"That could be it," said Gregory, sounding excited. "Now, all we have to do is find out who he knew in this area—or when he used to be nearer here. If it was a long time ago, it couldn't be anyone who'd just moved in. No, it would have to be someone who was in the area at least since he'd lived nearer to here."
"I don't think Hannibal would have invited him, if it was him. He was really excited about the celebrity judge, and I'm sure he didn't like him any better than the rest of us after he found out what he was like." The old man wasn't that good of an actor to invite Clarence on purpose, pretend not to know him, then suffer through his indignities all in the hopes of getting a chance to kill him later. No, that would be a bit too much to believe.
And it wouldn't be Fiona, if an old gardener's grudge was the reason for the visit, because Fiona had only started gardening to please Mary. She hadn't lived here long, either.
Mary, on the other hand, had lived here a long time—most of her adult life—and, by her own admission, Clarence had sought her out just to torment her. She'd admitted that, but not said anything about knowing him. Then again, if she was the murderer, she wouldn't admit that, would she?
Mary wasn't strong enough to kill anybody; he was sure of that. He didn't think she had a cruel bone in her body. But if she did, if she'd pushed down and hidden her anger until it reached explosive levels, enough to hit him over the head and kill him...she still wouldn't be able to move the body.
But Fiona would help her. Fiona would do anything for Mary.
He could picture it now: Mary's tearful confession, Fiona's grim determination to keep her friend from jail.
Oh, dear. I really hope it wasn't that!
Another thing against it being them: Fiona might be strong, but even with Mary's help, why would they drag the body farther than they had to? There were numerous houses that would be closer and easier to reach. Every bit farther you dragged a body, the more chance there was of being found out. And they had no special need to incriminate him, either. There were plenty of more viable options for a murder suspect, if it came down to it, and neither of them disliked him personally enough to take the extra risk of trying to incriminate him. It was too clever and too unkind for either of them to attempt.
No, Fiona laid zucchinis at his door, not bodies.
Feeling lighter, he turned his attention to other logistical problems. Whoever had convinced him to go with them, they'd almost certainly killed him near Abe's backyard. He'd won his victory and been ready to move on—till someone offered him another tempting target.
But who? And where?
Whatever went down, it must've happened near my home. Then my backyard was a convenient dumping ground, rather than someone taking an unnecessary risk to incriminate me. Could they have used a wheelbarrow? Or did they drag him by hand? It couldn't have been terribly far, either way, if they didn't want to risk being found out.
Maybe they were desperate enough not to care, but he couldn't imagine anyone desperate enough to incriminate him (and not do a very good job of it, either; he hadn't been arrested or anything), and it would take nerves of steel to drag or push a dead body very far, knowing all the while that you could be caught red-handed (perhaps literally) as you moved past other just as likely dumping spots.
No, it had taken place near Abe's home, and whoever had dumped the body had thought it was clever, maybe, but definitely convenient.
Are the police looking at my next-door neighbors?
He glanced at Gregory. He'd seen no indication that they were questioning him unduly. Perhaps they were digging into his past. Or maybe they were focusing on the other nearest two: Winona Winters and Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood. Not that they were the only neighbors, by far. It was all rather overwhelming, really.
At any rate, he didn't think Winnie was strong enough to drag a dead body, but perhaps desperation made one stronger. Or maybe she'd had the help of Rick, the gardener. Those two had seemed awfully close lately, but were they close enough to perform murders together?
Besides, had either one of them been in the area long enough to know Clarence? All Abe really knew was that Clarence used to live 'in the area'. And it made sense for him to know some of the other gardeners around here.
But nobody had said anything about it before his visit. Hannibal, a newer arrival, had been the one to invite him, not anyone he might once have known. Then again, that was no surprise. To know him was not exactly to love him, with that personality of his.
An old feud might have been enough to cause a murder. Though that seemed farfetched, there simply weren't a lot of other choices. If not, Abe couldn't imagine there was any motive at all.
Clarence had been nasty to Winnie, but he'd been worse to others, and she'd seemed to handle it well. And she didn't seem like a murderer, really. But there were those unpleasant rumors about her and her dead husband. Suppose Clarence had decided to throw in a few digs for her ears only, about how he knew more than she thought he did? Perhaps a bit of blackmail? But he couldn't really know anything, could he? Besides, there was probably nothing to know.
But if there was, if Abe had been wrong about Winnie all this time, then she would have a very good reason to murder Clarence, him and his poking-a-stick-at-a-cornered-bear idea of fun. And she'd have had fewer reserves or scruples about it than a first-time murderer, as well.
Would she dump the body in Abe's backyard? With or without Rick's help?
Yes. If she was cold enough to murder her husband and Clarence, she was cold enough to do that. Anything to divert suspicion from herself, no matter who landed in the soup. And Abe hadn't landed far enough in the soup to really be at risk of anything more than some stern police officers talking to him and a lot of gossip. Unpleasant, of course, but nothing that meant he'd be facing jail for life the way she would if she was a murderer and was caught. That was plenty of motivation to shine suspicion on him and create confusion.
What about the other neighbors? Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood—Lorraine and Larry—were not exactly fans of Abe's. They hadn't liked him from day one, they seemed to disapprove of the fact that he was probably gay, and nothing about him quite suited them. He'd never exactly come out to them, and they'd never exactly said, "We hate the queers," but they'd all taken one another's measure pretty quickly. They were homophobes and didn't like changes in the neighborhood; he was new and gay. It was the stuff lifelong neighborly irritations were founded on, rather than friendships or happy communities.
He sighed. He couldn't help who he was, and wouldn't try—not for them!
At any rate, they would have no trouble dropping him in the soup—and they'd been in the neighborhood for almost thirty years (they'd been sure to tell him that in a way that indicated that the Tone Had Certainly Gone Down Recently), so they could easily have known Clarence when he was more active in this area.
Had he actually lived here, or just been in the gardening community?
It would be interesting to know.
"We need to talk with someone who actually knew the man," said Abe to Gregory as he drove them into the city. "Someone who knows when he lived nearby, and if he had any special enemies."
"Don't you think the police will be on that already? And whoever we talk to will tell them?"
"I don't know. I haven't been in a hurry to tell them anything I haven't had to."
"Oh?" Gregory looked at him, eyes widening. "Do you know something you haven't said?"
"Oh, no, but I've kept all my neighborly suspicions to myself. I don't want to be the one who gets people into trouble for no reason. If the police suspect someone, let them do it on their own, that's my motto."
"But they'll suspect everyone till they find out who did it, won't they?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen them lurking around the neighborhood bothering everyone."
"Yeah. I live next door, and they've only talked to me the once. Oh, they did tell me not to leave town, but I don't think this counts, do you?"
"They actually told you that?
Why didn't they tell me that!" Abe huffed, jealous. "If I'm going to live in a murder mystery, they could at least do their jobs properly and warn me as well."
Gregory smiled. "Maybe you're less suspicious than I am."
"That's true. But if you killed someone, I think you'd just bury them for compost."
"Well, it would be a shame to waste all that organic matter." Gregory's eyes twinkled in a far too disarming manner.
Abe had to force himself to focus harder on the road. "If I ever disappear, they'd better dig up your backyard."
"Now, is that fair? I'd be much more likely to keep you in my basement and make you cook for me."
Abe giggled, far more than such a creepy statement should make anyone laugh. Perhaps it was the way Gregory had said it: sly and joking, but slipping in a compliment at the same time. Abe felt as giddy as a child when he was bantering with Gregory.
THEY STOPPED AND PICKED up some different papers on the way, and Gregory rifled through them and read the interesting bits aloud as Abe concentrated on driving. The traffic was snarled, so there was plenty of time to extract every drop of news about the murder before they arrived.
Clarence's death had been placed shortly after the time he'd left the hotel. He had not been killed where he was found, and blunt force trauma to the back of the head had been the cause of death. All of that was confirmed by each of the papers.
"Still no word on the murder weapon," said Gregory, flicking through the last one again. He licked his thumb and turned a page, and even that was distracting.
Oh, dear...
"And they're asking for people to come forward if they have any information. You'd think they'd be sick of the crank calls by now." Gregory looked up. "I don't suppose you heard a heavy body being dragged into your yard in the middle of the night?"
Abe shuddered. "How ghastly to think of sleeping through it! Perhaps I should get myself a dog for protection."
"Well, if dead bodies turning up round your place starts to become a habit, I'd think it would be better to move, myself."
"Yes." Abe thought about that. "It does seem like the sort of thing that shouldn't happen often, doesn't it? Unless I've moved to Midsomer by mistake."
"I don't think it's that bad. Not nearly as many nutjobs around here. I hope."
"Do you watch it, then? The police seemed to think it would be incriminating if I watched a lot of mysteries, and I'm afraid I rather implied that I didn't."
"Ha! They were probably just trying to put you on edge in case you had something else to spill. Sounds like you did, and that didn't work, though. I think everybody watches some sort of mystery show, or reads them, something like that. There's just too much content out there, isn't there? Somebody's watching it."
"So, you do, too?"
"I admit I mostly watch for the setting," said Gregory, a bit guiltily. "English countryside is really...appealing."
"Maybe you should go there sometime. Have you ever been?"
He huffed. "No, I'm not made of money. Buying this place and getting things set up is pretty much all I can afford right now. Maybe someday. But I'll need to have all my plants established pretty well, or else get someone to water them for me while I'm gone. And water them correctly." There was that fanatical gleam in his eyes again.
Abe decided not to volunteer. Killing Gregory's plants by watering them the wrong way would surely end their fledgling friendship. Or whatever this is.
He changed the subject. "Do you think anyone really suspects me? I mean, among the neighbors. It's not pleasant to think of being a murder suspect, or having people gossip about me, but I know I suspect some of them, so..."
"Really?" Gregory looked at Abe sharply. "Who do you suspect?"
Abe hesitated. It seemed so mean-spirited to tell anyone his thoughts.
"Go on. Aren't you going to tell me?"
"I-I don't know if I should."
"It's not me, I hope?" Gregory looked ridiculously offended, and Abe had to laugh.
"No, it's not you. I'm afraid I was suspecting—well—right now, I suspect my other two nearest neighbors. I feel a bit like a heel, but, really, who is going to drag a body any distance, dark night or not? I thought of motives for both, but I'm not sure how accurate they might or might not be. I'd really rather not—"
"Oh, go on! At least tell me about the Lockwoods and how they could be murderers. I know you don't get along with them any better than I do."
Abe hesitated but finally gave in and shared his thought process. Old neighbors, Clarence rubbing in his success, one or both of them meeting him at the hotel and asking to catch up, or have a further garden critique, or something of the sort. Then, something went wrong, or else they'd planned it that way. Perhaps even spread out a tarp to catch his body and not leave blood stains on the grass.
"Then they whacked him on the head and dragged him to my place," said Abe. "I know, farfetched, isn't it? But someone did kill him. That part happened. It didn't happen on its own. Someone did it and deposited him on my zinnias."
Gregory shook his head, but it looked like awe more than denial. "You made that sound really convincing. Sure you don't want to tell the police all of that?"
"No, goodness no! If it's wrong, I'll have ruined neighborliness forever, and really, there are a few simple things we could check. If we can find out where he used to live that he might have known them...if he did..."
Gregory eyed him speculatively. "I bet you've got a good one for Winnie, too, haven't you?"
"Yes, but I'm not going to tell you. Winnie's my friend. I feel bad enough as it is for suspecting her."
"Would I have the same theory, if I knew a bit more about local gossip?" Gregory was watching him closely, too closely.
Abe gnawed his lip, trying to think. "I don't... Maybe."
"Something about the gardener, then." Gregory looked pleased with himself for figuring that out.
Abe decided not to correct him, or he'd have to tell him what he'd really come up with, and he'd already decided not to spread that rumor—not even to Gregory.
"I think the best place to start is the local cable access people."
"Really? Well, you should have called ahead, then, shouldn't you? I mean, they're not going to just let anyone in, or are you counting on the element of surprise?" Gregory eyed him in a fascinated sort of way.
Abe waved his concern away. "I went to college with one of the volunteer film editors. He does something else for a living now, but he likes to keep his hand in. He does it for the love, you know. I always thought he'd go on to become some sort of indie hit filmmaker, but he found a better job. I think his one real triumph was the last piece he made in college. Although, who knows: his great project may finally come together someday."
He sighed, thinking of the boundless energy of youth and how optimistic they'd been, he and all his other friends, that they would take the world by storm. He wished he'd realized sooner that his boyish good looks had an expiration date. He wished he'd managed to lock down someone who would actually stay, and be faithful, before that happened.
Goodness, I'm being pathetic today. Buck up, Abe! You've having an adventure with a nice man, and you're taking him out to eat afterwards.
The pep talk worked, at least a bit, and he managed to put such dour notions as growing old on the back burner for now.
Ollie Osgood agreed to meet him for a coffee, and Gregory asked whether he would be quite so open with his answers if a stranger was there as well, hanging on his every word. "I can do my shopping now and stay out of your hair, if it'll go over better that way." He looked at Abe, waiting for an answer.
"You might be right," Abe admitted. He'd rather liked the idea of the two of them doing it together—a proper detective team!—but, realistically, Ollie would be distracted if Gregory was there. For one thing, he'd want to know if they were dating, how long, and, if they weren't dating, whether Gregory might like to date him. He was just Oliver's type, thought Abe sourly.
"All r
ight. I'll go alone, and you can do all your shopping. Please don't pick up stinky things to compost while I'm gone!"
Gregory put a hand to his chest and mimed shock. "Would I?"
Abe laughed.
OLLIE WAS LOOKING WELL, but at the same time aging no more gracefully than Abe was, which was something of a relief. He hated feeling old. Today he didn't; he felt like an adult meeting a friend he'd known since college. They hugged and kissed each other on the cheek. They'd always been artistic friends, and gay friends, and it was nice to remember when they'd felt cosmopolitan and worldly and terribly grown up. Now, he thought they'd been very young...but so full of life.
"Look at your face," said Ollie affectionately. "You're getting a tan. Suburbia must be good for you."
"Ah! If only you knew!" Abe leaned forward dramatically. "There was a body in my backyard—I'd hardly call that good for me!"
Ollie stared at him for a moment, eyes growing rounder and rounder. "It was you? You discovered—"
Abe hushed him quickly, because half of the coffee shop customers were already staring in their direction, ears flapping.
"Hush! Yes! And you must, you absolutely must, tell me everything you know about Clarence. I need to find out who did this so I don't end up taking the blame. You don't want to see me in...in the hoosegow, now, do you?"
Ollie's round eyes had begun to dance. "You? A murderer?" He guffawed. "Sorry, sorry. I'm under control now. Go on." He waved Abe elegantly on.
Abe narrowed his eyes and sat back. "Perhaps I won't, if you won't take this seriously."
The Body in the Backyard Page 8
