Pretty is as Pretty Dies

Chapter Two-2

MYRTLE EASED INTO THE front seat of the cruiser to wait for Red. If she got in the backseat, it would be all over town that Myrtle Clover murdered Parke Stockard. Not that Parke hadn’t had it coming.

The trip to the station took only a couple of minutes with Red behind the wheel. Myrtle spotted a group of locals sitting on a wooden bench outside the diner as Red pulled up in front of the old, brick courthouse that housed the police station and city hall. Word traveled fast in Bradley, North Carolina.

“Vultures,” Myrtle spat out.

“Mama, those old guys are always outside Bo’s Diner. Every morning they get their coffee and sit around in their golf caps, shooting the bull and cutting-up. It’s got nothing to do with the murder.”

“They usually don’t have their cackling crones with them.”

“Cackling...? Their wives, you mean? They’re probably just enjoying another relaxing morning of retirement with their husbands.”

Myrtle noticed the old women lean closer and turn up their hearing aids hopefully as she and Red entered the police station. She really couldn’t blame them too much for their interest. Bradley, North Carolina, population 1,500, wasn’t ordinarily a murder magnet. Crime waves had formerly consisted of Bud Dickens and Crockett Scott getting sloshed several nights in a row and loudly warbling Willie Nelson songs in the streets.

Red held open the weather-beaten wooden door for his mother and she walked into the tiny police station, stepping carefully so she wouldn’t lose her footing on the warped pinewood floors that groaned in protest where she trod.

Following standard procedure, Red notified the state police as soon as he’d gotten the call from the minister about the murder. As Red poured her a Coca-Cola, some of the forensics team had already arrived in town and checked in at the station before stopping at the church.

The door opened to a tall, wiry man with a super-short military haircut. Detective Lieutenant Perkins greeted her in his polite, measured way. Myrtle decided to override his reserve with an exuberant hug. Best to knock him off-guard to maybe squeeze some information out of him. He gave an “oof” from the ferocity of her embrace, but appeared to be onto her as he watched her with appraising eyes.

“Mrs. Clover,” he said. He led her into Red’s small office and closed the door. “It’s nice to see you even if the circumstances aren’t as pleasant as last time. Could you go over what led you to the church this morning and what happened when you got there?” He picked up a notebook and pen from Red’s desk.

Myrtle took a deep breath and outlined the day’s events, going into great depth when describing Red’s busybody meddling in her personal life and the horrors of Women of the Church and Altar Guild duty. She described the moment she’d discovered Parke Stockard with melodrama and sound effects, and carefully omitting clues she’d seen there, or her perusal of Parke’s cell phone. Finishing her monologue, she neatly folded her hands in her lap and waited for his reaction. No reaction was forthcoming, though, as Perkins carefully replaced the cap on his ballpoint pen and tapped it gently against the notebook.

“Tell me why you think this might have happened, Mrs. Clover. Why would Parke Stockard, by all accounts a philanthropic benefit to the town of Bradley, have been murdered in the very place she spent so much time and money?”

Myrtle paused. It made no sense to help Perkins with his investigation when she was trying to solve the case herself. He should do his own poking and prodding.

Lieutenant Perkins said, “It would be a tremendous help, Mrs. Clover, if you shared your opinion with me. You obviously have a lot of useful insights which could help point us in the right direction.”

Finally someone who valued her opinions. But that didn’t mean she had to help him out. Besides, she didn’t really know anything. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea, Detective.” Perkins frowned and she hastily added, “Poor Parke.” But it didn’t sound very convincing.

He snapped shut his notebook and stood up. “Thanks, Mrs. Clover. If you think of anything else, be sure to let Red know.” At Myrtle’s grimace, he amended, “Or call me, instead.” He handed her his business card and respectfully waited for her to pull out of the deep office chair, but didn’t belittle her by trying to help. She wondered if Red had smelled the cigarette smoke in the sanctuary. But he’d been so bent out of shape with her for discovering a body that he probably hadn’t noticed anything else.

Judging from Red’s expression as she tottered back into the station lobby, he was still pretty irritated. He offered to drive her back home. At least, that’s what she thought he said. It was hard to hear words coming out from gritted teeth.

They drove off. Myrtle glanced at her watch. “Just in time to catch Tomorrow’s Promise.”

Red gave a short laugh. “Elaine called to check on you a little while ago. I’ll call her back and let her know you’re doing okay after all. Discovering murdered bodies is all in a day’s work—you’ve already moved on to your soap opera.”

“Tomorrow’s Promise has a storyline that’s eerily similar and could provide some interesting perspective, Red. Angelique infuriates everyone on the soap—but she’s bipolar and can’t really help it, bless her heart. Cliff snarls at the camera and plots mischief because Angelique’s ex-husband is his brother and she’s stalking him because he’s dating Cliff’s sister-in-law but just got her pregnant—”

“And this is like Parke’s murder how, exactly?”

“Because Angelique was killed, of course. Why else?”

Red’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly as he pulled into Myrtle’s driveway.

“You should see a doctor about that nervous tic, Red. And all your veins are standing out on your forehead, too. Hope it doesn’t mean high blood pressure.” With that final word, Myrtle climbed out of the patrol car and slammed the door shut behind her. Picking her way carefully around the gnomes, she walked to her front door as Red’s car roared off.