"Maybe. But being an angel doesn't make her any more fun to be around. Remember your favorite Twain quote?" asked Red.

"You mean: Go to Heaven for the climate, h.e.l.l for the company? Yes, I know."

Red sighed. "She's as scatterbrained as ever or even worse. I saw her wandering the streets yesterday holding a pair of hair shears like she was Edward Scissorhands. Her elevator just doesn't make it to the top floor."

Myrtle laughed. "She tried to abduct Dirty Doggy the other day. Walked right out the door carrying it and I had to chase her down."

Red looked ill at the thought of losing Dirty Doggy. "Don't tell me things like that, Mama. It's too scary to even contemplate."

The next morning, Myrtle's phone rang bright and early. "Miss Myrtle? It's Prissy. I wasn't sure if you'd still be at Elaine's or back at your own house by now."

It never ceased to amaze Myrtle how fast news traveled in small towns. "Yes, I'm back at home."

"I called to give you a tip for your column."

"Oh, good, I've been hoping to get some more. Reminds me to check my mailbox, too. What've you got for me?"

"I once heard that if you break a wine cork, you can strain the wine into your goblet through a coffee filter."

It was a strange tip from a cardigan-wearing, herbal tea-drinking teetotaler. "Got it. Thanks. While I've got you on the phone, is it okay if I read to your preschool cla.s.ses Monday?"

"Of course, Miss Myrtle, that would be great. Try to come around ten-thirty. Did you find a good book to share?"

"The children's librarian picked out a couple."

"I know the kids will love them. Thanks so much," gushed Prissy before ringing off.

Prissy really did have a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality. Or could she really be imagining her hostility and the shove?

The doorbell rang. It was Miles, looking rather grim, for some reason. "Come on in, Miles. I was just getting off the phone with the evil Prissy. I'm convinced she's looking for another opportunity to push me down a staircase. I'll have to watch my step at her blasted preschool."

"You're calling each other on the phone, now?"

"She was just calling with a tip for the column. One other than for me to be careful on steep staircases. I guess I'll have to write the column soon-I've been focusing all my time on the investigative reporting. Which reminds me-when are you picking me up for the stakeout?"

"Picking you up in what?" Miles' voice was suddenly cold.

Myrtle frowned at him. "In your car, Miles."

"My car is having its transmission replaced, even as we speak. I'm not sure what you did to it to break it-"

"Absolutely nothing! I was just driving. And very sedately, too! Clearly you put me in a defective vehicle." Myrtle sighed. "This is terrible news, Miles! When will they fix your car so we can have our stakeout?"

"They say it'll be ready to be picked up early tomorrow morning. But Myrtle, really, do we have to know the ident.i.ty of Bootsie's paramour?"

"We don't have to know his ident.i.ty so much. It's more to confirm that the rumors are true. There's no motive for Bootsie to have murdered Tammy if she's just sneaking off every week to get Botox injections or something," said Myrtle.

"This isn't a project that really appeals to me."

"How about if I just borrow your car, then. You don't even have to go."

This idea apparently was even less appealing to Miles. They made plans to meet the next morning.

The motel near the interstate overpa.s.s was intended for exhausted drivers desperate for shelter. The inn's philosophy was apparently that the poor traveler would be too p.o.o.ped to notice the worn carpet, thin 1970s-era bedspreads, and the particleboard furniture. A decrepit neon sign proclaimed "Motor Lodge." Only the 'r' remained lit up. A smaller sign under the neon one advertised "HBO" and "American-Owned." Myrtle couldn't imagine another country that would claim it.

Miles parked the car under a tree in a distant parking s.p.a.ce of the nearly deserted lot. "Look, there's her car," said Miles, pointing to a cream-colored Caddy. She shook her head as she considered the dismal motel. "Not listed in the travel agents' honeymooner registry, is it?"

"Well, if you think about it, it's the perfect place. No one would look for her here, after all. I bet the staff is pretty discreet...she's probably their best customer. She won't run into anybody she knows from town, and it isn't on Judge Davenport's route to the courthouse. Inexpensive and convenient. Anonymous."

"With Bootsie's airs and graces and the Southern Belle act she subjects us to, it's hard to believe that she hangs out at cheap motels."

"Yes, she does have a 'to the manor born' act." Myrtle frowned. "Is it 'to the manner born' or 'to the manor born'? Both make sense, if you think about it? From Hamlet, but which word did Shakespeare use?"

Miles shrugged, used to Myrtle's metaphysical ramblings and non sequiturs. He pulled out the binoculars and handed them to Myrtle. "You want the first look at our quarry when she comes out?"

"You know, this is very exciting. We're like real private eyes. All we need is a camera with a zoom lens to make us official," said Myrtle.

"And a paying client," reminded Miles.

"I'm still kind of surprised that she's doing this. I guess it's the thrill of it all. She's had a boring life, after all. She's been stuck with Judge Davenport her whole life. Now she's middle-aged and he's old. And from the looks of it, he's going to be around for a while. I don't think she has a lot of fun."

"Hold on, there's somebody walking out one of the doors on the second floor," said Miles.

"Is it Bootsie?"

Miles kept peering through the binoculars. "I guess so. But she sure doesn't look like president of the Cotillion board in that get-up."

Myrtle s.n.a.t.c.hed the binoculars away from him. She gaped at Bootsie in three-inch heels and a mini skirt heading quickly down the staircase and towards her Cadillac. "What's she thinking? Has she been pilfering clothes from Kat's closet? Let's see if we can see who her companion is."

Myrtle held her breath as she swung the lenses back in the direction of the motel room door. Sure enough, a youthful dark-haired man sauntered out. "Now who is he? He looks somewhat familiar..." She handed the binoculars back over to Miles.

"My yardman," said Miles, staring at the figure. "I bet he does the Davenports' lawn, too."

"You must have a better-looking yardman than I do," grumbled Myrtle. "The only good part about Dusty is that he's cheap. That's the whole reason I can't fire his wife, Puddin. They're a package deal and it's impossible to find a cheap yardman in this town."

As her friend went into the motel's office to return the keys, Bootsie appeared to be wriggling into a matronly dress in the front seat while juggling her cell phone. She started the Cadillac and pulled quickly out of the parking s.p.a.ce. Myrtle and Miles ducked down low until the sound of the engine died away. "She wasn't even really looking around to make sure no one was watching," said Miles.

"She's probably been doing this for so long that she's getting careless. Maybe she feels safe here."

They watched as the handsome young man left the motel's office and noisily used his remote to unlock a sporty black car. He was dressed casually, but expensively, in jeans and a polo shirt. Myrtle and Miles watched silently, their eyes following his car as it roared off. They didn't notice the large figure striding rapidly towards them.

STILL WATCHING THROUGH binoculars, Myrtle mused, "What on earth could his motivation be? It's easy to see why Bootsie's so crazy about him. But what's driving him?"

"Money," answered a dry voice from outside their rolled down windows. Myrtle and Miles jumped half a mile as Red's angry face appeared through Myrtle's window. They'd been so absorbed in their surveillance that the arrival of Red's police cruiser had gone completely unnoticed. "Hi, Mama," he said in a tight voice. "Miles. Thought I recognized the car. What the blazes are y'all doing out here?"

"Just following up on a lead for my Bradley Bugle story," answered Myrtle calmly. "We're on a stakeout. What are you doing out here?"

Red barely held his temper in check. "This is my beat. And I thought you were watching Jack today, Mama." He peered into Miles' backseat as if looking for a car seat and a red-headed toddler.

"Elaine didn't need me to look after Jack today, after all. You know I wouldn't bring him on a stakeout."

"On a stakeout," repeated Red in disbelief. "No, I wouldn't ordinarily place Jack at a stakeout. But I wouldn't put my mother there, either."

"You should be proud of us," said Myrtle firmly.

"Have you had a mild stroke? Why on earth should I be proud of you?"

"I followed leads to find out what was behind Bootsie's secretive behavior." Myrtle paused for a minute to give Red the opportunity to applaud her detective work, but continued talking when the adulation wasn't forthcoming. "So I asked Miles to drive me out here. It was my idea and not Miles'."

"Mama, it never occurred to me in a million years that this was Miles' brainchild."

"Anyway, we got to the bottom of Tammy's hold on Bootsie. She's seeing some young guy and obviously doesn't want her husband to find out. Otherwise, she'd lose the easy life she's been living." Then she frowned. "Wait a minute. How'd you know his motive was money-and how'd you know what we were talking about?"

"Because," replied Red in a world-weary voice, "I'm well aware of Mrs. Davenport's goings-on. I could've told you all about them."

Myrtle gaped at him and he continued, "She makes sure he has everything he needs to be comfortable. She gets a big allowance from the Judge, apparently."

"Wait a minute," said Myrtle. "Shouldn't you be arresting him for prost.i.tution?"

Red snorted derisively. "I'd have to arrest Bootsie herself if I went by that standard. Her husband has basically been paying Bootsie for thirty years to stick around. I think it's more of a sugar mama relationship. But you're right-I'm sure that Bootsie doesn't want the Judge to know about it. Maybe he sort of knows what she's up to, but he would divorce her for sure if he were publically humiliated."

"Myrtle," said Miles in a carefully patient tone, "I'm ready to grab some lunch. Can we get out of here and head for the diner or something?"

"I guess," said Myrtle, still a little irritated about the fact that Red already knew about Bootsie's affair. "Red, do you want to join us?" At least maybe she could try to find out what else he knew."

"No, I'm still on patrol. I'm going to have to grab a late lunch today. Then I've got to meet up with Lieutenant Perkins to do another interview."

Myrtle's radar instantly went up. "Connor Walker, maybe?"

"None of your business, Mama." Which only confirmed to Myrtle that she was right.

Customers still packed Bo's Diner when Miles and Myrtle arrived at one-thirty. When a booth freed up, they slid in on its vinyl seats. "Fried chicken plate looks good," mused Myrtle. A pink head entered her peripheral vision. Kat said, "Got some tips for your column, Miss Myrtle."

Myrtle blinked a little at the thought of Kat having any kind of home tips, but she plucked out a pen and paper from her large pocketbook. "Shoot."

Kat cleared her throat for effect. "After painting a room, put your leftover paint in an empty mustard or ketchup bottle to squeeze out and spread for touch-ups, later. Also, instead of using lemon juice to keep peeled apples and bananas from browning in the air, try pineapple juice. It adds a little something extra to the fruit besides keeping it pretty," said Kat.

Myrtle slid over and patted the booth next to her for Kat to sit down. "You do surprise me, Kat. I never would have pegged you for a painter or a cook. Got any other hidden talents? Horseback riding? Piloting planes?"

Kat laughed. "No, that's about it."

"Well, I'm proud of you. There aren't many people who've had the rough past that you've had who are able to turn things around and make their life better. Good for you!" said Myrtle, beaming.

"Thanks," said Kat. "Although I've had some pretty low moments here in Bradley, too, where I was wondering if I'd done the right thing to move near Tammy. But now it looks like it's all going to work out just fine."

Miles nodded. "For a while it must have seemed like Tammy was trying to undo all the progress you'd made. I hear she was really driving customers off. You probably wondered if the Beauty Box was going to survive."

"She was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up all her chances and I thought she was going to try to take me down with her, just like my mom had done. I couldn't let that happen to me again," said Kat.

When Myrtle and Miles stared at her, Kat said, "Her death solved a lot of problems for me, for sure." When they continued to stare at her, she gave a short laugh. "Hey, I didn't kill her. But I'm glad someone else did so that I didn't have to."

Tentatively, Myrtle said, "I've heard that Tammy left you and Dina a nice legacy, Kat."

Kat nodded her pink head. "I was really glad to hear about it. I want to upgrade the shop and bring in some more people; maybe a younger clientele and another couple of girls to do hair."

"I was surprised that Tammy had such a substantial amount to pa.s.s on. Especially with her drinking problem."

"She probably drank a lot of it away, but she didn't spend money on other stuff. And she had a lot of it to go through. Her grandmother got filthy rich a few years ago from winning a malpractice lawsuit. Then she pa.s.sed away the next year. My mom didn't get a cent because my grandmother wasn't even speaking to her by then. I wish Granny had sent some to me, but it was her money to do with what she wanted."

Kat said, "I'm going to use her money to turn over a new leaf, which is what Tammy should have used it for. The Beauty Box needs some sprucing up, too. I started just getting rid of the old magazines. Once I did that, the tables looked all stained and beat up, so I put in some nicer ones. The new tables made me realize how bad the walls looked, so I took down the tacky hair posters and started painting yesterday. It'll be a whole new Beauty Box by the time I'm done."

Kat glanced at her watch. "Hey, it was good talking, but I've got to run. I've got a two o'clock and Dina is holding down the fort while I'm gone...if she hasn't gone AWOL and headed for the shelter, that is."

Myrtle said, "She's still spending a lot of time over there?"

Kat nodded. "Every spare minute. Not that it's really a bad thing. But she's kind of going overboard with it. She must have been voted "Most Likely to Join a Cult" in her high school yearbook."

Miles watched Kat leave. "So what do you think, Sherlock? Did Kat do it?" he asked in a low voice.

Myrtle took a sip from her sweet tea before stage whispering, "I hope not. I really like her. But she could have murdered Tammy, sure."

Miles said, "She sure had the opportunity. She spent almost as much time at the Beauty Box as Dina. She could have easily come back there that night, killed Tammy, then returned to "discover" her the next morning."

Myrtle nodded, slowly. "She could have. But I don't know. It seems like you and I are missing something." She thought for a minute, sipping her tea. "Nope, can't pin it down." Myrtle pulled out her cell phone. "I forgot I had this thing on vibrate while we were at our stakeout."

"Did somebody call?"

Myrtle nodded, putting in her voice mail code. "It's Agnes. She says she has a tip for the column. I don't know why everybody is suddenly so flush with tips. I go for months with nothing and am begging people to send me something. Maybe Sloan is trying to beef up my column since he's so low on content for the paper right now. I guess I'll call her when I get back home."

"So, based on everything you know today," said Miles, "which suspect are you leaning toward?"

"Bootsie," said Myrtle firmly. "Or, well, maybe Kat or Dina. I know Tammy was babbling on about her will and changing it-if they knew they were getting money, that might have been reason for murder. Oh, who knows. This case has been a doozy."

It was still dark outside when Myrtle woke up the next morning. Thinking a cool breeze or chirping crickets would help her sleep, she'd left her window open all night. Unfortunately, Myrtle had awakened sticky from the moist, heavy summer air. She showered and dressed in a cool cotton top and skirt.

This was the day she'd promised Prissy she'd read at Little Lambs Preschool. She cleared her throat of its early-morning gruffness and tried out a syrupy storytelling voice that she imagined Prissy might approve of. No good. She fell back on her technique from forty-five years ago: silly sound effects and vigorous gesticulating.

Myrtle was about to head out for an early-morning walk when she saw Jo ringing Elaine's doorbell. Wasn't it too early for her to be there? And...wasn't it the wrong day?

Jo was just bringing in her cleaning supplies and vacuum when Myrtle joined her. "Don't you come a different day, Jo?"

"You're right. But it's Agnes Walker's day and she's not answering her door. I hate to write her off my schedule completely, so if it's okay with you, I'll swap your days out and get to her on your day. Do you mind?" she asked Elaine.

Elaine looked over at the pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and smiled. "Today works out great for me." She walked into the den with Jo while Myrtle slowly pulled out her cell phone and sat down at Elaine's kitchen table. She dialed Agnes' number and the phone rang eight, nine, ten times. Agnes had banned most modern devices-like answering machines-from her home, so there was no way to leave a message.

Myrtle tried Connor Walker's number. After a few rings, he picked up the phone and h.e.l.loed in a rushed voice. "You're probably leaving for work," said Myrtle, "but I wondered if your mother was over there. Or if you'd heard from her lately."

Connor was pulling on his shoes, eating breakfast, and talking at the same time. No, his mother wasn't there and he hadn't talked to her recently. "I wouldn't worry about Mother, but it's nice for you to check up on her. She's getting a little deaf these days, so maybe she didn't hear the phone ring. Old age kicking in," he said a little apologetically. "By the way, thanks for introducing me to Kat. Funny thing how Tammy never managed to let us meet."