A Dyeing Shame (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) by Elizabeth Spann Craig

Author:Elizabeth Spann Craig [Craig, Elizabeth Spann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC022040, Mystery, Women Sleuths
ISBN: 9780983920830
Publisher: Elizabeth Spann Craig
Published: 2011-11-29T23:00:00+00:00

MYRTLE, STIFF FROM sitting so long in the diner, walked slowly back to Red’s house. Old age’s peculiarities, infirmities, and indignities never ceased to amaze her. She was relieved when Elaine pulled up next to her in the minivan. “Going my way?” she called to Myrtle out the window.

“Sweetie, I’ll go anywhere you’re going, if I can ride there.”

“Jump in. I’m headed back home, but your ride might not be as restful as you thought.” As Myrtle gingerly climbed into the van, she heard a high-pitched yell emitting from her grandson’s mouth. Elaine rolled her eyes. “He needs a nap.”

“Do you have more errands to run? I’m going to put my feet up for a little while. If you take us home, I’ll put him down and watch my soaps while you shop. Might as well take advantage of my being here. It looks like my air is going to be fixed later today.”

“Thanks, Myrtle. Errands take twice as long with getting Jack in and out of the car seat. Jack never wants to get in the car seat, then he never wants to be taken out again! If you’re watching Tomorrow’s Promise, hit ‘record’ for me, would you? I’ll catch it later.” She pulled a bunch of coupons out of a kitchen drawer, grabbed the grocery circular, and hurried out the door.

Myrtle glanced at the clock. She eased onto the sofa, shook off her shoes, and put her feet on the coffee table. She found the record button on the remote and pushed it.

Soaps were a guilty pleasure. The writing was frequently horrid, the acting worse. But there was just something about them that drew her in. Babies born mere episodes ago might now be precocious toddlers to fit the needs of the scriptwriters.

She clucked at the television. Sally, married to the obnoxious bully Stone, finally left him, embarking on a similarly dependent relationship with obsessively jealous Wesley. Myrtle shook her head. The show’s writers obviously thought their audience gullible enough to believe these plots.

The doorbell rang. Myrtle scowled at the buzz, hoping it hadn’t awakened Jack. An angry roar indicated it had. Myrtle cursed at her cane, propped unhelpfully across the room, and tried pulling up with the aid of the coffee table. Her efforts took a long time and the doorbell rang again. Gritting her teeth, she finally stood up, wobbling to the front door and opening it in time to prevent Dina Peters from pushing the doorbell for a third time.

Dina stared miserably at the breathless Myrtle. She absently pushed her large, pink glasses to the top of her small nose. “Miss Myrtle, I’m so sorry. I wondered if the doorbell worked at all. You know how sometimes you just ring and ring a bell and no one comes? I wondered, “Should I ring the bell again? Should I knock? Is knocking worse than ringing?”

Dina’s tremulous voice warbled on while Myrtle panted and motioned her in. When she’d finally gotten her breath back she beamed at Dina as if she were delighted to see her.

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