“Have to blind the devil standing there,” she muttered to herself.
Myrtle leaned her head into her hands. Now she was getting a headache. “Really, Puddin. You need to stumble out of the nineteenth century. Your superstitions will be the end of you.”
Puddin was now squinting at the salt, pepper, and ketchup in confusion. “Wait,” she said slowly. “I think I mighta got this wrong.”
“Just give up, Puddin,” said Myrtle crossly. “I’m assuming that you didn’t see anyone coming out of my backyard wielding a bloody wrench. I believe we’re done here.”
“Speaking of that, Dusty wants his wrench back that you took,” said Puddin, looking stern.
Myrtle always felt as if she’d stepped through the looking glass when she tried having a conversation with Puddin. “That I took? I did no such thing! Dusty is being forgetful as usual and leaving his tools scattered around. And this time one of his tools was used as a murder weapon. The SBI has it now and who knows when they’ll release it.”
“SBI?” Puddin looked suspicious.
“The state police. State Bureau of Investigations. They’re examining it for evidence, although Red said it looked to him as if the metal handle was wiped clean of fingerprints. If I were Dusty, I’d want to clean it really well if I used it again. Or just purchase another one.”
Puddin said slowly, “Yeah, but that Dusty don’t like spending money much. Guess we might have to if the police take too long with it.” She frowned at the salt and peppershakers and the ketchup. “Ya know, I feel like something here is wrong.”
“There are things on multiple levels wrong here, Puddin. Why don’t you just think about it for a while and then get back to me if anything comes to you?” She’d had enough of all this. “And please wash those dishes.”
Puddin snapped her fingers. “There was one thing I thought you oughta know. About Miz Florence. That old lady, you know. I clean for her sometimes and one day I seen her crying. She said that Luella was being mean to her. Luella saw Miz Florence hit the gas pedal instead of the brake and run right over a curb downtown.”
Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “Did she run into a shop?”
“Naw, she finally hit her brakes before she run into the building. But it was close, Miz Florence said. Then I sat down with Miz Florence for a while, seeing as how she was upset and everything.”
This didn’t surprise Myrtle a bit, considering Puddin would sit down instead of work any day of the week.
“I tole her that it didn’t matter none in Bradley. Tole her that you hadn’t had a car in well nigh ten year or so and you walk everywhere, even though you have to lean on a cane and all. And that you are much, much, much older than she is and still get around great,” said Puddin.
“All right, all right, get on with it! I’m old, okay. Got it.” Myrtle was now thinking longingly of the Tomorrow’s Promise episode that she had taped the day before.
“Anyhow, she said that the place she wanted to go was out of town so far that she couldn’t walk there if she tried. Said she had a sweetheart she met at a bridge tournament. And she said that her daughter tole her if there was one more report of Miz Florence’s bad driving, her daughter was going to take her keys away,” said Puddin meaningfully. “And Luella was bein’ real spiteful and said she was going to call up her daughter and tell her that Miz Florence was a menace to society. Then Miz Florence’s daughter would be taking her keys away, but good.”
“Well then, I’d say that Miss Florence’s daughter would be signing herself up to chauffeur her mama wherever she wanted to go,” said Myrtle.
“Except that Miz Florence’s daughter is a Yankee and lives in Cincinnati,” said Puddin smoothly. “Said she’d drive her mama anywhere she wanted to go…if she moved there. But Miz Florence don’t want to go. She likes her sweetheart.”
“And if she moved up
Margaret Mazzantini, John Cullen