Free A Body at Bunco by Elizabeth Spann Craig Page B

it?” asked Myrtle. She glanced at the wall clock. Between Puddin’s nonsense with the salt and peppershakers and Sloan, she was getting absolutely nothing done. “No time to chit-chat, Sloan. I have to go talk to some folks. I’ll email you the story soon.” And she hung up.
    Five minutes later, she was walking down Magnolia Lane in the direction of Estelle Rutledge’s house. She knew exactly where she lived since Elaine had told her it was the ‘modern’ house on the block. What Elaine was too kind to say was that it was the house built forty years ago that had aspired, and failed, to look modern for the time. It was boxy, with too many windows, and evoked a sort of treehouse appearance…with no trees in sight on the property. It also was some kind of split-level but the levels were diagonal from each other. It looked as if the house was a victim of a particularly violent earthquake. Most Bradley residents had considered the residence, standing out strikingly as it was among the ranches, something of an eyesore that had been put up with for ages. Myrtle simply believed that the architect had consumed hallucinogenic drugs.
    But of course, Estelle, as a newcomer to Bradley, had nothing to do with the construction or design of the house, so Myrtle couldn’t hold that against the woman. However, she had chosen, apparently of her own free will, to live there. And that was a strike against her right there.
    Myrtle also wanted to find out a bit more about the storm-chasing business. How exactly did one chase storms? Why did one need special equipment to do so? And what made Estelle Rutledge aspire to do such a thing to begin with? How did this hobby or career tie into the case, if it did?
    Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear a sound until there was a small, nudging, familiar dry cough next to her. She glanced to her side to see that Miles was keeping pace with her and had perhaps done so for some time. He gave her a reproachful look. “You know I’ve always wanted to see the inside of that post-modern mess of a house. And I’m your sidekick, after all. Next time, invite me.”
    Being caught at being thoughtless always made Myrtle cross. “Yes, all right. Sorry.” The sorry was very begrudging. “I just got caught up in my musing and my feet started taking me here.” She paused. “And how did you know that’s where I was going? Have you been talking to Wanda?”
    Wanda was a psychic and a cousin of Miles, a fact which Miles would rather forget. “No,” he said stiffly. “You were simply walking in this direction and she’s the only suspect who lives in this direction on Magnolia. What’s our excuse for being there? I’m assuming that we’re not just going to start accusing Estelle of murder and see what happens next.”
    “Of course not,” snapped Myrtle. But, as a matter of fact, she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t really come up with a premise for the unexpected visit at all. She fished in her pocketbook for a second. She pulled out a lipstick. “Someone forgot their lipstick and I’m trying to connect it with its owner.”
    Miles looked doubtful. “Surely that’s not a very good reason for a visit? Maybe if it were a cardigan or something. That’s one of your lipsticks, isn’t it?”
    “It is one of mine, yes. What if I brought one of my cardigans and someone actually claimed it was theirs? Then I’d be out a cardigan. Besides, a lipstick can be very valuable to a woman. These wicked makeup companies discontinue shades all the time. Trust me, it’s a good excuse,” said Myrtle.
    They walked up to the front door and Myrtle knocked. “Does Estelle even wear makeup?” murmured Miles. “She doesn’t really seem the type.”
    “It’s simply a pretext,” hissed Myrtle.
    Estelle opened the door at once, her face curious and completely makeup free. And surprisingly welcoming. “Miss Myrtle from last night. And…sorry, I don’t remember your name. Wait. Is it