Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) by Elizabeth Spann Craig Read Free Book Online

reminded of a fat cat toying with
a garishly made-up mouse.
    Kitty started shaking and stuttering like a stalled car while she
tried making traction with some words. No luck. Myrtle wondered
if she could be having a nicotine fit and sniffed the air again hopefully. Kitty finally managed to spit out, "I'd never get close enough
to that woman to kill her! She-" Kitty made a dash for the powder room, muumuu flowing behind her. She ran smack into the
door jamb on her way out.
    "Blind as a bat," said Erma smugly. "Someone should guide her
to the bathroom before she dings a Ming."
    "I'll urn ... help her," said Myrtle as she left the room in hot
pursuit. As hot as the pursuit could be when the pursuer was an
octogenarian with a cane. Elaine smiled faintly at her book club
and meekly changed the subject, silently cursing Myrtle the entire
time.
    When Myrtle caught up with Kitty, she was in the downstairs
powder room and reapplying eyeliner with a heavy hand. Myrtle
dropped into a chair in the powder room and looked around her.
"Good Lord, Tippy could have hosted book club in here."

    Kitty squinted around the room, without bothering to take her
coke-bottle glasses out of her bag. "It's pretty big."
    "I can't imagine the philosophy behind having a huge powder
room with chairs in it. Are we intended to loiter here?"
    "Let's do," said Kitty fervently and Myrtle reached forward to
squeeze her hand. "Erma is a pill. Just ignore her. You're not a suspect, I'm sure. I'm ... sure you must have a wonderful alibi"
    Kitty gave a gulping sob and continued circling her eyes with
the eyeliner pencil. As far as Myrtle could tell, most of the liner
seemed to be cascading down her face just as soon as she applied
it. "That's just the thing, Miss Myrtle. I was at the church that
morning. Not before Parke died, of course," she added hurriedly.
"But for the United Methodist Women meeting. And everyone
knows I didn't like Parke. That sorry son of hers destroyed my boy.
Drugs! In Bradley!"
    Kitty rooted around in her battered pocketbook until she pulled
out a tube of lipstick. Feeling more refreshed, she continued. "Parke
was as rotten as her son. She tried to force me out of all my church
work. The church is the only place I ever felt I belonged. I've always
been somebody important at the church ... cooking the dinners for
Wednesday nights, putting together the flower arrangements. And
she took everything over. She made me feel so ... useless."
    Myrtle reached over and squeezed her hand wordlessly for a
minute. "I know just how you feel, Kitty. Funny how different
things can make you feel useless. I felt bad when Red forced church
work down my throat and you were upset you couldn't do more."
    Kitty smiled at her. "I knew you were mad about something."
Myrtle lifted her eyebrows inquiringly. "I saw the gnomes," Kitty
explained.

    Myrtle squeezed her hand again. "But I don't understand why
you're so upset now, Kitty. After all, as unpleasant as it is, Parke is
out of the way. You can resume your jobs at the church, and Nathaniel and the congregation will be delighted and relieved."
    Kitty's eyes had that hollow look again. "They think I had
something to do with it, Miss Myrtle. Like I said, everyone knows I
couldn't stand Parke."
    "That's no evidence you murdered her, Kitty! I was at the
church myself that morning and I'm not a suspect."
    Kitty paused in the makeup accumulation. Her face now resembled a palate of particularly gaudy paints. She gazed thoughtfully at the toile wallpaper. "That's true," she sniffed and frowned,
her brows furrowing. "And I did see someone else. Someone hurrying into the church right when I was pulling into the parking lot.
I sat in my car talking on my cell phone for a while before I got
out. There would have been plenty of time for him to kill Parke
and sneak out again before her body was found."
    He?
    "Benton Chambers," whispered Kitty, nervously moistening
her dry lips. She