A Body in the Backyard

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  Chapter Nine

  Myrtle finally found her keys, thrust one into the lock, and pushed at the door. The inside of her house was foggy with smoke. She muttered imprecations and hurried to the kitchen.

  Erma had a tissue over her nose and screeched, “Myrtle! Whatever you’re getting out, leave it! It’s not worth it! Save yourself!”

  It wasn’t as if the house was burning down. But the ham was not turning out the way it was intended to. She yanked on the oven door and clouds of smoke billowed out. What had made the thing burn? She’d only had it in there a couple of hours or so—it shouldn’t even be cooked yet. Myrtle frowned ferociously at the uncooperative ham, pulling it out of the oven and turning off the appliance.

  She turned to tell Erma that everything was once again under control and she was sure that Erma had other things to do. Erma, however, was already gone. Myrtle felt a niggling bit of worry that this might mean trouble.

  Myrtle studied the ham. Could it be salvaged at all? It looked like that glaze had burned for some reason. What if she cut off the glaze and then sliced the ham up? She hesitantly drew closer to the ham and examined it. It looked pretty dry and smelled smoky. But wasn’t there smoked ham, after all? People were always drooling over smoked ham, weren’t they?

  To her horror, she saw Red burst through her front door with a gaping Erma behind him.

  “Mama!” he exclaimed. “Is there a fire in the oven? Get out of the house!”

  “There’s no fire! Just smoke.”

  “Where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire,” said Red, opening up the oven door and peering inside. He coughed. “This smoke can’t be good for you, either.” He unlatched her windows and pulled them up as high as they would go. “Don’t you have a fan somewhere? Maybe we can blow some of the smoke out.” He disappeared into the back of her house.

  Myrtle looked irritably at Erma. “Did you have to get Red? He already thinks I’m completely incompetent.”

  Erma said, “Myrtle, you can’t play around with fire. Fire is deadly!”

  Myrtle glared at her. Next, she’d be told not to play with matches, and that only she could prevent forest fires. Although imagining Erma in a Smoky the Bear outfit was a nice diversion.

  But Erma was continuing on with her lecture. “It’s dangerous occurrences like these that make retirement home living look so much easier and better.”

  “Amen to that!” said Red, lugging in a fan and plugging it in. “What were you doing, Mama?”

  “I was cooking a ham for the funeral reception tomorrow,” said Myrtle irritably. “I guess some of the glaze must have burned off the bottom of the oven.”

  Erma peered at the ham. “No, it looks like the glaze on the ham burned. It should only be on there for like fifteen minutes or so. How long did you have it in the oven?”

  Myrtle paused. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “No way,” said Red, scrutinizing the ham as if trying to do a forensic investigation on it. “That ham was in there for at least an hour or more. It’s totally desiccated.”

  “I’m sure it was fifteen minutes,” said Myrtle. She was blessed with the ability to fib convincingly.

  Erma was shaking her head, though. “You were in Miles’s house for at least an hour, Myrtle. Maybe two hours. Although, I know you lose track of time when you’re visiting with him…maybe to you, it didn’t seem that long.”

  Myrtle rolled her eyes and Red seemed to be hiding a smile.

  “Well, at any rate, your ham is toast, Mama. You better be thinking of other options for your reception.”

  Myrtle sniffed. “This ham will work out just fine. It’s perfectly smoked. I’ll just cut off the glazed area and serve up the ham in biscuits. With plenty of spicy mustard.”

  “I don’t care how much spicy mustard you put on those ham biscuits, Mama, they’re still going to be totally dried out,” said Red.

  “Maybe you could use it like bacon,” said Erma, giving her hee-hawing laugh. “It might be about that crunchy.”

  “Here, Mama, let’s just throw it out. Then you can think of something else for this reception.” Red opened up her fridge and looked inside. “Looks like you’ve got a real nice variety of extra-sharp cheese in here.”

  “It was triple-coupon day,” said Myrtle.

  “You could slice that up real nice and put some crackers out and that would be one thing you could serve up. I’m sure the church ladies are going to be bringing plenty of food anyway,” said Red.

  Myrtle carefully put on some oven mitts and picked up the ham. She got out a roll of aluminum foil and wrapped it up with great care, then put it in her fridge. Red and Erma watched her. Red shook his head.

  “I think,” said Myrtle, “that serving cheese and crackers is just fine for a bunko game or for a children’s party. But I’m pretty sure that ham is an absolute requirement for funeral receptions around here. I’ll just hold onto that ham and it’ll be fine—you’ll see.”

  “As the town’s police chief, I won’t be party to you killing half the town at a reception. If you want to have somebody make some ham biscuits, I’m sure Elaine wouldn’t mind at all if you just watched Jack for her while she’s in the kitchen. Or Puddin could make them.”

  “Puddin!” Myrtle spat out the word as if it was sour.

  “Sure,” said Red, raising his eyebrows. “Haven’t you heard that Puddin is a fine Southern cook? People talk about her all the time. They even get her to cater some of their parties.”

  Myrtle wasn’t sure if it were more irritating that Puddin had never mentioned that she could cook or that Puddin was at the beach and completely inaccessible.

  “Puddin is out of town,” she said. She hesitated. “Do you think Elaine would mind helping me out?”

  Red slumped in relief. “Anything so you won’t serve that ham tomorrow.”

  “I’ll probably give some to Pasha. For a treat.”

  Red shook his head. “I thought you liked that cat, Mama. Don’t give it the charcoal ham. I’ll talk to Elaine, but I can’t imagine there’s a problem.”

  Erma, who’d been gaping at them both in her usual slack-jawed stance, jumped. “Forgot I’ve got to run to the drugstore to get my prescription for my toe fungus.” She bolted out as Myrtle shuddered.

  Red seemed distracted still, which always meant it was a good time to ask questions. “How is the case coming along? Have you determined any serious suspects yet?”

  Stooping to fan out the oven’s interior with a cutting board, Red said absently, “We have a few. Charles Clayborne might not have lived in Bradley, but he sure knew how to make enemies fast.”

  Myrtle decided it would be safer to affect a lack of curiosity and to repeat what Red already knew that she knew. “That poker player? Seems like he sure made him mad.”

  “Yes, Lee for one. Apparently, that Charles was something of a slick character and that extended into playing cards. I think the guy was a hustler—trying to wheel and deal and cheat and get money any way he could. I know he’s Miles’s cousin and all, but he wasn’t a great guy,” said Red.

  “Don’t worry about offending Miles. He couldn’t stand the man and isn’t fond of his mother, either,” said Myrtle.

  “Yeah, I can understand that. I had to talk to Connie Clayborne for a while and couldn’t wait to escape. She kept cooing over her lost boy and trying to show me pictures and talk about what a fine, upstanding young man he was. It was all complete hooey, you could tell. I couldn’t decide if she was trying to convince me, or trying to convince herself how perfect that son of hers was.”

  “So, I’m taking it that he upset other people in town, too?” Myrtle used an offhanded tone. She wanted to know what Red knew without making him suddenly clam up. The high-pressure approach definitely didn’t work with him.

  “He came in like gangbusters, that’s for sure. He was trying to sell something—some kind of fraud or pyramid scheme. Maybe somebody took the bait; then they had second thoughts and he wo
uldn’t give them their money back. Then he was after somebody’s wife and the husband wasn’t happy about it. Who knows what else he was up to?” Red shook his head. “It’s a good thing he got murdered because I’d have had to hire more cops if he’d stayed in town. He was a one-man crime wave, just waiting to happen.”

  It sounded as if he didn’t know anything about Myrtle’s dentist’s dealings with Charles. Unless, of course, the dentist had been the one who’d wanted his money back. But Dr. Bass sure appeared to have plenty of money and plenty of common sense—it was hard to believe he’d have been taken in on a pyramid scheme.

  “How’s Elaine’s new hobby going?” asked Myrtle with a smile.

  Red relaxed, putting the cutting board back and closing the oven door. “You know, this hobby isn’t so bad. With digital photography, she just prints out the pictures that are good. It’s real forgiving for beginners. It’s not as bad as when she was painting,and her paints and canvasses were strewn all over the house.

  And bad artwork was all over the house, too— artwork that Red and Myrtle had felt pressured to praise. They exchanged a knowing look with each other.

  “She’s real motivated with her photography,” said Red, looking proud. “Elaine even took Jack with her the other day and took some pictures downtown. And she told me that Sloan Jones is talking about using her pictures at the paper. That inspired her to take on even more.”

  “Good for her!” said Myrtle. “I’ll…uh…well, I’ll give her a call shortly. About the ham biscuits.” And to remind her to take those zoomed-in pictures at the funeral, just in case Myrtle missed anything.

  The problem, decided Myrtle, with a violent death in a small town was that everyone showed up for the funeral. She was sure that most of the people there at the graveside service didn’t know Charles Clayborne from a squirrel. They were there to be nosy and find out more details on the murder. Unfortunately, the person they wanted to get that information from was Myrtle.

  “Was it awful?” asked one woman in a low voice. “Can you even sleep at night, knowing there was a dead body in your yard? It gives me the willies just thinking about it!”

  Her friend nodded and several other people gathered around to hear what Myrtle would say. Although sometimes she didn’t mind being the center of attention, this time she was effectively blocked from being able to see what was going on around her and she wanted to hear the post-funeral service hushed chatting.

  “No,” she said. “Dead bodies don’t keep me awake at night. Although the fact that there’s a murderer on the loose gives me some sleepless hours. It should for y’all, too. Now, if you’ll excuse me….”

  Somehow, no one took the hint.

  “What did you do when you saw him out there in your yard?” asked another woman. “Did you holler? I’d have just hollered until the police showed up.”

  Red was standing a couple of yards away from her and shooting her an amused look at her mounting frustration. Obviously, he was doing a better job scanning the crowd for suspicious-looking people than she was. And Lieutenant Perkins from the state police was on the other side of the gathering, watching everyone from the opposite direction.

  Things went from bad to worse when Erma Sherman showed up again. “Did y’all know that Myrtle is hosting the funeral reception?” she brayed to the group. “Isn’t that nice! I’m going around making sure that everyone knows.”

  Everyone? But the whole town of Bradley was there! She only wanted the people who were close to Charles to show up. She needed suspects, not every nosy citizen in town.

  The service itself had been a bust as far as information went. Connie sat in dignified silence through the short service. She refrained from completely breaking down and from sharing photos from her purse with the other people under the funeral home’s tent. Miles had reluctantly taken a seat next to his aunt, at her insistence. The people who didn’t realize that Miles was somehow connected to Charles and Connie raised their eyebrows. Other than that, there hadn’t been anything particularly interesting. She’d hoped that her dentist, Dr. Bass, would have been there, but he was nowhere in sight, nor was Lee Woosley. So that made two of her suspects that weren’t even in attendance.

  Right before the funeral ended, she did catch a glimpse of Annette Dawson there—the nurse that Charles was supposedly dallying with shortly after he came to town. Annette actually appeared more upset than even Connie did. Her eye makeup was smeared in big circles on her face, and she kept trying to remove it with a tissue before crying again and making even more mascara run down her face. Tongues really would be wagging. Half the funeral-goers were watching Annette’s display of unrequited love as if it were a real-life soap opera.

  Another person who acted particularly upset was Lee Woosley’s daughter, Peggy Neighbors. Myrtle raised her eyebrows at that. Hadn’t Lee told her that Peggy was starting to date Dr. Bass? Why was she so upset about Charles Clayborne’s death?

  But as soon as the service was over, Myrtle became the attraction, much to her annoyance. Whatever else interesting that was taking place, was happening outside the sphere of the gaggle of busybodies that were crowding around her.

  “I’ve got to get back home and put the food out,” she said quickly, before someone else could fit in a question. She grasped her cane, half-seriously considering beating her way out of the gawking gaggle with the stick. Fortunately, the crowd parted before her and she was able to make her way out of the cemetery.

  Elaine was her ride. Myrtle yanked open the passenger door on the aging van and climbed in with relief. “Cackling hens,” she muttered.

  Elaine still had her camera carefully trained on the funeral-goers, clicking down the shutter regularly. “Hmm?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Just the typical mob of old ladies that you’d expect to see at any gathering in Bradley. I couldn’t get away from them!” said Myrtle. She turned and looked into the backseat, beaming at her grandson. “Hey there, Jack! We had a good time playing this morning, didn’t we?”

  Elaine said, “Jack told me that y’all played trucks while I put the ham biscuits together. I’m amazed you were able to get off the floor if he had you rolling toys around for over an hour. I know I usually have to pull myself up with the coffee table.”

  “Oh, these were special trucks,” said Myrtle. “Off-road trucks. They had the ability to drive up and down the sofa.”

  “Smart!” said Elaine. “I’ll have to remember to resurrect them the next time I play with him.”

  “Thanks again for doing those biscuits,” said Myrtle with a grimace. “I’d probably have been run out of town on a rail if I hadn’t had ham biscuits. Who knew how wild this town was about ham at funerals?”

  “It was no problem at all,” said Elaine. “I meant to cook something for Miles anyway, so maybe this can be from both of us.”

  “Did you get any interesting pictures?” asked Myrtle. “What did you see?”

  Elaine put the camera down and started up the car. “You know, I’m not real sure what I got. I mostly took crowd shots. So we might have to crop the pictures later to zoom in. I took a few pictures of Annette Dawson, mostly because I couldn’t figure out why she was so upset about Charles’s death.”

  “Oh, they were having some kind of fling or something,” said Myrtle carelessly.

  Elaine gave her a startled look. “How do you always know what’s going on?”

  “I’ve got my sources,” said Myrtle. “So was there anything else? I was hoping you got something good, because I got waylaid by all the old ladies at the end of the funeral and couldn’t see what was going on.”

  “You know, I did get one interesting thing,” said Elaine slowly. “There was this strange-looking woman there. And she was watching the proceedings with this amazing focus. I swear, it was like her eyes were burning through people.”

  Another suspect? Myrtle’s heart beat faster. “What made her strange-looking? What did she look like?”

  “She was su
per-thin and kind of raggedy-looking. I’ve never seen anything like her. I don’t think she had all her teeth, either. Her skin was sort of yellow. I could tell that Red had his eye on her, too.”

  Myrtle sighed. “Oh, that’s just Wanda. You know—that psychic out on the old highway heading out of town. She’s a relative of Charles’s and I guess she’s showing her respects.”

  “A relative!” Elaine pulled into Myrtle’s driveway and stopped to stare at her. “Then she’s related to Miles, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody so different.”

  “I wonder if she’s going to the reception,” said Myrtle with a sigh. It was a gloomy prospect. “Oh well. I’ll be busy trying to figure out who seems particularly suspicious. Hopefully the murderer will come by my house.”

  “If anybody else had said that, I’d have thought they were crazy. But coming from you, Myrtle, it almost makes sense. By the way, I put the ham biscuits in your fridge. You know I’d join you, but I think Jack is about ready for some quiet time. I’ll catch up with you later, and see how everything is going.”

  Myrtle bustled around for a few minutes, making sure her tiny hall bathroom was clean, that the kitchen was picked up, and that the food was put out. She’d barely set out everything when there was a tap on her door. Myrtle opened it and saw what looked like most of the town of Bradley out there.

  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 p
oint 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.”