After Miles left, Myrtle did come up with a dinner for herself. She decided not to cook anything fancy but to stick with eggs. She read her book a little bit, but thoughts about the case kept intruding. She finally took out a legal pad and a pen and started jotting down notes about everyone involved with Luther's death and how they connected with each other. There were, she decided, a lot of lines between the different suspects. But then, it was Bradley, North Carolina. Everyone was connected somehow, if not out-and-out related.

A couple of days passed, more quietly than Myrtle liked. Elaine continued her chess game with Miles and it was interrupted once again, this time by some sort of crisis involving Elaine's plumbing. Myrtle believed that they must be acts of God working on Miles's behalf.

Finally, there was something for Myrtle to get out of her house for. Luther Cobb's funeral was that day at noon. Miles was to pick her up and drive Myrtle to the cemetery for the graveside service. In preparation, Myrtle put on her funeral outfit. She ordinarily had always worn a particular dress for funerals but there were such a high number of deaths in Bradley that the garment had become quite worn. It had been replaced by a subdued pant and top which was actually much more preferable since she could more easily wear her sensible shoes with them. When octogenarians were traipsing around cemeteries, it was smart to wear shoes with a certain amount of tread.

The only problem with any of Myrtle's funeral outfit options seemed to be their propensity to attract spills. She couldn't understand it. She'd wear the outfit for three hours, inspect it carefully, see no spots or stains, and hang it up in her closet for the next dearly departed. Then, like magic, she'd pull it out and a stain would be present. She was beginning to think there was some sort of malicious sprite that lived in her closet and soiled her clothing.

Fortunately for that morning's service, the funeral garments were only slightly stained. Myrtle took them into the kitchen and rigorously scrubbed at them until they were perfect. She'd throw them in the washer at the end of Luther's service. She tried not to wash them every time because she knew they'd get worn out before their time.

Miles was, as usual, punctual. He wore a dark suit, which never seemed to be spotted with stains. It made Myrtle want to sabotage it during the funeral reception.

"How is everything today?" asked Miles as he drove them over to Grace Hill cemetery, which was about ten minutes away from the center of town.

"Well, it's better because I have something to do," said Myrtle with a shrug.

Miles smiled. "I doubt Luther would appreciate giving you something to relieve your monotony."

"I was even thinking about playing chess with Elaine. That's how bad it was."

Miles gave a shiver. Then he decided to change the subject to a lighter topic. "Are you planning on doing any sleuthing during the funeral or reception?"

"Absolutely. I'm counting on Vivian Lawson being there. This should be a prime opportunity for us to speak with her."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "Luther's long-suffering assistant? But he fired her. I have a hard time imagining her wanting to attend his funeral service."

"Maybe she'll simply want to make sure he's dead. Or maybe she'll be there to give emotional support to Luther's wife. After all, Vivian has been involved with the family for a long time. I'm sure Dinah would appreciate having her there."

Miles was craning his head, looking around the cemetery for a likely location. "Do you see any cars?"

Grace Hill had been the premier burial spot in Bradley for the past 150 years. But it was full of old oak trees that blocked views. Myrtle said, "Try around that bend in the road. I know there are some more plots over there."

"I thought that was the old part of the cemetery. Shouldn't those plots all be filled by now?" asked Miles.

Myrtle shrugged again. "Not really. They're family plots . . . oh, you know the type. The family buys a slew of cemetery plots and then there's always room whenever someone kicks the bucket."

"Oh, right. Yes, I have the opportunity to be buried in several different states, I believe. I suppose it just depends on proximity."

They went around the next bend and, sure enough, there were about ten cars collected.

"Seems like a small crowd," said Miles as he carefully piloted the car near the gravesite.

Myrtle scanned the gathering. "I don't know. Considering how awful Luther was, this looks like a pretty good-sized group."

They walked past an ancient group of cement crosses, a couple of old gates marking various family plots, and up to Luther's grave. It was indeed a family plot with different moss-covered tombs proclaiming Cobb on them.

The funeral director had set up what looked like a few too many folding chairs. "Let's take a seat near the back," said Myrtle in a quiet voice. "I don't think they're going to need all these chairs and I fancy sitting down for this one."

Miles sat down next to her. "You usually don't mind standing during graveside services."

Myrtle said dryly, "It's the minister."

Miles turned to look at a grim-looking man with thick spectacles and long white robes. "What's wrong with him?"

"He seems to be in love with the sound of his own voice. I've attended quite a few services where he's officiated. It's been fairly miserable. For one service, I didn't have a seat and had to wander away and sit on a grave marker. I'm just not accustomed to standing in one spot for over an hour."

Now Miles looked alarmed. "Over an hour?" he hissed.

"We'll be just fine as long as we're seated. Let's see who else is here."

The limousine with Dinah Cobb and the family had yet to arrive. But there were a few notables in the attendees. Red was there, of course. He glowered at her when he spotted her and she gave him a cheery wave.

"I thought Olive Fuller didn't really know Luther," said Miles.

"That's right. Why . . . is she here?"

Miles gave a small nod of his head and sure enough, there was Olive, dressed all in black and holding a tissue.

Myrtle rolled her eyes. "I have the feeling she's here simply because she likes to know things. She wants to be The Informer in her friend group—the one who can fill everyone else in. Let's be sure to try and avoid her at the reception."

Miles said, "I guess Red is here to keep an eye on things."

"You know how Red is. He always thinks that the killer likes to attend their victim's funeral to gloat or something. I'm not sure he's quite correct about that. At any rate, it's sort of entertaining to see him at the services—it makes him so irritated when I'm around asking questions."

"And, for you, it's the questions that make these events worthwhile," said Miles.

"Absolutely. And there's Vivian Lawson, as I suspected. I definitely want to get the chance to speak with her before we leave."

They didn't have a chance to chat more because the soloist started singing to indicate the beginning of the service.

Thirty minutes later, Miles and Myrtle shared a quick look. The minister had launched into a full-fledged sermon by now. Even Dinah was starting to look restless and it was her own husband's funeral.

After thirty more minutes, there was a light at the end of the tunnel as the soloist sang again. However, the minister spoke again after that.

Fifteen more minutes later, the mourners were finally dismissed.

Miles was extremely relieved. "I was going to have to drive away to find a men's room if it went much longer," he murmured.

Myrtle carefully stood up, testing her legs after the long period of disuse. "At least we were sitting down."

"I feel like I've had a couple of weeks' worth of church."

"I can write you an excuse for church, stating that you've gone far beyond your allotted time," said Myrtle.

The limousine was already carting the family off to the reception, which was being held in the church hall. Myrtle and Miles climbed back into the car and followed.

Inside the church hall, the church ladies, clutching large spoons, were standing behind long tables filled with food, ready for the small group to file through.

Myrtle and Miles spoke to Dinah first. She gave Myrtle a hug and shook Miles's hand. "So sweet of you both to come."

They spoke briefly to the rest of the family in the receiving line and then headed off to get food. They piled their plates with comfort food—black-eyed peas, mac-and-cheese, fried okra, fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and lemon meringue pie.

Walking away from the food, Miles said under his breath, "There are going to be a ton of leftovers."

"The church ladies will box it all up for Dinah. They probably think that Dinah needs that much food anyway since some of her food was tainted with poison. I bet a crew of them showed up, tossed everything out of Dinah's kitchen, and plan to to replace it with this. Because they know their food is safe."

They sat down at a table and Miles took a bite. "Not only is their food safe, it's very, very good."

"Our reward for making it through the service," said Myrtle with a snort.

They ate while glancing around the room. Olive had spotted them and carefully sat at a different table.

"Problems between you and Olive?" asked Miles.

"Oh, she's preposterous. I got annoyed with her at garden club and I suppose she hasn't forgiven me yet. I'll enjoy the break from her presence." Myrtle raised an eyebrow. "Looks like Vivian is looking for a place to sit." She raised her hand and waved Vivian to sit with them.

"And how do you know Vivian?" murmured Miles.

Myrtle shrugged. "By virtue of seeing her around town since she was born. Small town."

Vivian smiled as she reached their table. The smile momentarily brightened her too-serious features. She had the look of someone who was aging quickly despite only being in her thirties. "Hi Miss Myrtle."