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Thank you both! And I have to agree. (insert evil laugh) :-).
By: Cheryl Kaye Tardif on 2009-11-13 |
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I agree with b-rice Myrtle is a wonderful character! Can't wait to read more..
By: Valorie Dorr on 2009-11-13 |
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Myrtle is deliciously evil! I love her!.
By: b-rice on 2009-08-31 |
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Chapter 1: Cow tipping cowboys and coiffures
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Have you read the first Myrtle Murphy short story?
A Grave Error (Myrtle Murphy Mystery #1)
Myrtle Murphy had everything she wanted out of life―except her damned mother-in-law was still breathing. And that wasn’t part of the plan. The bitch should have keeled over after drinking the three cups of tea laced with arsenic. Instead, she was passed out on the couch―snoring, of all things. And alive.
Myrtle scowled. The nerve of her!
The white-haired woman in her antiquated cats-eye glasses no longer looked like she had stepped out of Vogue. More like a commercial for Wrinkle-Away. Her face sagged, each crevice threatening to suck in both the foundation and blush she had caked on that morning. Her mouth was parted slightly, and every now and then she choked on a snore, her body jerking from lack of oxygen.
Myrtle shook her head in frustration. “Mother Murphy, what am I going to do with you?”
The woman had come looking for her son, but Myrtle had laid him to rest two months earlier. Permanently. Norman was buried in the woods, fertilizer for the voracious plants around him. He’d always said he had a green thumb.
“He hasn’t called me in weeks,” Mother Murphy had said when she had arrived hours ago. “That’s not like him.”
Myrtle had lied, told her mother-in-law that Norman had gone camping with his friends―the “boys”. When Mother Murphy mentioned that she had changed her will and made Norman her beneficiary since her mangy Siamese cat Wadsworth had died, Myrtle’s mind started churning. And when the witch of a woman started in on her, calling her “common”, Myrtle knew there was only one thing to do.
“How about I make you a nice cup of tea?” she had suggested.
Her mother-in-law had peered over her glasses as if Myrtle were a bug that needed to be squashed with her Gucci heel. Then she lifted her imperious chins and settled onto the sofa.
“Make it extra sweet,” she commanded.
* * * * *
“Three cups,” Myrtle muttered. “With enough of my secret ingredient to put down a cow.”
She scowled at the woman. Then on impulse, she reached over and pulled the bobby pins from the woman’s salon hairdo. For good measure, she mussed it up with both hands.
Myrtle stood back to admire her handiwork.
“There. You look lovely, dahling.”
She had a good mind to get a tube of red lipstick and pull a Bette Davis.
Mommy Dearest.
“Now, what the hell am I going to do with you?”
She glanced at her watch. It was getting late.
The phone rang.
“Myrt, it’s Harry. Is Norm back from his trip yet?”
It came out like: Myrt, is Sarry. Snorm back from strip yet?
Harry was one of the boys, and Norman’s best friend. They had played football in college together. Harry called every week, usually drunk and slurring his words. Tonight was no different.
“You there, Myrtie?” he slurred. “Thought ya said he’s coming back this week.”
“He had to go visit his mother,” Myrtle snapped. “She’s sick.”
She stared at the woman lying unconscious on the couch.
“Maybe dying even,” she added, smiling.
“Well,” Harry drawled as if it were a two-syllable word, “us boys are going to the old Morris farm and we wanted Norm to come with us.”
“It’s almost midnight, for God’s sake,” Myrtle snapped. “What the hell are you going to do out there at this time of night?”
“We’s goin’ cow tippin’” she heard Frank Burgess yell. Frank was Harry’s twin brother and just as irritating.
Cow tipping?
Myrtle rolled her eyes and stared at the phone in her hand. Norm’s friends were a waste of―
She glanced at the old woman lying on the couch and a smile crept across her face.
“The old Morris farm is just off Highway 14, right?” she asked.
Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just let Norm know. We’re getting Morris back for the stunt he played on Norm at the golf course. Okay, Myrtie?”
“Sure. I’ll call him at his mother’s.” She hung up.
Standford Morris had been the bane of Norm’s existence. A month ago at the annual senior’s golf tournament, Stan had rigged the brakes on Norm’s golf cart. Norm had ended up in the lake. He had always wanted to get Stan back.
An idea teased at the edge of her mind.
Her eyes widened. “Cow tipping?”
In the garage there was one vinyl tarp left, the one Norm had used to cover his sports car. She retrieved it and quickly spread it out on the floor near the couch. Then she unceremoniously rolled Mother Murphy off the edge. The woman landed with a thud, let out a soft groan, then continued her snoring. Even after Myrtle rolled her in the tarp, she remained unconscious.
Myrtle prodded the tarp with her toe, wishing she could just roll her out to the middle of the street and leave her there. But that wouldn’t do. Like Norm, there had to be no evidence leading back to her.
Hunched forward, she grabbed the tarp and heaved it, stepping backwards bit by bit. By the time she reached the garage door she was covered in sweat.
“You certainly weigh a lot, Mother Murphy. You’re just a fat old cow.”
Straightening, she chuckled and brushed her limp bangs from her forehead. Then she continued to haul the tarp-covered body down the three steps to the garage.
Thunk, thunk, thunk!
Her mother-in-law would have a headache…if she ever woke up.
Resting for a moment, Myrtle leaned against the car, considering her idea. If it worked, the police would never suspect her. They’d have other suspects to question.
Another ten minutes and Mother Murphy was securely dumped into the trunk of Norm’s car. Then Myrtle set off toward Highway 14.
* * * * *
“Ah, I see you guys,” she murmured as she killed the headlights and slowed the car to a crawl.
Under a pitch-black, moonless sky, she passed by the dirt road where Harry had parked his car. Up ahead, another dirt road was unimpeded by parked vehicles so she pulled off and stopped the car. A quick reconnaissance of the area showed that the boys were still in Harry’s car, probably polishing off a case of Old Milwaukee. Small red lights flickered inside. The boys were smoking up a storm, and she guessed they weren’t all cigarettes.
“Let’s go for a walk, Mother.”
She popped the trunk and hefted the tarp over the side. It slid to the hard, dry ground. Grabbing the edge, she began pulling it into the field, pausing every now and then to catch her breath.
She had worn Norm’s old gum boots, and although they were far too big, she figured the treads would never lead the police to her door. They’d be looking for a man with size eleven boots. And she’d be sure to dispose of them on her way home.
She stopped suddenly and held her breath.
A motionless shadow blocked her way.
It took her a moment to realize it was a blasted cow. The only cow in the field.
Perfect!
She positioned Mother Murphy alongside the sleeping cow, careful not to make any sudden moves or sounds. Even the old bat was agreeably quiet, her snoring disappearing altogether. Myrtle was tempted to unroll the tarp. Maybe her mother-in-law had suffocated.
A door slammed.
Crouching low, she peered under the cow’s belly, her eyes seeking the car.
Harry, Frank and two other men moved stealthily across the field.
Time to move, Myrtle.
As she moved away and headed into the bushes, she glanced back.
There was a bare hump in the grass where Mother Murphy lay sleeping. The cow stood stock-still next to her.
From the vantage point of the bushes, Myrtle could barely contain her glee. The boys were loaded. They’d never notice the tarp, even if they tripped over it.
She heard faint snickers. Then someone shushed the others.
After that everything happened in slow motion. It was almost like she’d been teleported back to the last college football game, where Harry had scored the winning touchdown. In a single fluid movement, the four beefy men ran at the cow, their arms stretched, making no sounds. Until they hit the cow.
Thwack!
“Tackle!” Harry shouted.
In the same instant, the cow went down, waking suddenly and letting out a startled moo. But the momentum of the men toppled it and the cow hit the ground―and the tarp containing Mother Murphy―with a sickening splat that seemed to reverberate through the night.
The men cackled with intoxicated amusement.
“Let’s get outta here,” Frank slurred. “My shoes are covered in shit.”
“Gawd almighty,” Frank said. “Can’t believe we did it.”
“Yeah, that old cow must be deader than ground beef,” one of the other men said.
Myrtle stifled a laugh, then sneaked back to her car.
On the ride home, she couldn’t help but think of that last comment.
“That old cow must be deader than ground beef,” she mimicked. “Yep, she sure must be.”
Myrtle Murphy had only two things left to do. She’d dump the gum boots in a trash bin on the way home. And she’d pick up a cheeseburger at Burger King. She had a sudden craving for beef.
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