Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

up.
    Myrtle scrolled through the phone's menu until she got to the
call log. Parke Stockard sure had lots of numbers on her contact
list, but Myrtle doubted they were all friends. Recent calls included
Althea Hayes, Benton Chambers, and Josh Tucker, her co-worker
at the Bradley Bugle. She tried listening to the voicemail messages,
but hung up with disappointment when prompted for a password. She eased the phone back where she'd found it and sat down in a
pew to wait for Nathaniel. Still looking around, she spotted a large
Bible a couple of feet away from her-definitely not a pew Bible,
judging from the papers and sticky notes protruding from it. She
slid across the wooden pew, opened the book, and saw Kitty Kirk's
name written in loopy, schoolgirl cursive in the front of the Bible.

    She snapped the Bible shut when the door opened and sat demurely as Nathaniel entered the sanctuary. "Red's on his way," he
said. The minister glanced at the body and sighed. Wrinkling his
brow, he gingerly stepped up to the altar. "Odd," he said.
    "What is?"
    "The flowers. I don't remember roses in the arrangement this
morning." He frowned. "We have a member with a terrible allergy
to roses and Kitty is always so careful to avoid using them." He
seemed about to continue, then stopped short.
    "I never dreamed she'd be murdered," he said in a hushed tone,
almost to himself.
    "Were you worried something like this might happen?"
    He shook his head emphatically. "Nothing like this. I'd have
told Red if I thought any harm would come to Parke. But she
didn't have many fans, I'm afraid."
    Myrtle scowled in remembrance. "I'm not surprised."
    "But her heart was in the right place," he insisted.
    "I just remember that Dorothy Parker quote. `If you want to
know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it
to,"' said Myrtle.
    Nathaniel smiled noncommittally and continued an anxious
vigil over the body. Discovering the body of the church's biggest
benefactor capped off the worst week he'd ever had at the church. He'd received phone calls all week complaining about the new
hymnals that Parke Stockard had donated. Last Sunday's service
featured the hymn "God of Our Fathers." In an effort at political
correctness, the modern hymnal had diplomatically changed the
words to "God of the Ages," much to the apparent displeasure of
most of the congregation.

    Myrtle sniffed the air suddenly. She hadn't immediately noticed
in the flurry of discovering Parke's body, but she was certain she
smelled cigarette smoke in the sanctuary. As an ex-smoker, she was
attuned to even the slightest whiff. She pictured a stubble-jawed,
bald tough guy with a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his
sneering mouth, easily murdering Parke with one hand tied behind
his back for good sportsmanship. But the smell was too faint for
someone to have been smoking in the room. More likely the killer
had been smoking previously and Myrtle smelled the traces of
smoke from his clothing. It confirmed that Parke hadn't been dead
for very long.
    The wail of a siren, the sound of gravel crunching as a car
swiftly pulled into the church parking lot, and a door slamming
interrupted their conversation. A minute later, Myrtle's son, the
town of Bradley's police chief, hurried in with one of his two deputies behind him. The hair that had given Red his nickname was
now heavily sprinkled with gray, which he attributed to worrying
over his mother, rather than the fact that he was in his mid-forties.
Myrtle was forty years older than Red, but sometimes he felt like
their roles were reversed. His tough look was enhanced by a jagged
scar that snaked down the side of his face. Red liked everyone to
assume it came from answering the call of duty, but the scar actually involved a homemade bike ramp, a helmetless Red, and some eight-year-old friends egging him on. His green eyes briefly swept
over the murder scene, halting at the sight of