WHEN MILES ARRIVED around ten a.m., Myrtle felt as though it was much later in the day than it was. Miles, on the other hand, looked fresh as a daisy. He looked as though he meant business—a serious sidekick in a white button-down shirt, red tie, and dark pants.
“Breakfast, Miles?” asked Myrtle as she opened the door. Although she devoutly hoped that she was not going to have to eat again since Wanda’s lavish spread earlier had filled her up more than she expected. Must have been all the olives she sprinkled in the eggs. They took seats in the living room and Myrtle found her coffee mug and took another sip. Tepid. She’d have to make more.
“Not for me, thanks. I’m fit as a fiddle this morning. Amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for you.”
Myrtle growled, “All right, no need to rub
