A Body in the Backyard: #4

Chapter One

Chapter One

Myrtle's ancient yardman opened up the back door, not bothering to wipe his boots on the mat, and trampled through the kitchen and living room all the way to Myrtle's front door. 

Dusty was completely incompetent as a yardman, but this degree of sloppiness was a stretch, even for him. His wife, Puddin, was equally appalled. She was resentfully slapping a dust rag at Myrtle's coffee table when she stopped and stared at the red mud tracking in behind her husband. "Hey!" she shouted. "I ain't cleaning that up, Dusty! You get back here! You can clean up yer own messes."  

Dusty was reaching for the door handle when Myrtle bellowed, "Your shoes, Dusty! And, you haven't finished the backyard yet! It still looks like a jungle back there." 

Dusty glared at Myrtle, and gave a mumbling mutter in response. 

"I wish you wouldn't use tobacco products on the job, Dusty. For one thing, it means you'll die and then I'll have to find myself yet another sorry yardman. For another, I can't hear a word you say. It sounded like you said 'dead body,' for heaven's sake." 

He scowled at her before carefully pushing the wad of chewing tobacco to the side with his tongue. "Dead body! In yer backyard. Getting Red." 

Dusty yanked open Myrtle's front door and started loping across her gnome-filled front yard toward Red's house. Red was Myrtle's son, neighbor, and chief of police of the small town of Bradley, North Carolina. He was insufferable when it came to getting into Myrtle's personal business and he wasn't at all fond of Myrtle's hobby of crime fighting.  

Considering Dusty would have reported the crime in mere seconds, Myrtle had to act fast if she were to investigate this murder in her own backyard before being pushed out of the way.  

Puddin was crossing herself, although Myrtle knew her to be a lifelong Baptist. Her white face was especially pasty after the shock of the body outside. She also seemed to be muttering something under her breath-possibly a strange variation of the Lord's Prayer. She saw that Myrtle was on her way out to the body and hissed to her, "Close his eyes up, Miz Myrtle!" 

"Why should I do that? I can't interfere with the body, Puddin. Red will have my head on a silver platter if I do," said Myrtle. 

"If you don't close them eyes, he'll find somebody to take with him on his journey to the afterlife!" 

"Puddin, I'm done with your nonsense today. I swear; I never know what foolishness is going to come out of your mouth next. Tell you what. Just for today, you can pour yourself a small drink from my fridge. That should help pull you together enough to finish my dusting. I've got stuff to do, okay?" Then Myrtle quickly popped into her backyard. 

There, right in front of her azalea bushes and near her birdfeeder was the body. He looked to be a young man. Well, he was probably thirty-five or thirty-six. Was that considered young? It certainly seemed like it to octogenarian Myrtle. He was handsome in sort of a cheap-looking way, aside from the fact that part of his head was bashed in, which clearly was what put him in this predicament of being dead in Myrtle's bushes.  

Most vexingly, about a yard away from the young/youngish man, one of her favorite gnomes lay on his side with a chipped base. It was the Viking gnome with a fierce expression and a sword and who mysteriously held a pipe. Myrtle was certain that the Vikings didn't smoke. But, the gnome had a lot of personality. Of course, now it was a murder weapon and would probably be taken away and studied. A bad day for the Viking gnome. She frowned. On closer inspection, it looked like the side the gnome had landed on might be cracked and broken. She sighed. 

Were there any clues? No footprints, since it had been dry as a bone. It looked as though her bushes had been trampled through. Had the murderer hid in the bushes, jumped out, and walloped the victim on the head?