A Body at Book Club (Myrtle Clover Mysteries) by Elizabeth Spann Craig Page A

creature had gotten run over by a car or another animal or something. Grieved a bit. Cried a while. I was in recovery mode, thinking about getting another pet. Then one day, up comes Buttons on the front porch, bold as brass. Acting as if she’d only been away for an afternoon instead of a couple of months.” Maxine lit up a cigarette and gave a reflective puff. “Darned cat.”
    Myrtle had never been a fan of cigarettes and it was that fact that she attributed to helping her live to her advanced age. She tried inconspicuously to push her chair backward to escape the toxic blue fumes that seemed to be wafting her way.
    The perceptive Maxine noticed. She grimaced. “Sorry about that.” She turned her head, took a few puffs, and then stubbed out the cigarette, sticking it in her shorts pocket. “Nasty habit.”
    Myrtle wasn’t sure how to get the topic back to murder and away from cats without being completely obvious. And was amazed when Miles made the segue for her.
    “It’s been an exciting week all right,” said Miles a bit gruffly. “Missing cat. A campaign to find said missing cat. And, of course—Naomi’s death.”
    Maxine gave him a toothy grin. “Well, I’m glad you said it was an exciting week and not a sad one. Because Naomi Pelter’s death was certainly a highlight for me.”
    Myrtle and Miles just gaped at her. Surely, she hadn’t intended to say such a thing out loud.
    “Actually, I should amend that. Naomi Pelter’s murder was a highlight.” Maxine took a sip of her lemonade and rocked reflectively in the rocker for a moment. Then she turned to look at Myrtle and Miles. “Have I scandalized you?”
    Myrtle cleared her throat. “Your honesty is refreshing. Most people try not to speak ill of the dead.”
    “Most people are idiots,” said Maxine with a shrug. “I didn’t particularly like Naomi and that hasn’t changed since her death. She tended to chase after men I’d become involved with.” She gave Miles a rather salacious wink and he turned bright red.
    “You know that the police are calling it murder,” said Myrtle.
    “Word gets around,” said Maxine.
    “The police haven’t asked you any questions?” asked Myrtle.
    “No.”
    Myrtle felt smug. She was one-step ahead of Red and the state police. “Have you thought about who might have killed her?”
    “So that I can throw them a party?” asked Maxine archly. “I haven’t really thought it out, no. Although, if I had to name names, Rose Mayfield would come up pretty fast. She’s the obvious candidate, right?”
    “Can you come up with a less-obvious candidate?”
    Maxine furrowed her brow and put both manicured hands on the sides of her head as if pushing out the thoughts. Then she snapped her fingers. “Claudia Brown,” she said. She rolled her eyes. “Poor, poor Claudia.”
    “When I visited Claudia…about Pasha, you know…she mentioned that she liked Naomi,” said Myrtle.
    Maxine was starting to look bored. “As I said, most people are idiots. If someone dies, the idiots suddenly have to pretend they were best friends with victim, when they weren’t.”
    Miles appeared to have recovered from his last flustering. “Why do you call Claudia poor?” 
    “She’s very simple. And she is so proud of being able to sing well—her one talent, you know. When Naomi identified things that were important to people, she decided to steal them away. That’s the kind of person she was. She noticed that Claudia loved being the soloist at the church and got many compliments and attention that way. Next thing you know, Naomi is heading off to church and is lead soloist.” Maxine absently rubbed the red lipstick mark that was now on her lemonade glass.
    “So you’re not surprised at all that Naomi was murdered,” said Myrtle.
    “Only that it didn’t happen earlier,” said Maxine stoutly. “Finished with your lemonade?” she asked in a more pleasant tone.
     
     
    “I think I know why Maxine flusters you so much,