The Party Line, a Myrtle Crumb Mystery Prequel Read Free

Cadillac and
gone by the time I got off the porch. That was fine by me—I had
more investigating to do.
    I decided to start with Bill, Ada's
husband.

Makin' Progress
    I found Ada's husband Bill down at his
office. His secretary must've been at lunch or something, because
Bill was sittin' at her desk. We'd only met a handful of times, so
he didn't recognize me. That gave me a chance to get his initial,
unguarded reaction.
    "May I help you?" he asked.
    "Certainly," I replied. "You can tell me
whether or not you drowned Doris May Culpepper in a pot of beef
vegetable soup."
    His eyes got as big as saucers; and when he
spoke again, it was in a squeaky voice. "Who are you?"
    "Myrtle Crumb. I'm Tansie's neighbor."
    "And you think I killed Doris May?"
    He didn't offer, but I pulled up a chair and
sat down. "Come to think of it, that wouldn't make a lot of sense,
would it? Why would you wanna kill Doris May?"
    "I wouldn't!"
    "'Course not. That way, if Ada decided not
to come back, you'd have Doris on the string."
    He opened his mouth to say somethin', but
nothin' came out so he shut it again.
    I leaned my elbow on the desk. "What about
Ada? You reckon she did it?"
    He sputtered like a drenched chicken for a
minute and then asked, "What's it to you?"
    "I'm giving the police a little assistance
on this one." I held my mouth the way I figured Jackie-O would've
after making such a bold statement.
    "Oh, are you, now?"
    I gave him what I considered to be a regal
nod.
    "Have you been deputized?" he asked, with a
little sneer to his voice. "Because if you haven't, then you're
trespassing and you need to leave."
    I stood. "Seems to me you're pretty
defensive for a man who claims he has nothing to hide."
    "Good day, Ms. Crumb."
    "Good day, Kill…I mean, Bill." And with that
Freudy slip, I left.
    I didn't know much about Doris May's
ex-husband, so I went to the beauty shop. The gals at the
Tilt-A-Curl can give you the low-down on anybody.
    "Why, Myrtle!" Bess exclaimed. "You look
like you just stepped out of a band box!"
    "Thank you, Bess. I wondered if Trudy might
be able to work me in for a manicure?"
    Bess looked at the messy appointment book.
"Not today, honey. Wanna come in on Friday?"
    "No, I was really hopin' she could take me
today. Wasn't that awful about Doris May Culpepper?"
    "Oh, terrible. Terrible! And what a way to
go!"
    "You know how bad beef vegetable stains," I
said.
    "Oh, I know," Bess agreed. "She got her hair
done here, of course, so I know for a fact that her hair is very
porous. It no doubt soaked that soup right in…and her a Champagne
Platinum Number 42."
    I tsked and shook my head. "Who do you
reckon would've done such a thing?"
    "I watch Court TV," Bess said, "and it's
always the husband."
    "But I thought they were divorced."
    "They were, but he was still hung up on her.
Betcha dollars to doughnuts it was him."
    After Bess told me that the ex-husband's
name was Donnie and that he worked at the furniture store, I headed
on over. This detective stuff was getting hard; but, hey, I had my
civic responsibilities, right?
    I went to the furniture store on the guise
of looking for an end table. I said a friend had recommended a
salesman named Donnie Culpepper, but they said that Mr. Culpepper
had had a death in his family and would be out for the rest of the
week. When I asked for his home address and telephone number, I was
told to leave the store. So that trip was a waste.
    But that was okay. The funeral parlor wasn't
so picky about giving out information. When I told them I was a
friend of Donnie's mother—I had to ask God to forgive that little
white lie—and said I wanted to take over a plate of food, they all
but drove me over there. I stopped by the Piggly Wiggly deli and
got him a little cake so that wouldn't be a lie, too. A little
cake, a plate of food, same difference.
    I had to knock on the door two or three
times before Donnie Culpepper would show his face. When he finally
did come to the door, he asked,