thing. I might end up writing that column from the grave."

She opened the envelope and her breath went out in a hiss between her teeth. "Holy moly."

"What is it?" Miles moved next to her.

"It's a tip all right." She showed him the paper, which had letters cut out from a newspaper to form words that said "Here's a tip for you-watch your back!"

Miles looked at the paper solemnly. "Myrtle, it looks like it's time you backed off."

"Oh, I don't know, Miles. As far as warnings go, this one isn't all that harsh."

"You don't think a threatening letter should be taken seriously?" Miles thoughtfully studied the paper again.

"Not at all. Not compared to being pushed down the stairs, anyway."

"What?"

So Myrtle had to fill him in, which she did while she poured them both some more coffee. Miles seemed to share Red's point of view of Miss Prissy as evildoer. "Really?" he asked in a doubtful voice. "I just somehow don't see Prissy flinging people down stairs."

Myrtle was about to hotly debate this point when Red hurried back in again. "Okay, all's fine. He covered his room with toilet paper, but that's not as bad as other stuff he could have done." He looked at the pile of mail on the kitchen table. "What's that?"

Myrtle showed him the letter. "Are you going to check it for fingerprints?"

Red answered, "Paper doesn't usually hold fingerprints. I'll show it to the forensic guys, but I doubt anything will turn up. Besides, it might not have even come from the killer. It's not like I can pin a murder on whoever sent this out."

"There's got to be something you can find out about it. With all the forensics stuff the state police has?"

Red shook his head. "Not really, Mama. The message was glued on standard printer paper and this is just a plain business envelope. Anybody in town could have picked them up at the drugstore. The newspaper was probably the Bradley Bugle, which everyone gets. It's not like it's going to be cut from the New York Times and we just have to find out who subscribes. Nothing in life is that easy."

"You can't look for cut up newspaper in people's trash or see if the suspects have this same type of paper or envelopes?"

"I can't search every house in town, Mama. I can't search any houses unless I have probably cause, which I don't. This isn't even technically a threatening letter. It doesn't threaten bodily harm or blackmail."

Miles said, "Whoever sent it sure didn't mail it with goodwill, though. It was unsolicited in her mailbox."

"So is all the junk mail we get. Look, I'll try my best, but don't get your hopes up." Red grabbed his car keys, mumbled out a goodbye and left.

Miles and Myrtle moved into the living room where Jack was now playing with some toy trucks. "You know, Miles, I must be getting close enough to scare somebody."

"Exactly why you should quit. Let Red and the state police do their jobs."

"I'm letting them do their jobs. Actually, I'm helping them do their jobs by finding leads for them. I ought to be on their payroll," said Myrtle.

"I think you ought to back off. You're not paying any attention to this warning."

Myrtle glanced down at the note again. "Prissy is the first person who comes to mind."

"You're developing a Prissy complex. It could be any of the suspects."

"I somehow don't see Connor smearing newspaper cut-outs with glue sticks. It just seems like a sort of girly thing to do," said Myrtle.

"He could have done it," argued Miles. "It would have been a way to scare you off the case without really hurting you."

"I wish I knew what Tammy had on the other suspects. Judging from Prissy's secret, she must have had something juicy on them. Let's brainstorm."

Miles looked a little out of his depth. "Oh, come on, Miles! You've got some imagination deep down inside you somewhere. You must have some, if you had a career as an architect."

"Engineer," he said through gritted teeth.

"Whatever. Now, if I were a writer for my soap opera, I'd come up with tons of possibilities."

"Maybe Bo is a CIA agent, worried about having his cover blown. The diner could just be a front," suggested Miles hesitantly.

"How fanciful of you, Miles! Yes, that's exactly the kind of brainstorming I mean. Except, of course, that's completely wrong. Bo has never stepped foot out of this town his whole life. Anyway, he has an alibi."

"Okay. Hmm. Bootsie is actually a closet PETA operative. Her furs are fakes and she spends her lunch hours rescuing animals from cosmetics testing." Miles looked smug as Myrtle clapped.

"I've got one. Prissy is a man," said Myrtle, waving her finger at Miles.

"How about this: Connor isn't really Agnes' son; she s.n.a.t.c.hed him from a stroller during a trip to Alabama."

They both burst out laughing. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Myrtle said, "Ok, that was good for a giggle. But who knows? In this town, it could be true. I'm going to go out later when Elaine gets back and investigate some more. I'll call you later to check back in."

When Elaine came in from the gym, she saw Myrtle staring blankly at The Price is Right while she and Jack munched on animal crackers. Myrtle sighed. "You know, it's way too easy to turn into a couch potato here. At home I'd find stuff to do. And, by the way, it looks like I'll be back in there by this evening-the part they ordered came in and they installed it. I'm just waiting for the house to cool back down again."

Elaine's face was carefully and pleasantly neutral at the news that her mother-in-law would be packing up and heading home.

Myrtle said, "I know you just came in, but do you want to go back out again? Jack and I are bored silly. I thought maybe we could go shopping at the department store or something."

"Sure. I just need to shower and change real quick. Did you need to shop for something in particular?"

"I could use a new dress. At my age, people really start flaking out. Especially in this town, with all the murders. I need to update my funeral wardrobe."

"Okay, if that's what you really need. But I wish you'd get your mind out of the casket."

Brogan's department store carried everything from girdles to gadgets and games. Myrtle changed, too, because whenever you went to Brogan's, you were bound to run into someone you knew. It was housed in an ancient brick two-story building. The management treasured anachronisms such as the regal elevator-door opener.

Elaine and Myrtle had just started shopping when they spotted a familiar face. It was a familiar face, but the hair above the face wasn't familiar at all. Myrtle yanked Elaine's sleeve and hissed, "Is that Agnes Walker?"

Elaine stood on tiptoe, peering over several racks of clothes. "With the bright blue hair? No, it couldn't be."

It was. A glum Agnes turned when they called her. She was shopping for headscarves and broke in before Myrtle could begin her interrogation. "I know, it's dreadful. I sometimes get a faint blue tint for my gray, but I never asked to look like a blueberry. That Dina! She offered to fix it at the shop when I was so horrified but I told her to keep her hands off it I'm going to have to schedule an appointment with Kat."

Myrtle said, "I didn't think Dina knew how to color hair."

Agnes snorted, "Well, obviously she doesn't. She claims she took a course at the tech-school a few months ago."

Agnes patted her head gingerly as Elaine wandered off to a sales rack with Jack. "I've been feeling a little sorry for Dina since her breakdown in the salon and I foolishly offered her the chance to practice on my head."

"Altruism always causes trouble."

"You would say that," said Agnes. "As soon as Dina walked out of the room to get the color ready, Kat warned me. She said that she'd offered herself as a guinea pig to Dina one night and Dina had chickened out. To her, that meant she's not ready to color hair." Agnes sighed. "I should have known disaster was imminent. How could anyone worry about messing up Kat's hair? It's pink, for crying out loud!"

"I don't really see a future for Dina in hair," mulled Myrtle. "She's gotten very involved with that women's shelter lately. I guess with Tammy out of the way, Dina's getting a sense of who she is now."

Agnes said, "Myrtle, I'm surprised at that new-age-speak, 'who she is.' She's Dina Peters with an unfortunate penchant for s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up, that's who she is."

"You should get a chance to counsel her on who she is pretty soon. She's been going door to door collecting for that shelter," said Myrtle.

"Counseling is exactly what she needs. And she needs to be relieved of her chemicals."

Myrtle couldn't smother a snicker at Agnes' droll expression. Elaine returned with a pretty scarf. "This one looks like you, Miss Agnes."

"It's perfect, Elaine, and you're a sweet girl. Your Red lucked out, Myrtle. I wish Connor could settle down with a nice girl."

Here it comes. The agonizing over Connor's budding involvement with Kat. But Agnes' mind was occupied as she fumbled in her voluminous pocketbook for an equally large billfold. "Better run and buy this to cover my blue locks. Take care." She left without looking back.

Elaine stared after her. "Well. That was abrupt, wasn't it?" Turning back to Myrtle, she asked, "What do you think about these dresses? The green one is more on sale than the blue one, but I could dress the green one up or dress it down..."

Myrtle had the enviable talent of appearing to listen attentively while her thoughts drifted. She nodded encouragingly at Elaine and even managed to choose her favorite dress when Myrtle gathered she was being asked her opinion. But her mind worked full-speed on Agnes. Jack dropped Dirty Doggy and Myrtle absently gave it back to him. Was Agnes' warning the other day prompted by her concern over Connor's involvement? Could Connor have killed Tammy in an impulsive moment? If Agnes knew something, she'd cover up for him at all cost.

What about Agnes, herself? The thought made Myrtle s.h.i.+ft uncomfortably. But it seemed like a possibility. Maybe she couldn't stand the thought of his dating or marrying Tammy. Agnes was old but strong, and could easily have pushed Tammy down the stairs. Could she have plunged the scissors in Tammy's back, though? Probably. If she thought she was protecting Connor.

"What do you think of this? I found it while I was looking for the scarf for Agnes." Elaine held up a prissy-looking one piece gingham romper with a Peter Pan collar.

"I think he'll look like Raggedy Andy, Elaine." She was rewarded by seeing her grandson beam at her with relief as his mother put the romper back on the rack. Another Good Deed.

ELAINE HELPED MYRTLE pack up her bags and carry them to her house, which was nicely cool. Actually, Elaine said it was a little on the chilly side, but Myrtle didn't notice. She was still trying to figure out who Bootsie was sneaking around with. As soon as Elaine left, Myrtle picked up the phone. "Miles? Could you come over for a minute? No, to my house...the air is fixed."

Miles had barely settled himself into her living room sofa when Myrtle launched in. "Miles, I need you to flirt with Bootsie and squeeze some information out of her."

Miles stared at her coldly. "I won't. Besides, I'm too old for Bootsie."

"But she's nearly your age!"

"That's what I mean. I'm too old for her," said Miles.

Myrtle stared at him. "You know something, don't you?"

"I might have seen her leaving a tryst," he said in a grudging voice. "I was driving by the motel, so I couldn't identify the person. But I got the impression he was really young."

Myrtle asked, "When was this? You couldn't have told me this earlier?"

"Earlier it just would have been gossip. And now I'm not sure it's more than that, either. But now that I've thought of it, I guess I should tell Red or Lieutenant Perkins what I saw. Then they can decide if it's relevant or not."

"Now, Miles, let's not be hasty. There's no point in telling the police anything about Bootsie's little indiscretion. You're right-it's probably not important at all. Just in case, though, you and I should go check it out."

"How are you planning to do that?" asked Miles, his tone very polite.

"We'll have a stakeout. Complete with doughnuts. I'll buy them. We were going to do surveillance anyway, and it sure is a lot easier now that we know where Bootsie has been going for her tryst."

"Myrtle, I really don't want to hang out in a second-rate motel all day, waiting for a rendezvous that might not even happen."