Myrtle gave Claudia her best, reassuring, old-lady smile. Claudia appeared even mousier than she usually did. Today she wore a brown top and brown slacks. She didn’t want to scare off this woman before she’d even started really asking her questions, but she was here for a reason.
“It’s been a difficult day, I’m sorry to say. Very difficult. You see, I discovered Rose Mayhew’s dead body in her house this morning.” Myrtle pursed her lips primly and sat up straight in her seat.
Claudia gave a ragged gasp and clutched her throat. But there was a flash, just for a fraction of a second, of some unidentifiable emotion in her ordinarily-dull eyes. “Did Rose have a...heart attack?” asked Claudia in a hopeful voice.
“She did not. She had a murderer attack her with a fireplace poker.” Myrtle made
