A Body in the Backyard (12 page)

Erma Sherman was leading the pack. “Did you know this many people were going to want to come by and pay their respects?” she asked with a grin as she pushed her way through the door.

“After you announced it all over the funeral I had my suspicions,” said Myrtle with a glare that went completely unnoticed.

The line of people stretched from her dining room table all the way down her front walk to the street. She had the feeling that by the time the people on the street came up to the table, there wouldn’t even be crumbs left. It all made her feel very grouchy.

Red, despite saying that he wasn’t coming to the reception, spent a few minutes there with Lieutenant Perkins from the state police. “Mama,” he said, under his breath. “What are all these people doing here?  Do you have an open bar or something?”

“Miss Loudmouth Erma blabbed to everyone at the service that I was hosting the reception at my house. I guess they all wanted some free food,” grumbled Myrtle.

“I thought people in this town would have realized by now that you’re not exactly the Julia Child of Bradley, North Carolina,” said Red. “I guess they think that all grandmas are fantastic cooks.”

Now she was ready for Red to go back home. Fortunately, he did because she didn’t have a clever rejoinder this time—the ham incident had left her with a lack of ammunition.

The problem with having so many people in her small house (well, one of the problems) is that it was hard to keep track of them all. She watched the people waiting outside to come in. They appeared to be quite fascinated by her gnome collection. If only her Viking gnome were still in the backyard!

Connie had been late leaving the cemetery and was one of the last people to arrive. As soon as she saw the unpleasant woman, Myrtle quickly made her way outside to usher her in. Someone like Connie could be useful for uncovering suspects. She was so full of praise for her murdered son, that a suspect’s face would likely show extreme distaste while she cooed over Charles.

“I thought the service went very well,” said Myrtle, unsure how to compliment a funeral.

Connie nodded tearfully, then looked around her at the crowd of people. “Isn’t it such a wonderful tribute? So many people came out to honor Charles’s memory. It really speaks to the kind of man he was.”

Myrtle had a suspicion that it had more to do with free food.

Once Connie was settled on Myrtle’s sofa and someone was dispatched to bring her a plate of food, Myrtle was ready to move closer to her kitchen to see if anyone was looking with diabolical interest at the little memorial she’d made.

She was waylaid en-route. “Myrtle!” crowed old Mrs. Babbitt, clutching her arm with her talon-like hands. “These ham sandwiches are absolutely delightful! Who made them for you?”

Mrs. Babbitt and her friend, Mrs. Cromley, waited with avid interest for her answer. They’d been on various church committees with her for years and apparently thought Myrtle wasn’t much of a cook.

“I made them. Every last one of them,” she said firmly.

Myrtle suddenly felt as if she was being watched. She turned to see Wanda behind her. The psychic had heard her claim to the ham and she raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

It was all very irritating. Especially since she didn’t seem to be getting any compliments on the other food she set out. And the church ladies’ food was all gone and only hers remained.

She couldn’t seem to go more than two steps without stopping. People were crowded into every square inch of her house. Bradley, North Carolina, was a tiny town—but when it was all gathered in one place, it sure seemed like a mob.

Myrtle heard an angry male voice behind her, but it took nearly a full minute for her to change direction to see who was talking and to whom. It was Silas Dawson, who was not dressed like someone who planned on attending a funeral. He wore what looked like yard clothes, complete with grass stains, and looked as if he hadn’t yet shaved. He was totally focused on his wife’s face. Annette, the nurse with whom Charles was supposedly having the affair, was still as teary-eyed as she’d been at the funeral service. She had her hands on her hips and her temper appeared to be rising.

“What are you doing here?  Don’t you know the whole town is staring at you and laughing at me?  The guy is dead and your affair with him was over even before he was dead—there’s no point coming here and making a fool of both of us in front of everybody,” he said, eyes narrowed.

“There is too a point,” Annette said, raising her chin stubbornly. “I’m paying my respects. Whether you like it or not, Silas, I had feelings for Charles.”

Silas gave a bitter laugh. “Feelings for him?  For that guy?  What are you thinking—that if he’d lived that y’all would have gotten married and had some happy little life somewhere?  Wake up, Annette. He was just looking for a good time. Charles Clayborne would have dumped you in another couple of weeks if he hadn’t been murdered first.”

“What do you know?” hissed Annette. “Why don’t you get out of here? You’re the one who’s calling attention to yourself, not me. You just stormed in here with your yard clothes on and started hollering at me. If you’re so keen to keep a low profile, why don’t you just leave?  I’ll join you back home once I’ve finished paying my respects.”

Silas’s gaze darted around the room as she spoke until it rested on Myrtle, who held it. He flushed angrily, turned, and stomped out of the house, pushing people out of his way as he went.

Myrtle turned back around to continue her trek to the kitchen and bumped right into Miles. He had a long-suffering expression on his face. “Really, Myrtle, sometimes you go too far.”

She was still thinking about the scene she’d just witnessed between Silas and Annette. “Hmm?  Oh, you mean the big spread of food?  Well, I wanted to make sure that there was plenty to eat here. Although I’m thinking there won’t be. Did you see that the line goes all the way down my front walk to the street?  I may have to pop some popcorn.”

They both turned and looked out the front door, which was wide open to accommodate the crowd of people. There was still a long line to the street with some people now perching on top of her yard gnomes to rest while they waited, feet and legs engulfed by the tall grass.

Myrtle frowned. “Some of those folks look a little heavy to be sitting on my gnomes. I hope they won’t hurt them. I’ve already had one gnome carted off by the forensic team and I don’t want to lose any more.”

“No, Myrtle, I’m not talking about the food. I’m talking about your little memorial out in your backyard,” said Miles.

“What about it?  I told you I was going to do it as a focal point for the reception.” She lowered her voice. “I was going to watch people’s reaction to it. Except there are so many blasted people here that I can’t even get to the kitchen to observe anything.”

“Yes, you told me you were making a small memorial. But I thought you were going to do something tasteful,” said Miles.

Myrtle blinked at him. “I did do something tasteful, Miles. What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what you did out there. It’s
not
tasteful, Myrtle. I’m not sure what alternate universe it would be considered tasteful in, but it’s not this one. I’m just hoping my aunt doesn’t see it or she’ll start making a scene.” Miles grimaced at the thought.

“What’s not tasteful about a few flowers scattered on the ground?” Myrtle put her hands on her hips, bumping a few people with her elbows as she did.

“Flowers?  Well, I
guess
there were flowers out there. It was kind of hard to see them considering the reenactment you created,” said Miles.

“Reenactment?  What?”

Miles sighed. “The body. The body that you put out there as a reenactment. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling everybody who’s asked me about it. Sounds better than to explain that you’ve clearly lost your mind.”

Myrtle grew very still. “But Miles. I didn’t put a body out there. Not for a reenactment. Not for any reason. I only put a few flowers out there.”

Chapter Ten

Miles and Myrtle stared at each other.

“You didn’t stuff a man’s suit and put a dummy out there?” asked Miles in an unsteady voice.

Myrtle shook her head.

“You didn’t ask someone to volunteer to be a body in order to reenact the tragic evening Cousin Charles died?”

Myrtle shook her head.

Miles took a deep breath. “Then this reception is over. I’ll go get Red. You make sure that nobody goes out there and messes with the crime scene.”

He dashed out the front door—it was more of a twisting, turning, pushing type of dodging dash—and Myrtle stepped outside into the backyard, closing the door behind her. She wouldn’t dream of tampering with the crime scene (well, not this time, anyway), but she did want to take a closer look at it.

It was Lee Woosley, her handyman. It looked as if he wouldn’t be finishing those projects for her after all. He appeared to have been struck on the back of the head with the shovel that Dusty had forgotten and had fallen face first—apparently on top of her memorial. How anyone thought this could be a reenactment of Charles’s murder was inconceivable. This time, there was no Viking gnome in evidence for one thing.

What had he been doing in Myrtle’s backyard?  What had the murderer been doing in Myrtle’s backyard—again?  And how could Myrtle continue missing the most excitement her yard had seen since Red and his buddies played kickball there?

Red would be over in seconds and he would be coming around the side of the house, not bothering with pushing his way through the crowded house. She stooped and squinted at the ground. There was no sign of any footprints in the dry soil. There hadn’t been anything left behind by the killer that she could see. A wallet with ID surely would have been helpful. Lee didn’t seem to be clutching a note with a scrawled meeting time on it—that would have been helpful, too.

But it did appear that Lee had been planning on going to either the funeral or the reception, or both. He was not in his usual handyman clothing, but wore slacks and a button-down shirt. He looked to be lying mostly on top of something. Myrtle peered closer and saw that it was a small toolbox—not the big one he’d brought when he came over to do her repairs. And there
was
something just barely visible in one hand. She stooped, then stood back up. Screws. Lee had come back over to fix her planter so everything would be perfect before the funeral reception.

Myrtle put her hands innocently behind her back as she heard heavy breathing coming around the side of her house. Moments later, Red appeared looking flushed and annoyed. Miles was right behind him.

They gazed silently at the dead man.

“Right on top of my memorial,” said Myrtle after a moment.

“Mama, don’t you think this is getting extreme?  Two bodies in your yard?  This time you even have a house full of guests.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m responsible for this, Red. If I were, I’d certainly have chosen a different time of day for a body to appear in my backyard. Preferably one when I’m around to look out the window and catch the murderer.” Myrtle was very cross at her failure to observe murder mere yards from her. “It looks like Lee came back with the right screws or bolts to hang my planter back on the wall.”

They continued looking at Lee. Miles cleared his throat. “Not to be pushy, but what are we going to do about the funeral reception. I feel mildly responsible for the guests, considering my connection to the first victim.”

Red rubbed the side of his face. “I’ve got to call Lieutenant Perkins and tell him we’ve got another body. They’ll need to get the forensics team over here. I should talk to the guests before they go and find out if anyone saw anything. Although I’m guessing that this murder took place while the funeral was going on.”

Suddenly, panicked screaming cut off Red’s calm instructions. She could hear Pasha growling and hissing inside. Myrtle yanked the backdoor open and saw Pasha launching herself at a shrieking Erma Sherman. “Get it off me!” she hollered.

“Leave Pasha alone,” said Myrtle in her old schoolteacher’s voice. She held out her arms and Erma peeled off the cat and tossed it at her. Myrtle crooned to Pasha softly.

“Whut’re you going to do?” grated a ruined voice behind her and Myrtle turned around to see Wanda.

“About what?” asked Myrtle. But she had a feeling that the psychic knew.

Wanda knitted her brows, looking impatient. “About the body. There’s about to be a scene. Ain’t the cop going to get us out of the house? It’s too crowded. Going to be a lot of pushing and shoving when the scene starts.”

Myrtle frowned at Wanda. “How do you know there’s about to be a scene?”

Wanda looked mysterious. “Might want to put the cat down.”

Clearly, she couldn’t put it outside in the crime scene. Myrtle elbowed her way to her bedroom and shut the cat in there, hearing Red’s voice calmly asking everyone to file out in an orderly fashion and line up on the sidewalk.

More screaming cut off Red’s calm instructions. She could hear Pasha growling and hissing from her bedroom, and was glad Wanda had given her a heads-up. She craned her neck to see who was making all the racket this time.

Unfortunately, it was Peggy Neighbors—Lee Woosley’s daughter. Myrtle hadn’t seen her and obviously Red hadn’t either, or else he’d have ushered her off to the side first.

“Daddy!” she gasped, propping herself up on the back windowsill as if not trusting herself to stand up.

Everyone gaped at her, and then moved, almost as one entity, to peer through the window into Myrtle’s ill-fated backyard. The mutterings got louder and louder.

Red re-established control with a roar. “Everyone out the
front
door
now
! To the front sidewalk and wait. Now!”

It quickly became quiet, and they all filed out into the front yard. Miles trailed behind.

Myrtle assumed that Red didn’t include poor Peggy in his order. Or his mother. After all, she was an octogenarian, for heaven’s sake—it was ridiculous for her to stand outside on a blazing sidewalk in the full sun after such an exhausting and stressful day. So she stayed inside and walked quietly over to Peggy, putting an arm around her as they both looked out the window.