After she walked out, Dakota said in her small voice, "You're great at this, Miss Myrtle."

Myrtle straightened a little. "I am, aren't I? It's the nice thing about being an octogenarian—you get to fly under the radar. People will open up and say all sorts of things to me and never hold my nosiness against me."

"Are you going to write a story about Mrs. Cobb?" asked Dakota.

"Oh no. No, that was completely off-the-record. What it is good for is background information and for asking other people questions, too."

Sloan finally wrapped up his phone call and came reluctantly back to join them.

Myrtle said, "Let's give Dakota a story, Sloan."

Sloan looked rather alarmed. "I was thinking we were just talking about shadowing and some social media work, Miss Myrtle."

"We were, but Dakota seems very bright and interested. We should give her an opportunity."

Sloan shifted uneasily on his feet. "The only problem with that, Miss Myrtle, is that I'm already pretty slammed with work. Editing can be . . . well, it can be time-consuming." He gave Dakota an apologetic look for doubting her grammatical abilities.

"I will do any necessary editing myself."

Dakota looked a bit uncertain. "That's really nice of you, Miss Myrtle, but I don't know about me handling a story yet."

"Nonsense. You write for the high school paper, don't you? There's not a lot of difference, aside from the fact that the Bugle covers more things like award-winning recipes and honor roll lists."

Miles hid a smile as Sloan's face fell at this assessment.

Sloan said slowly, "We do have a family reunion that needs covering. It's actually taking place starting today and going into tomorrow. I was going to run over there myself in a few minutes, take a few pictures, and write up a little something. It would be great if it could run in the paper a couple of days from now."

Dakota lit up. "Really? That would be great."

"See how earnest and enthusiastic Dakota is, Sloan? No one else would call that type of assignment 'great.'"

Sloan nodded and pulled out one of the many loose bits of paper on his desk. "Here's the address. They're at the park at a picnic shelter. It's the Tolly family."

Myrtle said, "The Tolly family is at least interesting. They're sure to have lots of food there, too. And they'll want to ply you with it, Dakota. They like feeding people, whether they know them well or not."

Dakota carefully studied the piece of paper. "Got it. Thanks so much, Mr. Jones."

Myrtle said, "Would you like me to go with you and introduce you around?"

Dakota shook her head. "Mr. Sanders said to make sure I didn't take up too much of your time. I'll have my mom drive me out there and back. Thanks, though."

"Just email the story to me when you're done, dear. And tomorrow, maybe we can work on getting some material for the paper's social media papers," said Myrtle.

The idea of Dakota working on social media made Sloan look much happier. He quickly made up a press badge for Dakota to wear while representing the paper.

Having accomplished her mission, Myrtle was ready to leave. She and Miles told Sloan and Dakota goodbye and headed out the door and nearly straight into Lucinda.

Lucinda gave them a smile. "Well, it's good to see you both. I was running a boring errand and just happened into you."

"Almost literally," said Miles dryly. "The Bugle office is so dim that we were blinded by the sunlight outside."

Myrtle said, "I just saw your husband a little while ago. He got me set up with an intern for my work at the newspaper."

Lucinda raised her eyebrows. "Really? I didn't realize he was helping out with the student newspaper at the high school."

"He's not, but he said that the current adviser isn't really invested in her role. Dakota is a student in one of Marshall's classes. Anyway, it was nice of him."

Lucinda looked pleased. "I'm not surprised he'd do something like that. He's always trying to find ways to help out his students. He's a great teacher, of course, but he's a real mentor, too."

Myrtle decided to change subjects. "We also talked a little about what happened with Jasper. Wasn't that a terrible thing? And poor Ezra for getting involved in it again."

Lucinda quickly said, "Oh, but Ezra had nothing to do with it. He was horrified when he found Jasper. I felt so terrible for him. I checked on him a little while ago and he's just exhausted from all this."

"I can imagine," said Myrtle.

"It was just one of those strange coincidences," said Lucinda. "Besides, everyone knows that Jasper ran at the park before he'd head off to work. He's one of those guys who really followed a fitness routine. Surely Red is looking at other people besides Ezra." She gave Myrtle a worried, piercing look."

Myrtle sighed. "As I told you earlier, I don't have any idea what goes on with Red's investigations. But I'm sure he must have other people he's talking to."

Lucinda's brow creased. "I hope so. Well, I'd better head off to the store. Good seeing you two."

They climbed into Miles's car and he drove back to Myrtle's house. He said, "It was nice of you to advocate for Dakota that way."

"Well, it was annoying that Sloan wasn't being very helpful. I felt I needed to step in and help her out."

"It sounded like he's very busy right now," said Miles diplomatically.

Myrtle snorted. "Busy drinking beer, maybe. He clearly just didn't want to take the time to help a young person discover more about an occupation she's interested in. Good thing there are people like me around."

"I wonder what her story is going to look like," said Miles slowly as he pulled the car into Myrtle's driveway.

Myrtle sighed. "I'm afraid it might have all sorts of errors in it. But it couldn't be as bad as Wanda's horoscopes and I manage to decipher those every week. I keep reading things online about texting doing a lot of damage to the younger generation's writing ability. But to me, that doesn't make much sense. After all, texting means that they're writing more. I think they're writing a ton more than we used to at that age, Miles."

Miles thought about this. "We wrote letters, though. Lots of letters."

"Yes, but we didn't write letters every day. We mostly wrote letters to absent grandparents or when we were deposited at camp or to send a thank you for a gift."

"True." Miles looked surprised at the idea that perhaps the teens of today might actually have more practice writing than he did.

"I will say, though, that their penmanship is practically non-existent," said Myrtle with a sniff. "Too much typing and not enough longhand." She paused. "Would you like to come in?"

Miles shook his head. "I think I'd like to cook myself some supper and just relax for a while. It's been a rather active day."

"Has it? Well, if you're worn out, you should definitely head home. I'm going to come up with some directions for Dakota on the social media updates for the paper—sort of a dos and don'ts type of thing."

After Miles drove away, Myrtle let herself in and surveyed her unusually-sparkling home. It was a testament to what Puddin could actually accomplish if she put her mind to it. She decided she'd do well to eat, too, and heated up some canned tomato soup and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich. The smells of cooking prompted Pasha to look into her cracked kitchen window.

"There you are! Sorry, but I can't leave the window open too high in this heat or my cooling bill would be crazy."

Pasha accepted this apology and Myrtle opened the window more to let the black cat in. She opened a can of cat food and scooped half of it into a bowl, knowing that Pasha was already getting much of her nutrition from decimating the population of small rodents that unwisely lived in the neighborhood.

After eating, Myrtle and Pasha went into the living room to watch a little television. Myrtle had decided that Pasha was a fan of nature documentaries, so she found one on the public television station. The program had lots of meerkats bobbing up and down and Pasha watched the TV with interest, occasionally swishing her tail.

Before Myrtle turned in, she checked her email and was surprised to see a message from Dakota with an attachment. Sure enough, the student had already finished her story.

Myrtle opened it, not having much hope that anything interesting could be made from the Tolly family reunion. She skimmed the piece and raised her eyebrows. Dakota had deftly changed the focus of the story from a mere piece about a cookout and family gathering to a profile of the patriarch, his war memories, the importance of family to him, and his hopes for the future for the Tolly clan. It was a well-written, amazingly eloquent piece. What was more, there was only one small, rather fussy, bit that needed to be corrected. Myrtle inserted a semicolon and that was the extent of her editing. She emailed the article over to Sloan.

Then she looked at her calendar. As expected, it had nothing on it, which had been the source of her recent grumblings to Miles. She noticed it would be Sunday in two days and decided she'd go to church. This was not the norm for Myrtle, but she recalled that Vivian Lawson was quite the church-goer. It might present a good opportunity for her to speak with her again.

Myrtle picked up the phone and dialed Miles.

"Hello?" asked Miles, sounding very groggy.

"Are you asleep?"

Miles said, "I believe that should be in the past tense."

"Hm. You must really have been tired out from our day."

Miles said, "I believe my sleeping had more to do with the fact that it's after midnight."

"Oh. So it is. I was just calling to see if you'd like to attend church with me Sunday"

Miles sighed. "You sound rather fervent about it."

Myrtle said with a sniff. "Religion demands at least a smidgeon of fervency, Miles."

Miles considered this somewhat startling statement from Myrtle. "It all seems very sudden. And I'm a different denomination than you are. We don't ordinarily attend church together."

"You make it sound like we have deep religious differences. When, in truth, I'm Methodist and you're Presbyterian."

Miles said, "Yes. But it all gets somewhat confusing when the Apostles' Creed and the Lord's Prayer occurs. I'll mention the Holy Ghost and you'll be stridently talking about the Holy Spirit. Then there's the whole matter about trespassing."

Myrtle snorted. "It's not as if we're talking about sneaking into Farmer Brown's apple orchard. It's trespasses."

"I prefer the debts and debtors wording. And I can't help but think you have an ulterior motive for all this."

She sighed. "Okay, I'll admit that I'm hoping we can see Vivian Lawson there. I recall that she attends religiously. No pun intended."

Miles yawned. "Fine. I'll agree to anything as long as I can get off the phone and go back to sleep."

Myrtle hung up the phone with satisfaction. Walking to church was possible but definitely a bit of a stretch, particularly in this heat. If she'd called Elaine and Red and asked for a ride, it would have opened her up to a bunch of questions about her intentions.

Her plan for Sunday set, Myrtle managed to get into bed and actually fall into a marvelous, dreamless sleep for hours.

She spent a very quiet Saturday at home. Considering how busy everything had been lately, it was surprisingly pleasant to be quiet. When she woke up Sunday morning, she made herself a good breakfast and worked her crossword puzzle. Then she set about looking for something appropriate to wear to church. Although she'd finally decided that slacks were fine for funerals, she hadn't quite managed to ascribe to that point of view for church. She also still strongly felt that dresses should be worn with pantyhose or tights of some kind. Rummaging through a drawer, she realized that her collection of nylons was not in the best shape. She managed to find a pair without too many picks and pills. Her church dress, a rather dour-looking black number with a grim bow at the neckline, looked exhausted. Myrtle wasn't quite sure why the dress was so fatigued considering the fact that it had such irregular usage. With limited choices, Myrtle made do with what she had available.

Miles came promptly at eight o'clock. "I figured you'd want to go to the early service and not the eleven o'clock."

Myrtle frowned. "I have no idea which service Vivian might like attending."

Miles, dressed very nicely in a suit and tie, frowned too. "I don't want to go to two church services. That might be seen in town as rather odd. It's one thing if you're a member of the choir—they have to go to both. People might talk."

"Talk? About two elderly people attending church? There's not a lot of material for them to gossip over."

"Isn't there?" asked Miles. "Won't they assume we're trying to make reparations for some sort of horrid sin?"

"Ah. Well, there's that. In Bradley, the townspeople are gifted with rather active imaginations. Let's just go. I'm thinking that a young woman with a young child would most likely want to attend the early service. Young children wake up early and they sometimes need late-morning naps."

"Do they?" Miles looked uncertain. "How old is this child we're talking about? You're making it sound like an infant."

Myrtle shrugged. "Who knows? It's definitely not a teenager, though. Let's just go. Otherwise, we might not be able to find a good place to sit."

Myrtle's idea of a good place to sit ended up being the balcony. The idea behind it was that she could see everyone from up there, at least when they stood to sing hymns. Which did, actually, seem to be a lot of the time.

"Lots of hymns," Miles observed gruffly. They were the only people who had ventured into the balcony, so it was safe to talk.

"Indeed. Although it's fun looking at the dates on them. They're really pulling out some oldies but goodies."

Miles said, "They're not exactly a collection of top-40 hits from fifty years ago."

"No." Myrtle peered at the small print of the current hymn. "Isaac Watts was the composer in 1719. 'O God, Our Help in Ages Past.'" She glanced around the sanctuary again. "Look! It's Vivian."

"She's pretty late."

"Well, she would have had to drop off her infant/child in the nursery. Whichever it is. That takes time and sometimes they cry. It makes it all very complicated," said Myrtle as if she was someone who knew.

There were more hymns, an offering (Miles chipped in since Myrtle's church purse had no money in it), the Lord's Prayer (Miles managed with the spirits and the trespasses), and then the sermon. It was actually a very good sermon and Myrtle and Miles were quite attentive during it.

Miles murmured, "He's got a rather lyrical way with words."

"Perhaps we should become more regular attendees," agreed Myrtle.

Miles wasn't willing to go that far. "I wonder if they post their sermons online."

"Everything is online. The whole service. You can either just listen to it or you can watch it," said Myrtle. She raised her brows. "You might be converted to Methodism, then?"

"I just want to listen to the sermons," said Miles stiffly.

Then, abruptly, the service drew to a close. Myrtle grabbed Miles. "Let's arrange to bump casually into Vivian before she has to pick her child up at the nursery."

Myrtle managed to hurry downstairs from the balcony, waving away the help a church usher was trying to offer her.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, there was another obstacle. It was Tippy, looking very surprised to see them there.

"Myrtle! Miles!" Tippy, dressed in a beautiful orange dress that no one else would have been able to pull off, stared at them.

"Hi Tippy." Myrtle bared her teeth in a smile. "We're in rather a rush right now."

Tippy didn't seem to absorb that point, being in shock at seeing Myrtle at church. "I'm just so glad to see you both here. What a treat. Miles, are you considering joining our church? I'm on the new member committee."

Of course she was. Myrtle looked down the church aisle to see what Vivian was doing. Fortunately, she was chatting with another church member.

Miles was shifting uncomfortably at Tippy's question. "I'm just here to support Myrtle," he said, shooting Myrtle a dark look. He added politely, "The sermon was excellent, though."

Tippy turned her attentions on Myrtle. "If you're able to attend church again, I can add you to the list."

"List?" asked Myrtle vaguely as she watched the conversation Vivian was in end.

"Yes. I'm on a committee for that, too. We have a church bus that travels around and picks up our seniors to bring them to church. Our drivers are excellent, certified, and all-volunteer."

Myrtle did not want to ride on a bus full of seniors to church each Sunday. And, with Vivian making a swift escape, she really needed to end her conversation with Tippy. "I'm sorry to have to cut this short, Tippy, but Miles and I were rushing out because we needed to find a restroom."

Miles looked very unhappy at the excuse Myrtle had devised. He shot her another dark look.

Tippy, who always maintained the delicacies, flushed a little. "Oh goodness. Of course. I'll just check in with you again, Myrtle. On the bus."

Myrtle gave her a tight smile and moved into the sanctuary with Miles following as Tippy walked over to speak with the minister.