Progressive Dinner Deadly (5 page)

“If
he
were nice, I wouldn’t have said it.”

“He always seems to smell like gasoline,” mused Myrtle.

“Maybe after he’s finished doing yard work he splashes a little on. Gasoline is just about as expensive as cologne these days, after all.”

They watched as Tiny plowed through to the cocktail table. Miles watched him with glum eyes. “If I were going to have a gatecrasher, why couldn’t it be someone else?”

Proving him right, Tiny immediately launched into an argument with Simon Caulfield and Georgia, who’d returned to the group—“There ain’t nothing
wrong
with hunting, Simon.”

“Guns are dangerous things,” said Simon in an uptight voice, “I wouldn’t dream of having one in my house. If you’re a parent, which you are, you should be more responsible.”

Tiny looked at Simon blankly at the mention of offspring. Then he recollected, “Oh. Well, he’s eighteen, you know. No bitty guy…”

Miles groaned. “This evening is a disaster. I’ve got Tiny Kirk partycrashing and starting arguments and I’m not big enough to kick him out. I’ve got Georgia Simpson staggering around in search of portable toilets.” He gestured at Georgia, who had a hand on Tiny’s bulging arm for support. Or
amour
. Or both. “And who knows,” he spluttered, “what might happen next.”

Jill dialed a number on her cell phone and frowned. A shadow passed over her face. “He’s not picking up.”

“Who?” asked Myrtle.

“Cullen.” Jill gave a martyred sigh. “He needs to stir the barbeque in the crock pot. Maybe he’s fallen asleep. He’s had a rough day today. I guess I’ll have to go over and do it myself. Miles, it was great. I’ll see you over at my place in a little while.”

But before she could hurry away, Jill’s sister, Willow floated up to the group in her flowing, hippy garb with an intense look on her pale face. She put out a hand and grasped Jill’s arm in a tight grip. “Did you say you were going home?” Willow demanded. Myrtle was sure she’d heard Jill and was just determined to make a point.

Jill said shortly, “
Yes
, I’m going home.
No
, Cullen didn’t pick up the phone.
Yes
, I’ve got to stir the meat and make sure everything is ready for guests. Anything else you wanted to ask?” She jutted out her chin.

For an allegedly peaceful person, Willow sure looked ready to pick a fight. “So where is he? If he’s not
here
and he’s not
there
, what’s he doing? And why
isn’t
he at home, helping you out? And I wonder where Sherry has gone. Have you noticed she’s not at the party anymore?”

Jill’s face flushed an unattractive purple.

“Did you know that everybody has been slipping over to your house tonight, bringing side dishes over? Know why? Because they know you can’t afford to feed everybody. Now maybe if Cullen decided to find a job …”

Jill gave a beneficent smile. “I’m well-aware of everyone’s kindness. They’re just being good friends, Willow. And working isn’t Cullen’s gift. And you know all about gifts, don’t you? You’re always talking about how the Creator endows each of us, animal and human, with particular gifts…”

It was at this point that Willow made a sound that Myrtle thought at first had come from some kind of smoke detector or burglar alarm. “Cullen’s talent is
drinking
, Jill. He doesn’t even know how to
do
anything else.”

Jill’s cheery face turned into a mask of fury. She launched at Willow with a hissing sound and Myrtle watched in horror as the two started physically scrapping. The line for the bathroom was, however, determined to stay in place. Finally, it was Tiny Kirk, of all people, who came over to break up the scuffle. Jill yanked her arm away from Tiny, gave a huffy sigh, and headed right out the door. Willow looked suddenly deflated and unsure where she should go. She finally flitted off into Miles’ living room where she lit on his sofa and looked blankly around her as if surprised to see a party in progress.

“You see,” Myrtle
said earnestly to Tippy Chambers in Miles’ living room, “the problem with the supper club idea is that everyone’s
spouses
come. So it’s not just the dozen or so members, but their husbands, too. It
doubles
the number of people in a house.”

“So what exactly are you saying, Myrtle? You think we need to limit the number of people who participate?”

Myrtle shook her head vigorously. “No, no. I’m saying I don’t think this will work
at all
. I think we need to revert back to the book club. Back to a manageable number of people, back to meeting in the daytime. Back to books.”

“But everyone was getting tired of the old book club, Myrtle. That’s why we’re doing something different.”

Tippy really couldn’t help the fact that she sounded so condescending, thought Myrtle. She’d just been wealthy for so long that the money was ingrained into her vocal chords. And
must
Tippy talk so loud? Myrtle wasn’t deaf, but Tippy never seemed to remember that fact.

“Well of course I know that, Tippy. But I thought we could change the book club into a
real
book club. A new-and-improved version of the old one where we study the classics. No one would be bored with classic literature.”

Tippy frowned at Myrtle like she wasn’t sure she was following her. “The classics. Like
Valley of the Dolls
?”

Myrtle slumped. This would be harder than she’d realized. She looked up as Miles hurried past her, navigating through the crowd. The party seemed even more crowded into the small space. Had even
more
people come in? Were there party-crashers here? It seemed like the number had tripled and that the decibel level had tripled, too. Georgia Simpson was being especially loud. She’d somehow managed to get seriously drunk, even though supper club had started just half an hour before. Could she have
arrived
at the party drunk?

Georgia got even louder and coarser than usual. She hollered loudly at Simon Caulfield’s wife, Libba, who was right in front of her and didn’t need help with her hearing, “The flea market didn’t have
squat
, lemme tell you. You’d think once in a while somebody’d cough up something decent from their closets and bring it in to sell. Nuthin’! There was nuthin’ there. Not that I have any
money
. Not like
some
people.”

Miles sidled up to Myrtle and murmured, “In the room the women come and go/Talking of Michelangelo."

Myrtle smiled. “Okay, Prufrock. Nice use of irony. She’s toasted, obviously.”

“Any more toasted,” said Miles, “and we’d be scraping her over the kitchen sink with a knife.”

Myrtle flinched as Erma Sherman came up and brayed, “This really is a treat. I don’t get out at night much, you know. Not like Miss Myrtle Clover.” She gave a haw-hawing laugh, making her sound even more like a donkey than she already did.

Myrtle froze at hearing her name and half-turned, eyeing Erma icily.

“Myrtle goes out every night for two a.m. stroll, don’t you?” Erma grinned crookedly. “I wonder sometimes if she’s going out to visit a sweetheart.”

“I don’t go out
every
night,” said Myrtle coldly. “And certainly not to see boyfriends when I do. I just have a little insomnia, that’s all.”

“A
little
insomnia?” Miles said under his breath. Myrtle was a raging insomniac. It was a wonder she functioned at all on the miniscule amount of sleep she did get.

“Besides,” asked Myrtle, “what are
you
doing up at two a.m.?”

“I’m not
always
up. Just enough to notice when old ladies thump their canes down sidewalks.”

Myrtle had no rejoinder to that, so just took a sip of her sherry and fumed. Fortunately, the focus changed to sleep problems in general with other people chiming in and the whole group walked off to get more wine.

“I
hate
living next door to her,” Myrtle seethed to Miles. “I’m not that loud when I walk, am I?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. Of course,
I’m
usually up at two a.m., myself.”

“Next time I walk by and see your lights on, I’ll knock. We can scandalize Erma.”

Georgia plucked up a napkin and put a handful of cheese straws on it, scattering them wildly as she did. Unaware of the mess she was making, she waved her hand. “Blanche!” she bellowed. “Whatcha doing? I didn’t think you’d be here, since you hate Jill an’ all.”

Myrtle moved in closer. Miles rolled his eyes at her nosiness and headed to the kitchen to bring in more wine.

Blanche started looking uneasily around her.

“You looking for her, too? When you find her, let me know. I’m planning to pop her right in the eye when I see her. Bam!” Georgia swayed forward and Blanche shrank away from her with a look of fascinated disgust. “Jill pulled a number on you, too, didn’t she? I know allll about that, Blanche. Alllll about it.”

At this somewhat cryptic statement, Blanche rushed off toward the back of the house, face blazing.

Georgia seemed to barely register that Blanche was gone as she stuffed the last remaining cheese straws—and part of the napkin—in her mouth. Myrtle wondered if it would be worth trying to ask Georgia anything while she was in this state. She might be able to strong-arm more information out of her while her guard was down, but the downside would be that Georgia’s information might not make a whole lot of sense. She had a feeling that Georgia would be able to fill in the blanks regarding Blanche’s hostility toward Jill.

Myrtle had just decided to give Georgia’s cognitive skills a go when there was a sudden, piercing shriek. Erma Sherman waved her arms around in big circles, clearing people out of the way like a bulldozer. “My diamond earring!” she screeched. “It’s gone! Everyone start looking!”

It was really amazing how quickly everyone followed Erma’s orders. Fortunately, Myrtle had age on her side as an excellent excuse not to engage in the hunt. She looked as feeble as possible while doddering over to Miles’ sofa. Everyone was on the floor, running their hands over the hardwood floors and area rugs. Erma wailed, “We’ve
got
to find it. It’s worth a ton of money.
Real
diamonds. And a family heirloom…”

At that moment, Miles pushed through the kitchen door with the tray full of red wine and tripped right over the back of Tippy Chambers. “Whooooaaaa!” The tray went flying and the drinks fell over the backs of the guests. There was glass and alcohol everywhere, Miles sprawled out over the floor, cussing from people who would need expensive dry cleaning, and general assorted chaos. Myrtle enjoyed the chaos from a distance.

“My diamond earring! Keep looking!” commanded Erma.

“I don’t think anyone’s going to risk being cut by broken glass right now,” said Miles dryly as he carefully got up from the floor and adjusted his glasses on his nose. “Maybe while I’m cleaning up, I’ll find it.”

The party had definitely taken a turn for the worse. And unfortunately, Erma’s lost earring looked like it might end up as the most newsworthy aspect of the evening. Sloan would be disappointed.

Many of the guests looked sweaty. Myrtle peered around the room. Too many people in a small space. Miles shoved open the windows as he passed them to let in more air. Simon Caulfield and his wife Libba walked past Myrtle. Simon continued stalking out the door, suit drenched, face furious.

Libba leaned over the sofa to speak to Myrtle. “Could you tell Miles thanks for us? Simon got covered with wine so we’re heading home. Y’all have fun, though.” She disappeared out the door behind her husband.

Miles stooped down by Myrtle a couple of minutes later to pick up part of a glass that had somehow managed to find its way across the room. “You’ve had some casualties. Simon and Libba have left the building.”

Tippy walked up. “And Willow,” she added with a sigh. “She got doused with wine and decided to change. I guess it doesn’t matter if she’s still changing when we get there as long as we can all get inside. Her house is next on the list.”

“At this point,” said Miles as he delicately held the shard of glass, “anyone who wants to evacuate is welcome to do so.” He looked around him at the pandemonium. “Have you seen Sherry Angevine anywhere? I was going to ask her something about her flower garden.”

“Actually, no. I haven’t seen her since early in the party. And I only really noticed her then because she had so much eye makeup on. She looks like one of those zombies from
Night of the Living Dead
,” said Myrtle.