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The next morning, Myrtle readied herself for book club. She felt as though she might need to gird herself in iron for the upcoming foolishness. What was more, Blanche was hosting it. Blanche was fond of having alcoholic beverages out for book club. Since it was morning, Myrtle hoped she’d limited herself to bloody Marys and mimosas. However, she had the feeling that Blanche might expand the selection to a whole host of drinks. It meant that every member was sure to be there, including the dreadful Erma.
Miles had offered to drive Myrtle, but Myrtle fancied a walk. She also didn’t want to have to depend on Miles for a ride. It was entirely possible that Myrtle might want to escape early, particularly if the members started getting tipsy. She could only imagine the silliness that would ensue. Miles also had the uncanny ability to get waylaid at these gatherings. The women all thought he was wonderful. Smart, single, nice-looking, monied (at least by Bradley’s standards), and he could still drive a car. Those attributes chronically placed him in the most-desirable male category for his age group. The women pursued him relentlessly.
When Myrtle walked into Blanche’s house, she could tell that Blanche was indeed in a festive mood. In fact, it looked more like a Cinco de Mayo celebration than it did a book club meeting. There were balloons, streamers, paper lanterns, string lights, and the bar that Myrtle had expected to see. Also, as expected, there was already excellent attendance at the gathering. Several of the women, cocktails in hand, were laughing uproariously at something Blanche had just said. Myrtle stood there primly, her guilty pleasure read in her large handbag.
“Myrtle!” called out Blanche. She wove her way over to her. “The life of the party!”
“The life of the party!” chorused three tipsy women behind her.
Myrtle pressed her lips together.
“Would you like a peach bellini?” asked Blanche. “It’s my specialty cocktail today.”
Myrtle had the feeling it would behoove her to be quite firm with Blanche from the very start. If one displayed any sign of weakness or wavering, one would end up full of prosecco and schnapps. “No, I have a bit of a headache. It certainly won’t improve with alcohol.”
Blanche rolled her eyes. “How can you be the life of the party if you don’t have a cocktail? Besides, from everything I’ve heard, you really need one. Is it true you and Miles discovered another body?”
Blanche was really being quite annoying, decided Myrtle. She was always a bit brazen and had the tendency to love life just a little too much, but she was being quite tacky at this point.
“Sadly, yes. Miles and I found poor Isabella Montague. Had you been to Serenity Springs? It’s a lovely place.”
Blanche gave the smallest of hiccups. “I sure did, right after they opened. I thought it was great. I felt like I was walking into a retreat. The wine wasn’t bad, either. But, you know, the place wasn’t as lively as Greystone Grapes. Gerald really knew how to throw a party.”
Blanche had finally whetted her interest. Myrtle said, “I’ve heard he hosted bands there. Was there dancing?”
Blanche snorted. “Was there dancing? Of course there was! It was like a real party, even when I was around strangers. He had his wines there, lots of great appetizers, stuff like that. Nothing too fancy. Just good bar food.” Then she winked slyly at Myrtle. “And some nice eye candy.”
“Eye candy?” Myrtle frowned. The mental image wasn’t appealing.
“I mean an attractive young man. Ben Foster, the guy who basically runs the vineyard for Gerald. Or he did run it, anyway.”
Myrtle’s frown deepened. Surely Julia hadn’t fired Ben. She wouldn’t have wanted to see her business go down the drain. And she’d given no indication that she’d let him go when she and Miles had spoken with her. “He hasn’t lost his job, has he?”
Blanche shrugged, an energetic gesture that knocked her slightly off-balance. “No idea. But what if he has? He’s got to have a job. He worked far too hard in school. If he’s out of work, he can’t pay back his student loans.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about Ben’s situation.”
Blanche said, “Well, I talked to him a lot at the winery. I was curious, you know, what it takes to manage a vineyard and be a winemaker. And he’s just so young.”
Myrtle suspected alcohol had fueled Blanche’s interest.
“Anyway, did you know he worked for a pest control company to put himself through school at UNCC? And he was taking serious subjects like chemistry. How on earth do you study for a degree in chemistry and have a real job at the same time?”
This made Myrtle pay more attention to the tipsy Blanche. If Ben was a pest control expert, he’d surely have been quite familiar with strychnine and its properties. After all, strychnine was a rat poison. Could Ben really have gotten so upset with Gerald that he decided to take him out? She thought of the genial young man, so smitten with Julia, and found it difficult to believe. Still, love can work in mysterious ways. Maybe Ben was tired of Gerald’s treatment of Julia and removed Gerald from the equation.
“Anyway,” said Blanche. “He might have himself a girlfriend now. I saw Ben and Julia Greystone together at the diner this morning before book club.”
Myrtle smiled to herself. She always liked it when her matchmaking was a success. Hopefully, the two young people were discussing something other than winery business.
Blanche was now sauntering drunkenly off to greet other guests. It was a good thing because Miles had arrived and slipped quietly next to her. “Quite the bacchanalian meeting,” he murmured.
“Isn’t it? Of course, we should have expected as much. Blanche is hosting, and she is rather fond of a party.” Myrtle squinted to see what Miles’s guilty pleasure read was, but he maneuvered the book behind him so she couldn’t see. She sighed.
Miles said, “The meeting will be starting soon, and you’ll find out then.”
“Will it be starting soon, though? I have the feeling Blanche will not prove an effective timekeeper today. Perhaps I’ll step in.”
Miles nodded. “That might be a good idea. I’m guessing she’s not entirely on top of her game right now. I saw the two of you talking when I was coming in.”
“She’s had a few of her specialty drinks, I believe. But she did actually offer some interesting information about Ben Foster.”
Miles raised his eyebrow. “That’s surprising. How does she know him?”
“Oh, from cozying up to the bar at Greystone Grapes. He was apparently in there one day while she was enjoying some wine. Blanche mentioned that Ben Foster worked at a pest control company while he was at UNCC.”
Miles didn’t seem to make the connection immediately. “Okay. So he was a hard worker. That jives with what we’ve heard about him, doesn’t it? He’s a skilled manager and winemaker who’s in demand. Isabella wanted him to work for her, after all.”
“Yes. But the tidbit that was interesting was that he was working in the pest control industry. A technician in that field would certainly be familiar with strychnine and its properties. And Ben was studying chemistry, according to Blanche.”
Miles considered this. “I suppose a knowledge of chemistry would be important in agriculture. I see what you’re saying. Are you going to tell Red?”
“Certainly not! I had to suffer through a conversation with an inebriated Blanche to get that nugget of information. I’m not going to just hand it over to Red. He should work for it.”
Miles knit his brows. “It sounds like the kind of finding that you should share with the authorities. Maybe Perkins? You always enjoy speaking with him.”
“Dear Perkins! I’ll consider it, of course. Maybe he and I can trade off bits of intel.”
Myrtle was interrupted from future musings by the sound of cheering as a group of women noisily toasted . . . something. Myrtle pressed her lips together tightly. “This meeting is off-the-chain. I’m going to call it to order before things go even further downhill.”
Myrtle walked to the front of the room and summoned her sternest teacher's voice. “Everyone! It’s time to start the book club meeting. You can continue with the festivities following our discussion.”
Myrtle was sure she heard some mild grumbling, but narrowed her eyes as she scanned the room. Everyone suddenly became very quiet and polite. There was one stray giggle, but a stern look from Myrtle nipped it in the bud.
Blanche hurried to stand next to Myrtle. She beamed at the gathering. “So thrilled to see everybody today,” she slurred. “Let’s get started by talking about the book we’ve been reading since the last meeting. Myrtle, since you’re up here, what did you make of Whispers of the Enchanted Unicorn?”
Myrtle said grimly, “I thought I’d read something else, so I made a different selection.”
Blanche laughed uproariously at this. “What did you read?”
“One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez.”
Now the rest of the book club joined Blanche in laughing at Myrtle’s pick. Myrtle gritted her teeth, but smiled sweetly in response. “It’s a story of human isolation,” continued Myrtle. “Which is starting to sound more and more appealing. What I’d like to know is what Miles thought of Whispers of the Enchanted Unicorn.”
Miles flushed. He looked as if he would much rather discuss Márquez’s book. He appeared to be searching his mind for something to say about the unicorn story. “I liked the font on the front cover,” he offered slowly.
Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “Any other tidbits you’d like to share with the group?”
Miles cleared his throat and pulled at his collar. “The author’s consistent use of the word enchanted was . . . enchanting. It certainly drove home the theme of the story.” He looked desperately around him. “I’d like to hear someone else’s interpretation of the book.”
He seemed relieved when Erma Sherman rose her hand to speak.
Erma said excitedly, “I thought it was fun that the unicorns were life coaches. And I liked Sparklehoof, the main character, a lot.”
There was a murmur of agreement in the room. Myrtle quickly found a spot in which to sit down. Surely this was a new low for her book club. She suffered through the rest of the discussion, which included such hyperbolic statements as saying the book was a spiritual awakening and that it changed one deluded member’s life.
Finally, the discussion came to a merciful close. But then it was time for the next portion of the meeting. The theme for next month.
Blanche, who had somehow gotten even tipsier during the book discussion, thankfully ceded the floor to Tippy. Tippy was decidedly not intoxicated and was pursing her lips in disapproval at the general carnival atmosphere in the room. This resulted in everyone settling down just a bit.
Tippy gave them all a tight smile. “Now comes the fun portion of the meeting.”
Blanche, perhaps speaking louder than she meant to, said, “It would be more fun if Tippy would have a cocktail.” There was some accompanying snickering, which Tippy graciously ignored.
“We’re going to announce what our favorite guilty pleasure reads are,” said Tippy. “We all have them—the comfort reads that we come back to again and again when life is challenging. Then, as a group, we’re going to vote on the best guilty pleasure read.” Tippy reached down into a tote bag. “I’ve taken some money out of our treasury to provide us with some prizes. The winning book will be next month’s book club read. We will also offer prizes to the other categories we announced last month, although those titles won’t be included on our book rotation.”
On a nearby table, Tippy pulled out a bookstore gift card, a pair of socks covered with prints of card catalog entries, and a couple of bookmarks. Myrtle suspected the treasury could have withstood much more expensive prizes. Tippy was always very careful to preserve the balance. Perhaps she was planning on them to go on a book-related field trip. Although Myrtle shuddered to think what type of field trip this group would decide on.
Tippy said, “Now what we’ll do is go around the room and name our guilty pleasure reads. I’ll go first. I’ll admit to a fondness of The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger. Myrtle, how about you?”
“Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen,” answered Myrtle promptly. She waved the book in the air.
Erma commented, “That’s a guilty pleasure read? That’s classical.” Erma’s voice, perhaps amplified by alcohol, was even louder and more obnoxious than usual.
Tippy seemed to be in quite a snappy mood. “We’ll have no denigration of anyone’s guilty pleasure reads! Myrtle, I think that’s a great pick. Miles, how about you?”
Miles was already looking chastened by the fact classical fiction had been so quickly put down. He cleared his throat. “Frankenstein.”
Blanche said, “Hey, we were only supposed to pick books! Movies aren’t allowed.”
Miles and Myrtle exchanged a glance. Miles said, “Frankenstein is a book by Mary Shelley. It was written in 1818.”
“Well, I never,” said Blanche, sounding subdued. “I thought it started in the 1950s with all those monster movies. I learn something new every day.”
Tippy redirected them to continue going around the room. There were some Nicholas Sparks books, a Dan Brown, and quite a few romances to round things out. Then everyone voted. Tippy swiftly counted the votes. She smiled. “The winner is Miles Bradford! He’s the recipient of a bookstore gift card.”
Everyone applauded. Myrtle sourly suspected that Miles had won because everyone felt sorry for him that Blanche had given him a hard time. Plus the fact, of course, that many of the women in the room were secretly in love with him.
Miles, blushing a little, sat back down next to Myrtle. “Things are about to go downhill from here,” she muttered.
Sure enough, the next categories for prizes were “best book swoon”, “best cliffhanger,” and “most dramatic plot twist,” all of which Myrtle and Miles sat out. The books they were accustomed to reading didn’t belong in any of the categories.
Miles whispered to Myrtle. “Perhaps we should broaden our horizons a little.”
“Are you crazy? I don’t want to read the same things they’re reading.”
“Doesn’t that make us book snobs?” asked Miles. He said the words distastefully.
“I’m rather proud of that designation,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “I can’t help it. I was an English teacher, after all.”
“Let’s see if we can participate in the next category.”
Fortunately, that was “top tearjerker.” Myrtle picked Where the Red Fern Grows. Miles picked The Art of Racing in the Rain.
“We do read modern books,” said Myrtle.
“From time to time.”
The prize for that category went to Tippy, who picked The Lovely Bones.
That wrapped up the meeting. Some women went back to Blanche’s cocktail bar, while others hurried to congratulate Miles on his win and bat their eyelashes at him. Myrtle slipped out the front door and headed back home. She was about halfway there when she heard Erma’s voice calling out behind her.
Myrtle winced. She was decidedly not in the mood to speak with Erma right then. Besides, she’d already been nice to her by lending her the shovel. Myrtle knew Erma would think Myrtle’s hearing was impaired. It was generally an assumption that greatly annoyed Myrtle, who considered her hearing quite perfect. This time, though, she was happy to have Erma believe in the fallacy. She slipped inside her house and locked the door behind her.
She was horrified to hear a tap on her front door just a minute later. Surely Erma wasn’t insisting on a visit? Myrtle peered cautiously out the window. She was surprised to see Frank Hayes there.
She opened the door. “Frank? Is everything okay? How’s your mom?”
Frank said, “Oh, about the same. Mind if I come in for a minute? There’s something I wanted to tell you that I thought maybe you could report on for the newspaper.”
Myrtle definitely didn’t want Frank in her home. He seemed to be behaving in a rather shifty manner. “I’ve had a long morning, Frank. Book club was quite vexing today. Maybe we can speak tomorrow over coffee.”
Frank took that opportunity to shove past her and inside her house.