Edit to Death E-Book

Elizabeth Spann Craig

• Herausgeber: Elizabeth Spann Craig
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

This book goes from ‘tell-all’ to ‘dead men tell no tales.’  Retired English teacher Myrtle Clover is frequently asked to proofread for friends. So she wasn’t totally surprised when her friend Pearl asked her to take a look at her memoir and polish it up. But before Myrtle could pull out her red pen, Pearl was found … murdered. Now Myrtle and her senior sidekick Miles must track down the memoir and the murderer   before the killer makes any more final revisions.

Leseprobe

Edit to Death

A Myrtle Clover Cozy Mystery, Volume 14

Elizabeth Spann Craig

Published by Elizabeth Craig, 2019.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

EDIT TO DEATH

First edition. April 2, 2019.

Copyright © 2019 Elizabeth Spann Craig.

ISBN: 978-1946227409

Written by Elizabeth Spann Craig.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

About the Author:

This and That

Other Works by Elizabeth:

 

For Riley and Elizabeth Ruth 

Chapter One

“DID YOU BRING THE STUFF?” asked Myrtle briskly as she answered her front door.

Miles followed her inside. “You’re making it sound like a drug deal. But yes, I brought them.”

He laid down a page of cat food coupons on her coffee table. “I think you’ll find they’re all in order.”

“Excellent. I tell you Miles, Pasha is eating me out of house and home,” said Myrtle.  Pasha was a beautiful, feral, black cat who enjoyed spending time, on a limited basis, with Myrtle.

Miles, always one to keep a careful eye on Pasha’s whereabouts asked, “Speaking of, is she around?” He sat down on Myrtle’s sofa and she sat in her favorite armchair.

“Currently? No. But by my estimate, she should be jumping through the kitchen window in the next fifteen minutes,” said Myrtle.

Miles nodded as if indicating that he now understood the parameters of his visit length. “Shouldn’t you be taking the cat to the vet? Aren’t owners supposed to report unusual changes in activity and appetite?”

Myrtle said, “Pasha couldn’t be healthier. Her coat and eyes shine. Her teeth are tartar-free. The problem is that Pasha is too good at hunting. She has been out there, outside, relentlessly subduing nature for quite some time and now has eliminated her prey. There’s very little for the poor dear to catch now.”

Miles, who had seen evidence of Pasha’s successful hunting expeditions, shifted uneasily on the sofa. “There was certainly a fairly regular display of Pasha’s trophies. Bats, snakes, chipmunks, birds, lizards, shrews, and other assorted small creatures.”

“She’s a brilliant hunter,” said Myrtle proudly. “It’s just that her exceptional prowess is now creating issues. Anyway, that’s why she’s been hungrier than usual. I haven’t seen any little corpses scattered around and she’s been asking for canned food. That seems a direct connection to me. Thus, the coupons from the newspaper. And I’ve already procured Red and Elaine’s coupons, too.”

Miles nodded. “I foresee the next step is a trip to the grocery store to stock up.”

“Well, if I time the coupons with an upcoming sale, Pasha will be sitting pretty for a while,” said Myrtle. “And the sale starts tomorrow.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “That is a remarkable thing to know. The flyers for the sales don’t distribute until Wednesday morning. How do you know not to stock up now?”

Myrtle gave him a smug look. “I taught the manager of the store. Sometimes he gives me tips. He has to know what’s going to be on sale so that he can arrange for the staff to put sale items on the end caps.”

Miles nodded. This was no real surprise to him. Myrtle had taught English to nearly everyone in town over a certain age.

His eye lingered on a stack of papers on Myrtle’s table. “Speaking of teaching, why does it look like you’re grading papers? You have a red pen out. I’m having some horrible flashbacks.”

Myrtle shot the papers a look of disgust. “That’s because I’m basically grading papers. Sloan has gone off the deep end and the paper’s editing was non-existent. You must have noticed.”

“No matter how much I’d have noticed, it wouldn’t have been on the scale of how much you noticed,” said Miles. “Why has Sloan gone off the deep end?”

Sloan Jones was the editor of the Bradley Bugle and another former student of Myrtle’s. He was also her editor since she wrote a helpful hints column . . . and, when circumstances allowed, covered crime.

“I thought you’d have heard. Sally broke up with him. He’s devastated and completely preoccupied with moping around over Sally—to the extent that the paper has ‘there, their, and they’re’ errors, among other grievous problems,” clucked Myrtle.

Miles nodded. “And you persuaded Sloan to send the stories your way before he ran them in the paper.”

“Naturally! I couldn’t have my name associated with the paper in its current iteration. I have a position to uphold in town. He emails them to me, and then I print them out so that I can pull out my red pen. I don’t seem to edit as well with a digital copy. After I input the changes digitally, then I send them back to him. He’s incredibly grateful,” said Myrtle firmly.

Miles was less certain.

“Don’t you want a break? Those papers are fairly bleeding red ink.”

“And they should be! Take a look,” said Myrtle, motioning to the pile of papers as if it needed to be handled with gloves.

Miles carefully picked them up and sifted through them to keep them in order. “You’ve gotten carried away.”

“Carried away? With good grammar in the newspaper?” said Myrtle, looking at Miles as if he’d lost his mind.

“Some of this stuff needs to be corrected. I doubt Sloan intended for the possessive its here, for sure. But you’re correcting subjunctive stuff, too. Let’s put it this way, Myrtle. If Sloan is as low as you’re saying, he might cry when he gets this. You don’t want to be responsible for that, do you?”

Myrtle flinched. If there was one thing she hated, it was tears. “Well, I suppose it’s easy for me to get on a roll. It’s hard to see the stories littered with mistakes and not do anything about them.”

“I’d recommend restraint. If we head to the diner for lunch, you might be able to overlook at least some of the more minute transgressions. I’d think it would be very dispiriting for a newspaper editor to get revisions like that. Particularly if Sloan is already as upset as you say,” said Miles.

“All right then, distract me.”

Miles knit his brows.

Myrtle sighed. “Distract me from what I’m doing. Be entertaining. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

Miles looked pleased. He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a new phone. “This is what’s going on with me.”

“A phone?” asked Myrtle. Her gaze strayed back to the red pen and paper.

“Yes, but it’s a new phone. It has all sorts of bells and whistles,” said Miles eagerly.

Myrtle sighed. “All right, I’ll bite. Why not show me one of the bells or whistles?”

Miles stooped next to her. “See this icon on the home screen? It’s a voice recorder. It’s excellent. The recordings are clear even if the person speaking isn’t talking directly into the phone.”

Myrtle lifted an eyebrow. “And what are you doing with this voice recorder? Anything nefarious? Or at least interesting?”

“I’m recording my doctor visits,” said Miles proudly.

Myrtle nodded, glancing at the red pen again.

“You see, when I’m sitting there in a gown and the doctor is giving all sorts of information and instructions, I can’t pay enough attention to take it all in. All I’m thinking about is the fact that I’m sitting in a gown and how ridiculous I appear.” He looked down gratefully at his current attire of khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt. “Now I can listen to his instructions whenever I want.” To prove it, he hit the icon and the doctor’s voice droned on the importance of eating bananas.

Myrtle perked up. “Bananas sound good right now. Actually, food in general sounds good. So we’ll go to Bo’s Diner? I hear that they have a new menu item there.”

Miles put a hand to his chest. “Careful, Myrtle. I’m not prepared for shocks like that. That menu hasn’t changed since the 1950s, has it?”

“It’s the grandson. He’s wanting to make things a little more modern up there. Apparently, he’s even putting the diner up on social media,” said Myrtle. “He’s taking some sort of poll to see if folks are willing to try something new at the diner—and then diners are supposed to vote on what their favorite new menu item is.”

“I’m scared to ask,” said Miles.

“It’s nothing healthy, so it probably won’t appeal to you. It’s a pimento cheese dog with barbeque sauce.”

Miles made a face. “I’ll plan on sticking with some tried-and true-offerings.”

“Well, let’s head on out, if we’re going to make it back in time for our soap opera,” said Myrtle, standing up.

Miles flinched a bit at the words our soap opera. “Really, Myrtle . . .” But he was cut off by the doorbell.

Myrtle frowned. “For heaven’s sake. Don’t tell me we’re doing this again. I don’t want another record day of people dropping by to say hi.” She strode toward the door, cane in hand in a somewhat aggressive posture.

Miles said mildly, “Everyone was simply being nice. Checking up on you.”

“I suspect Red planted some sort of horrid rumor that I was under the weather, just so people would come visit me and tie up my day.” Myrtle peered out the window. “Pearl Epps!”

It wasn’t clear from Myrtle’s voice whether she was happy to see Pearl at her door or not, but she did open it.

Pearl beamed at her. She was a tall, thin woman of about seventy-five. She was always carefully made-up with lots of brightly colored cosmetics and wouldn’t have left the house unless she was dressed up. Today’s outfit was a floral dress with blue ruffles covering the top. She carried a large tote bag.

“Myrtle!” she said, reaching out to give Myrtle a hug.

Myrtle hugged her briefly before pulling back and gesturing into her living room. “Please come in, Pearl. You know Miles, don’t you?”

Pearl beamed at him. “I do, yes. Oh goodness, I’m not interrupting anything, am I? Lunch plans?”

Miles exchanged a look at Myrtle. “Nothing that can’t be put off.”

Pearl grinned. “You did have lunch plans until the doorbell rang. Well now I feel like a genius.”

Myrtle smiled politely.

Pearl lifted the tote bag onto the small dining room table and carefully unloaded a plastic container. “Lunch! Or supper, if you like. It’s chicken, broccoli, and rice.”

Myrtle said in a suspicious voice, “Has Red been talking about me? I swear he’s told everyone that I’m laid up in bed or something. People keep coming over . . . although you’re the first to bring food.”

Pearl gave a trilling laugh. “If he has, I haven’t heard about it. What a horrible thing for him to do.”

Myrtle said, “A typical thing for him to do. If he hasn’t, then what is all of this delicious food in aid of, Pearl?”

Pearl beamed at her. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Myrtle nodded, unsurprised. “Which is?”

Pearl hesitated as her gaze fell on the stack of papers. “What on earth is that?”

Miles said, “Myrtle has gotten carried away with editing the local newspaper.”

“I thought maybe a red pen had leaked out,” said Pearl slowly.

Myrtle asked, “The favor, Pearl?”

Pearl sighed. “Well, now I’m feeling a little anxious about it, but the truth is that I was going to ask you to edit my memoir. I was hoping that maybe you wouldn’t be too busy to take it on, but I didn’t know that you were editing the entire newspaper. Which, actually, looks like it might be a time-consuming job.” Again, her gaze slowly tracked over the stack of papers and the angry-looking red marks covering the one on the top.

Myrtle shrugged. “I don’t have an official role in editing the newspaper, although Sloan should certainly put my name on the masthead, now that I think about it. It’s just that he’s too distracted right now to do a good job.”

Pearl raised her eyebrows. “Because of Sally dumping him.”

Miles winced. He was always surprised how everyone knew everyone else’s business in small towns.

“Exactly. But I could scale back what I’m doing. In fact, Miles inferred that it might be wise to scale it back anyway,” said Myrtle. “That I was being rather harsh.”

Pearl looked more hopeful. “That would be wonderful, Myrtle. And yes, I brought the food to butter you up. I know you’re fantastic at proofreading. I can’t really pay you very much, but I can feed you.”

“Could I see the manuscript?” asked Myrtle.

Pearl eagerly reached into the tote bag again. “I’d hoped you’d say that. I brought it along just in case.”

Myrtle took a large bundle of papers from Pearl. She had tied a ribbon around them. Myrtle warily skimmed the first twenty pages or so to estimate the time commitment it would take. The pages were fairly clear of mistakes.

“I’ll do it,” said Myrtle.

Pearl clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful! You’ve made my day.”

Miles said, “What made you decide to write a memoir?”

Pearl turned her bright blue eyes his way. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? I used to think that memoirs were written by people with exciting and extraordinary lives. People who traveled and moved in interesting circles and lived through historic times. But then I started reading a lot of memoirs at the library and realized that the most interesting ones of all were the ones that hit closer to home.”

Miles said politely, “I’m sure it will be very interesting. You’ll focus on your family?”

There was a shadow that passed in front of Pearl’s eyes and she gave a short laugh. “You could say that.” She paused. “I may be giving the wrong impression about this memoir, actually. Or, maybe I’m letting you make assumptions about the type of book that I’d write.”

Miles reddened a little as if he’d been caught out making exactly those sorts of assumptions about the old lady in the floral dress with the ruffles. But Myrtle gazed thoughtfully at Pearl.

“You mean that this isn’t just a sweet tale about how your grandmother worked alongside your grandfather in the fields? And how your father picked himself up by his bootstraps to make something of his life? And so on?” asked Myrtle.

Pearl smiled at her, but this time the smile didn’t seem to reach up to her blue eyes. “It’s not that kind of story. I’m not trying to be deliberately mysterious, really.”

Myrtle said, “Well, you’re certainly supplying a teaser, aren’t you?”

Pearl twinkled at her. “Just to ensure that you’ll dive right in. But I think you’ll find the story surprising. What’s that new genre they talk about? Domestic noir?”

Chapter Two

MYRTLE GAVE HER A THOUGHTFUL look. “If you’ve written domestic noir, I’ll be checking out your book immediately after lunch.”

Miles said in a hesitant voice, “Pearl, I’m just curious. What made you write a memoir? Just that you’d been reading them and decided to try your hand at them? Or was it something else?”

A cloud passed over Pearl’s face. She said, “A very good question. The answer is that secrets are totally destroying our family. Especially my relationship with my sister. I don’t feel as if I can even look her in the eye anymore, and she has no idea. You know what a virtuous woman Nell is. I want to clear the air and prevent any more damage. I felt like a book would be the best way of exposing the secrets because I could include details and explanations. Maybe, in a way, excuses. I’ve titled the book Secrets. I’m ready to put it all out there and let the chips fall where they may.”

Miles cleared his throat. “And your family? What do they think of your doing that?” He had an uneasy look on his face as if he knew what he would think about that, if something like that happened in his family.

Pearl pressed her lips together and then said, “They aren’t real excited over it. But they haven’t thought it through like me. If they had, they’d know that this is the only way for our family to move forward and heal. For justice, in a way. The family had no idea that I was even finished with it.”

“They haven’t kept up with your progress?” asked Myrtle.

Pearl chuckled, but it wasn’t really a happy sound. “Not at all. They just thought that I was planning on writing a book, but that it would never really happen. Or that I’d start out and maybe get a couple of chapters in and then I’d give up on it or get busy or something. No, they were very surprised. I’m not sure what they thought I was doing on my laptop, but they obviously didn’t think I was working on a book. Maybe they thought my clunky dinosaur of a laptop didn’t even have the memory for a book. They have considered the thing as just a paperweight ever since I covered the outside with stickers. You know how much I like decorating things.”

Miles said, “What happened when you told them you were finished?”

“I had the whole family over for supper last night and announced that the book was done and that I was moving on to the next step today—which was having you edit it.” She blushed a little. “At least, I hoped to convince you.”

Myrtle gave her a wry look. “You were apparently pretty confident that you could.”

Pearl watched as Myrtle sifted through the papers some more. She looked uncomfortable. “Maybe you could take a look at it after I’m gone. It makes me feel anxious having an editor read it while I’m right here.”

“I don’t even have my red pen in hand,” said Myrtle, raising her eyebrows. Then she frowned. “Now Pearl, are you going to be really sensitive when I make suggestions and things? Should I be careful with what I tell you?”

“Oh no! No, I want the truth and I want the thing corrected.” She hesitated. “I know I printed it out so it would be easier for you to edit, but is it easier that way? Or should I have just emailed you a copy of it or something?”

“No, this is fine. I was just telling Miles that I edit better on paper,” said Myrtle. “All right. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take me to do it, but I should get an idea twenty or thirty pages into it.”

“That’s perfect. I feel so much better now that it’s in your hands. And I’ll leave you both to your lunch,” said Pearl, standing up.

Myrtle said, “What you’ve brought me is worthy of supper. Miles and I are going out to grab lunch and then tonight I won’t have to cook because of the lovely casserole you brought. It’s the perfect day.”

Pearl smiled at her and then hesitated. “I might check in with you later. Just see what your first impressions are.”

“Of course. I’m not sure how far in I’ll be,” said Myrtle. She was starting to wonder if Pearl was going to be one of those who liked to hover.

“Right. Okay, well, thanks again.”

She left and Myrtle said to Miles, “Let’s head over to Bo’s Diner before any more people come in. Just let me stick this in the fridge.”

They were walking to the front door when Pasha’s face appeared in the front window. “Hungry again,” said Myrtle, shaking her head.

“Can’t she wait until we get back? We won’t be very long if we’re going to come back in time for Tomorrow’s Promise,” said Miles.

“I’ll just open the window in the front and the back one in the kitchen. Thank goodness it hasn’t been buggy outside this year. I’ve had to pop the screens off half my windows to allow Pasha egress,” said Myrtle.

Bo’s Diner was thankfully not as crowded as it usually was. And it was only minutes until they’d received their food.

Miles cast a wary eye on Myrtle’s pimento cheese dog with barbeque sauce. “What does that odd concoction taste like?”

Myrtle took a thoughtful bite. “Actually, it’s delicious. Bacon, tomato, pimento cheese, barbeque sauce, hot dog—what’s not to like?”

Miles shuddered. “It would end up chasing me all night long when I was trying to sleep.”

“Only because you have a very delicate digestive system,” said Myrtle. “You certainly won’t have to worry about your salad chasing you around. That’s a very mild-mannered menu item and the toppings look particularly wimpy today.”

Miles said, “We can’t all have cast-iron stomachs. On other topics, what did you make of Pearl? Didn’t you think that was a sort of weird conversation?”

Myrtle said, “It was weird. First off, I never would have seen Pearl Prentiss Epps writing a memoir of any kind. I mean, she’s sharp as a tack, but I don’t picture her as being introspective enough to write her life story. Secondly, I’d have imagined that any memoir that Pearl wrote would be something about her family tree—the story of her family a couple of generations ago, and then her upbringing.”

Miles nodded. “Like you mentioned—her family had come from nothing, and through hard work had made themselves a good life in Bradley.”

“Precisely. But this seemed like a completely different project. She wasn’t nearly as relaxed as she had made out,” said Myrtle.

Miles thought about this. “She seemed relaxed to me. To me, it just seemed like the whole thing was very orchestrated: bringing the food and the manuscript in the tote bag, etc. She certainly was determined to have you help her out.”

“Determined and ill at ease. Pearl wanted to get a reaction from me right away, remember? And she might have been smiling, but underneath that, she seemed very tense.”

“Did you have a first impression of the memoir?” asked Miles.

Myrtle shrugged. “I only glanced through it to make sure that there weren’t a lot of egregious errors on every page. If there had been, I’d have had to ask for more money and more time.”

“You didn’t ask for any money,” said Miles.

“Yes, but that’s because she’s definitely going to give me something. It won’t be enough for editing an entire book, but it won’t be nothing. I know Pearl—she’ll make it right,” said Myrtle.

Miles said, “At any rate, Red will be pleased. That looked like a huge manuscript. It should keep you busy and out of trouble.”

Myrtle said, “Red has been so busy that he’s not even paying any attention to what I’m doing. Aside from sending people over to harass me.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “That’s a change. Ordinarily, he’s on top of whatever you’re up to.”

“Oh, Jack’s been especially active. He’s such a brilliant little boy, you know.”

“I know,” said Miles quickly, as if hoping to head off Myrtle from cataloging Jack’s many areas of genius.

“He has a mind like a steel trap,” said Myrtle proudly. “He figured out how to work the locks on the door and Red had to get deadbolts put in so they could keep Jack in the house. Jack would push the stool over to the door, fiddle with the locks, and let himself out. He came over here twice, the little dear.”

“I bet that has kept Red busy,” said Miles.

“And Elaine has been keeping him on his toes, too,” said Myrtle.

“She’s not trying that healthy cooking hobby again, is she?” asked Miles with a shudder. “I like healthy food and what she was preparing even scared me.”

“No, she’s moved on to another hobby. Photography,” said Myrtle.

“Hasn’t she tried photography before?” asked Miles, crinkling his forehead.

“Yes, but she’s trying it again. She felt badly because she had all of this expensive photographic equipment and then abandoned the hobby,” said Myrtle. “Sloan is keeping her busy taking pictures for the newspaper. Sometimes, she takes Jack along with her.”

Miles said, “What kind of photojournalism assignments is Sloan sending her on?”

“I suspect that Sloan is just trying to keep her busy as a favor to Red. Unfortunately, Elaine isn’t the best photographer ever. She took photos at Gemma Cook’s 100th birthday. I suppose a handful were okay,” said Myrtle in an unconvinced voice.

Miles said, “Well, it’s hard to look one’s best when one is turning 100. Perhaps the fault doesn’t lie all on Elaine’s side.”

“It would have helped things if Elaine’s thumb hadn’t appeared in most of the pictures,” said Myrtle.

“Ah.”

Myrtle said, “Anyway, that’s the kind of stuff Sloan is sending her on. So the fact of the matter is that Red has been very busy and Elaine has been very busy. You’ve been rather busy, yourself, experimenting with your phone and whatnot.”

Miles said, “Why do I have the feeling a big statement is about to follow?”

Myrtle said sternly, “Because I haven’t had very many opportunities to get rides from any of you. I have been walking into town so much that I feel as if I’ve been training for a marathon.”

“Do they have walking marathons?” mused Miles.

“That’s why I’ll be talking with Boone Epps about used cars,” said Myrtle in a satisfied voice.

Miles stared at her. “But you haven’t had a car in ages. Not since I’ve moved here.”

“Exactly. I didn’t need one, either. But now I’d like the convenience of being able to hop into a car and drive somewhere without asking someone for a ride. Someone who’s too busy to give me one,” said Myrtle.

Miles said, “Well, if you wanted to get Red’s attention, I’m sure this will be the way to do it. I doubt he wants you driving around.”

“That’s because he’s ageist. I’m the safest driver in Bradley,” said Myrtle.

“Because you drive twenty miles an hour,” said Miles.

“There’s no reason to rush,” sniffed Myrtle.

They finished their meals and spoke to a few people on the way out. Then Miles drove back to Myrtle’s house.

Myrtle unlocked the door and Miles walked over to pick up the remote. “Just in time for the show,” he said.

Myrtle nodded absently. She stared at the table. “Where is Pearl’s manuscript?”

“The manuscript? You put it on the table.” Miles turned on the television and the dramatic theme music for Tomorrow’s Promise blared.

“Mute that thing,” grouched Myrtle.

“The show?” Miles frowned at her. “Wasn’t it the whole reason we didn’t order pie at Bo’s Diner?”

Myrtle glared at him and Miles muted the show.

Myrtle said, “Did you move it?”

“Move what? The manuscript? I didn’t even touch the thing,” said Miles.

Myrtle stood in the living room and slowly turned to see every corner of the small room.

Miles said, “Maybe you wandered into the kitchen with it.” Now he stood up and walked over to Myrtle, staring at the spot on the table where the manuscript should have been.

“Miles, the only time I went into the kitchen, I was putting Pearl’s food into the fridge. I wouldn’t have lugged a seven- or eight-pound manuscript into the kitchen with me,” said Myrtle.

They stared at each other.

“Your windows are all open,” said Miles slowly.

Myrtle frowned. “Do you think that maybe Pearl had second thoughts about having me look at it, after all? That maybe she started considering the impact her memoir might have on her family?”

Miles shook his head. “No way. She was clearly sold on the idea of putting family secrets out there. She even thought that the book would solve problems by forcing them out in the open.”

Myrtle nodded. “Besides, Pearl would just call me and tell me she’d changed her mind. She wouldn’t break into my house and take the thing. Seriously. A seventy-something year-old woman climbing through my windows?”

Miles said, “But she apparently told her family last night that she was taking the manuscript to the next stop on its publication journey—editing.”

Myrtle fumbled for her phone. “I’m calling Pearl.”

She found the number in her contacts, dialed it, and waited. “She’s not answering.”