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.
“I’m so sorry, Peggy. Your father was a fine man. He actually was over here helping me out with some repairs just a few days ago.”
Peggy sniffed and Myrtle quickly reached for a nearby tissue box. Finally, Peggy said in a small voice, “Now I’ve lost both parents. It’s just my daughter and me now. And I just don’t understand at all. Why would somebody kill Daddy? Over here? What could have happened?”
Since Peggy seemed to be trying to work it all out in her head, Myrtle was happy to think it through with her. Particularly, since Red would be sure to cut their conversation short as soon as he realized she wasn’t outside.
“Peggy, did you talk to your dad at all today? Was he at the funeral?” She hadn’t seen him there, but maybe she’d just missed him.
Peggy gulped and struggled to contain her emotions. “I talked to him for only a minute or two this morning. He said he might not make it to the funeral because there was something he had to do for work.” She stopped, and a horrified look crossed her face. “And we were arguing. Oh no! Our last conversation was an argument.”
“Honey, it happens.” Myrtle walked quietly over to Peggy, putting an arm around her as they both looked out the window.
“He said he wasn’t going to the funeral, but that he’d be at the reception afterwards.” She looked up at Myrtle. “Do you think that maybe he was here to finish up part of the job he’d done?”
Myrtle said slowly, “I do think he was here to finish the job, yes. The only thing he hadn’t done was hang my planter back up on the wall for me. It looked like he’d come back with the right screws to mount it.” She paused. “Was your dad having a problem with anyone? Arguments? Disagreements?”
Peggy shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. Everybody loved
him.”
Myrtle hesitated. “But Red told me that your dad had an argument with Charles Clayborne before he died.”
Now Peggy looked evasive. “Charles Clayborne?” she asked, as if not remembering the name.
“Yes. The man whose funeral this is,” said Myrtle patiently. There had to be something there. Why was Peggy acting as if she and her father didn’t know Charles?
Peggy quickly said, “Of course. Silly of me. I guess it’s the shock. Yes, Daddy had an argument with him because he thought Charles was cheating him at poker. Other than that, I can’t think of any problems he’s had with anybody.”
Myrtle could hear Red’s voice near her front door. Shoot. He was coming too quickly. “Did you see your dad at the reception when you got here?”
Peggy shook her head solemnly. “I sure didn’t. I was looking for him too—to apologize for the way I’d spoken to him on the phone this morning.” Her voice started shaking again as she thought about their argument.
“What was it that you were arguing about this morning?” asked Myrtle as Red came hurrying through the front door, calling her name. “That is,” she added quickly, “I’m sure that it couldn’t have been as bad as you’re thinking, Peggy.”
“It was bad,” said Peggy, but stopped talking as Red came up to them.
“Mama, I thought I told you to come outside.” Red’s voice was tight with stress.
“I figured you’d want me to stay with Peggy,” said Myrtle coolly. “Surely you didn’t intend for her to be standing in the front yard with all the gaping masses.”
“Is it all right if I use your bathroom?” asked Peggy.
“Of course. Right down the hall. And there are clean washcloths under the sink if you want to refresh yourself a little. It’s been such a shock, I know.”
“Do you have an aspirin or something?” she asked, pressing her fingers against her forehead.
“Right in the medicine cabinet,” said Myrtle as Peggy walked out of the room.
Red gave her a stern look.
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Myrtle asked with a shrug.
“Has it occurred to you that there appears to be a murderer hanging out at your house?” asked Red in a hushed voice. “Maybe it would be a good idea if you stuck close to me.”
Myrtle put her hands on her hips. “Where exactly would this murderer be hiding in my house? Hmm? This isn’t exactly a mansion, Red.”
“Under your bed.”
“He’d have to push aside fifteen different boxes to hide under there. It just wouldn’t be an efficient place for a murderer to hide,” said Myrtle.
“While Peggy is in the bathroom, why don’t you fill me in? What did Peggy tell you?” asked Red. “Did she say anything about what might have happened?”
Myrtle reluctantly filled him in with what she knew.
Then Peggy came back out and Red said, “Now Mama, I’m going to talk to Peggy for a few minutes. I need for you to go outside and rejoin your guests. Lieutenant Perkins is out there talking to them now. Besides, I think the forensics team might want to be in your house awhile, too.”
Not that they were going to get any good clues from the house. Most of the town had been in there, sloppily leaving their DNA around. She grabbed her cane and headed to the front door.
It proved to be more interesting outside than Myrtle had thought. Lieutenant Perkins was busily conducting short interviews with the guests, giving Myrtle time to conduct her own without being frowned at.
She was immediately pounced on outside, as she’d known she would be. First of all, the old McKenzie sisters grabbed her arm.
“Isn’t it awful!” one of the elderly sisters said to Myrtle with gleaming eyes. “I simply can’t believe it. And isn’t this the second time now that you’ve had a body in your backyard? How terrifying!”
“We all have our own peculiar trials to bear,” said Myrtle. She was already pulling away because, if her past dealings with the sisters were any guide, they were heavy on drama and low on real information.
The older of the sisters dug her claw-like nails into Myrtle’s arm a little more, apparently for support since she wavered a bit on her feet. “I saw it, you know. I saw the body.” A satisfied expression crossed her face.
“I think most of the party saw it,” said Myrtle impatiently. “And, technically, I believe we should be referring to the body as him.”
“I mean, I saw him before everyone realized it was real,” said the woman in an insistent voice. Once she saw she had Myrtle’s attention, she continued. “I got to your house right after you did,” she said to Myrtle.
“We’d heard you had an open bar,” her sister helpfully interjected.
“Erroneously, clearly,” said the older sister, her voice heavy with disapproval.
So that’s why the attendance at the reception had been so heavy. It hadn’t all been Erma Sherman’s fault. Unless she’d been the one behind the rumor.
“When I came in your house, I looked around a bit. To get my bearings, you know. Find where the sandwiches were; find where the powder room was….”
“And figure out where the drinks table was,” said the younger sister with a disappointed sigh.
“When I looked outside—just wondering, of course, if there were possibly some additional refreshments outside—I thought that you’d had a fairly uncharacteristic lapse of good taste. We’ve all gotten used to small memorials, of course. We see teddy bears, balloons, flowers and flags all the time to commemorate an untimely death. But using a manikin to depict a reenactment of the scene—well, it seemed to me that Myrtle Clover had gone too far. You do remember my saying that, don’t you, Sister?”
“I certainly do, Sister. I certainly do!”
Myrtle said, “All right, just summing up this story of yours, you’re saying that you were one of the first guests at my reception and you noticed that there was already a body in the backyard when you arrived?”
The elderly woman’s thin face beamed at her. “That’s right!” She paused. “Is that important, do you think? Do you think the policeman will be interested?”
“I think it helps to pinpoint the time of death,” said Myrtle, finally managing to pull her arm away from the woman’s digging fingers. “I was starting to wonder if it had happened during the reception itself. Everyone was so distracted stuffing themselves with ham sandwiches….”
“And looking for the bar,” reminded the younger sister.
“…that I wondered if a murder might have taken place in full view of everyone and nobody even noticed,” finished Myrtle. “But it sounds like that wasn’t true.”
“What I’d like to know, though,” said the older sister with avid interest, “is more about how you discovered the very first body. Who exactly was this Charles Clayborne? And what on earth was he doing lying dead in your yard?”
Myrtle gave her best impression of a regretful smile. “I’d love to be able to share that information with you, but it’s classified. Besides,” she said, catching sight of Wanda staring at her from a few yards away, “there’s someone that I need to talk to.”
“Thanks for giving me that warning about putting Pasha down,” said Myrtle. “She’d have carved me up into a million pieces with those claws when all the screaming started up.”
Wanda nodded and smiled, looking down somewhere in the direction of her scruffy shoes. Shyness from the psychic? It had to be due to her being out of her comfort zone.
Myrtle continued. “So you knew? You’d seen the body out the window before you warned me?”
Wanda shrugged an emaciated shoulder. “Seen it in my head.”
Was Myrtle ever going to get used to this hocus-pocus stuff? “If you saw the death before it happened, why didn’t you let the police know? Red would’ve….”
Wanda gave a scornful snort. “Red would’ve patted me on the back and sent me off. Would’ve thought I was crazy or making stuff up.”
He would have, at that.
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“Besides, ain’t seen details. I thought I was seeing the other body again. Like a rerun. Didn’t know it was a fresh body,” said Wanda.
Myrtle glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot, then said in a low voice, “Tell me who you favor for the murderer. Have you seen anything in your head about how these murders happened? Any shadowy figures? People lurking in my bushes? A hint as to who did it?”
Wanda shook her head. “Wish I did. But there’s nothing.”
“All right. But you seem like a pretty perceptive person.” An understatement. “You were at the reception and might have gotten more of a chance to watch people than I did. Did you pick up on anything? See anybody acting suspicious? Hear any threads of conversation that might give us a clue as to who’s behind all this?” asked Myrtle.
Wanda looked at Myrtle shrewdly. “Yer in danger.”