A Body in the Backyard (7 page)

The dentist came over to politely say hello. He looked to be in his mid-thirties with a thick head of red hair. “Hi, Mrs. Clover. I see you’re not done yet, so I’m going to run over and check another patient and come right back.”

Myrtle tried to say something, but Pam stuck one of those sucking instruments in her mouth and she had to hurry to get her tongue out of the way. Pam blinked innocently at Myrtle, but she swore she saw a trace of vindictiveness there. Myrtle had one-upped her in their little verbal volley.

Myrtle quickly became more compliant a patient in the hopes that Pam would finally finish the cleaning, and she could have that conversation with Hugh Bass. Preferably without Pam in the room.

By the time Dr. Bass returned to the room, Pam was done. She seemed to have every intention of standing there in the room, too. Dr. Bass greeted her again, got Myrtle to open her mouth and close it again while he checked her teeth and the x-rays that Pam had taken earlier. “Everything looks fine, Mrs. Clover, just fine.”

Myrtle beamed at him and then looked at Pam. “Could you get me a cup of water, missy? My throat’s gone completely dry.” Two could play at the name-calling game.

Pam apparently didn’t take kindly to being called missy. “There’s a water fountain on the way out the door,” she said a bit sourly.

Dr. Bass gave her a surprised look. “Pam, if you won’t mind?  Mrs. Clover might prefer a cup. I’d get it myself, but I’ve got a bunch of patients waiting on me.”

Pam stoically trudged out on the errand.

Myrtle quickly said, “That’s good of her. I’ve had such a week! I guess you must have heard about the tragic events at my house.” Dr. Bass blinked at her. “The body in my backyard?”

“Was that in your yard?  I heard the story, but didn’t realize it had happened to you. Oh, that must have been a shock. I can only imagine.” Dr. Bass wasn’t looking directly at her.

Myrtle put what she hoped looked like a frail hand to her heart. “It was a terrible shock, yes. Dr. Bass, I do believe you knew the gentleman who was dead in my yard.”

Now Hugh Bass was the one who looked shocked. “No. No, I don’t think I did.”

“Didn’t Charles Clayborne grow up here in Bradley?  And aren’t you about the same age?”

 Dr. Bass quickly doubled back. “Oh, him. Yes, I remember now. He went to school with me. But I haven’t seen or talked to him for almost twenty years.”

“Really?” Myrtle tilted her head to one side and appraised the dentist until he shifted uncomfortably. “By the way, did you know that I’m investigating the murder?  For the paper, you know. I’m one of the reporters on staff.”

Dr. Bass said quickly, “Well now. That’s very interesting, Mrs. Clover. How nice for you to stay busy like that. Active minds and bodies are healthy minds and bodies.” He gave her a rather condescending smile.

Pam sullenly entered the room again with the cup of water and Dr. Bass looked vastly relieved. He said in a suddenly perky voice, now that his escape was assured, “I’d better see to those other patients now. Mrs. Clover, I hope your week ends up going much more smoothly. Your teeth are in wonderful shape, so that news should help get you on the right track again.” He gave her a quick wave and disappeared out the door, leaving Myrtle with Pam and a whole cup of water to drink.

Why did Dr. Bass lie about talking to Charles? 

The next morning, Myrtle was on the phone early. Lee Woosley was supposed to come by to do his repairs and she needed to get hold of Puddin to get the rest of her cleaning done. If she were going to host people after the funeral, she didn’t need to have dust bunnies chasing each other around the house.

As the phone rang and rang on Puddin’s end, Myrtle thought again how quickly she’d fire Puddin if given the shot at a decent housekeeper. But really, since Puddin and Dusty were a package deal, she couldn’t fire Puddin unless she had a guaranteed arrangement with a housekeeper
and
a yardman. Considering that both vocations were scarcer than hen’s teeth in Bradley, she had a feeling that she wouldn’t live to see the day.

As usual, Dusty picked up. When he heard her voice, he bayed his customary, “Too hot to mow, Miz Myrtle!”

“It’s not either. I don’t know why you always try putting off doing my yard, Dusty. You actually do a good job when you put your mind to it.”

There was grumbling on the other end. “Just put me through to Puddin, then,” said Myrtle with a sigh. Some days it was difficult to even try to communicate with Dusty. Finally, Puddin picked up. Myrtle said, “Puddin, I need you and Dusty back over here today to finish up the job you started. My yard is half done and my house isn’t even a fraction of the way done and I’ve got company coming over soon. What time this morning will you come by?”

She steeled herself for the ridiculous answer that she knew was coming.

“Can’t come,” said Puddin with surly satisfaction. “We’re on vacation, Dusty and me.”

“Vacation? You and Dusty?” This boggled Myrtle’s mind. “Aren’t you picking up on your house phone right now?” Vacation?  Puddin always flatly stated that they didn’t have any money at all.

“We won a trip from the grocery store. We was their millionth customer,” said Puddin smugly as if she’d planned it the whole time. “So we’re about to walk out the door for our free trip.”

This was just as ridiculous as Puddin’s statement that they were on vacation. The grocery store in downtown Bradley had been open as long as Myrtle could remember. It
was
a small town, so perhaps it did take eighty years or so for it to reach a million customers. It seemed highly unlikely, however, that they would be taking count that long.

“Here in Bradley?” asked Myrtle.

“No, in Simonton. They have the big store.”

Indeed they did. That would explain it.

“We’re going to Myrtle Beach,” said Puddin proudly. “Leaving today and won’t come back for four days. So I can’t clean your place. Good luck with the evil at your house and the bodies and stuff.”

“There was only one body and you know it, Puddin,” growled Myrtle. “Don’t think you’re getting off the hook. When you come back from the beach, I’m expecting you and Dusty over here immediately to finish the job. Besides, Dusty left his shovel over here.”

“We’ll get it later. Just stick it in your garage somewheres.” Apparently, that was the end of the conversation because Puddin abruptly hung up.

Thirty minutes later, Myrtle glanced around her living room and kitchen. It didn’t sparkle, but it wasn’t dusty, either. She’d dug out a long-handled duster and found the attachments for the vacuum cleaner. She’d done probably as good a job as Puddin would have done and with the minimum of stooping. Now the yard was a different matter. That grass was pretty tall and it was just going to have to stay tall until Dusty got back.

Now that she’d expended so much effort into cleaning, a third attempt at watching her taped soap opera was in order. Maybe she could just fast-forward through the completely unbelievable hospital scenes when those came up. She fast-forwarded the show until she saw Jim and Bob having a serious discussion about Trina’s involvement in the cult. She sighed in anticipation, snuggled down into the armchair, and promptly fell asleep.

The doorbell jolted her awake and she looked around her for her cane. She’d also apparently gotten molded into the armchair during her nap, and she was having a hard time getting out of the chair. There was a tap at the door and she hollered that she was coming, which wasn’t really the truth, since she couldn’t get the momentum to propel herself up.

Lee Woosley cautiously opened the front door and stuck his head in. Had she forgotten to lock the door?  Good thing that it wasn’t Red there or he’d have had her head. “Mrs. Clover?” His cautious look relaxed when he saw her in the chair. “Having a nap, were you?” He glanced at the television, “In front of your soap?  See, that’s what I’m looking forward to for retirement. Taking naps in front of junky shows on TV.”

He came in and Myrtle felt a bit depressed that she’d taught someone who was getting close to retirement age. Lee must be about sixty or sixty-one now. He was a spindly man, but a wiry one. His hair was salt-and-pepper colored, heavy on the salt.

Lee’s assumption that Myrtle’s day revolved around naps and television annoyed her, but she was still waking up and decided to let it pass. She needed this man to open up to her and if she started out acting defensive, it probably wasn’t going to help matters much. Myrtle gave a grimacing smile, “That’s right. Thanks for coming by, Lee. Here, I made a small list of the things that I needed fixing.” Of course, the list was on a table out of arm’s reach. She was still looking in irritation for the cane. How could the stupid thing disappear like that?  Half the time, it acted like it was trying to spite her.

Lee walked over and reached under her armchair and pulled out her cane, handing it to her. “Here you are, Mrs. Clover. Looks like it somehow slid all the way under your chair.”

“Thanks,” she said, finally pushing herself out of the chair’s too-clingy embrace. She grabbed the list and handed it to Lee, then said, “I’ll show you around the house. It’s all fairly self-explanatory, though.”

“Okay,” said Lee. He hesitated, then said, “You know, it looks like you need help with the yard and all, too. Your grass looks like it hasn’t been cut for a while. I know Red is busy—do you have someone to do yard work for you?”

Myrtle tottered for a second in surprise, then clasped her hands together over the top of the cane. “Lee! You’re…you’re not a yardman, are you? Do you do yards?” The thought of gleefully firing the resentful Dusty and impossible Puddin made her want to chortle with delight.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” said Lee quickly. “But I just noticed that it looked like you needed help. I could call around and see if there’s anybody looking to make some money on the side.”

“Thanks,” said Myrtle. She’d already written off that offer. There’d been a time when she’d had to piece together yard service among different men who needed a few extra dollars. It was even harder to get a regular schedule of mowing that way than it was to put up with Dusty. At least Dusty came regularly. The problem was that no one besides Dusty was willing to weed-eat around her gnome collection. It was a pity.

“Since I haven’t seen you in so many years, Lee,” said Myrtle, “why don’t you catch me up to speed. You’ve got a family?”

Lee hesitated. “Actually, my wife died some time back. But I do have my daughter, Peggy. And a granddaughter, too. My granddaughter is almost eighteen now.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Of course—I know Peggy. And her husband…let’s see. What’s his name again?”

Lee said, “She was married to Jim Neighbors, but they divorced a long time ago.” He shifted uncomfortably, as if the topic pained him. “But it looks like she might start dating the dentist here—Hugh Bass.”

“Really? That’s nice,” repeated Myrtle.

Lee was eager to move to other topics. Myrtle got the strong sensation that he was a very old-fashioned man with old-fashioned views on marriage and divorce. “And how is
your
family going, Mrs. Clover? Red’s doing all right, I guess?”

This seemed like it might make a good time to segue into talking about the case. “Well, Red’s all right. He’s real busy right now, though. You know.”

Lee didn’t seem to know much, actually. He cocked his head to one side and looked at her with a blank expression. “Is he? Why is that?  Those kids pulling fire alarm levers at the city hall again?”

Myrtle stared at him. He couldn’t be the only man in the town of Bradley not to know about the murder. So why was he playing dumb?  “No, Lee. I mean with the murder. There was a man murdered a couple of days ago. In my backyard, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh.
Him
.” Lee gave a shrug of a bony shoulder, but there was a ruddy flush working up his face and Myrtle knew he was feeling stronger emotions than he was letting on. “I guess that would be bringing him some extra work, wouldn’t it?”

Myrtle said, “It was the most remarkable thing, Lee. Here I was, minding my own business, and the yardman discovers a body nestled right out there with my gnomes. It was quite disturbing. Especially since I’d never laid eyes on this man before. Had you?  Red seemed to think you’d had some sort of argument with him recently.”

Now there was more reaction from him. His eyes narrowed. “I reckon that I did, Mrs. Clover. I didn’t know the fellow very well myself, but he tried to cheat me at a poker game the other night. My buddies and I play cards fair, and that’s all there is to it. He acted like some kind of card shark and stole money from us just as surely as if he’d picked our pockets. I beat the stuffing out of him and he deserved every bit of it, and more.”

“Did you know anything else about this man?  Other than the fact that he cheated at cards?” asked Myrtle.

“I know that he was a bad guy, through and through. I’m not crying any tears over his death and I don’t think anybody who knew him is. For a guy who wasn’t in town very long, he sure did create trouble,” he said.

“What else made him a bad guy?” persisted Myrtle.

Lee hesitated. “Just a feeling I have.”

“Apparently he grew up here,” pressed Myrtle. “Did you know him then at all?”

Lee’s lips were sealed, though. All he’d say was, “We’d better get on with your list, Mrs. Clover. I’ve got a couple of people to see after you. Besides, what’s in the past is in the past.”

But Myrtle knew, from her vast experience in life, that the past was rarely ever truly in the past.

Chapter Seven

Since Myrtle wasn’t completely satisfied with the result of her talk with Lee, she conveniently forgot to mention a few of the projects on her list. She was going to need an excuse to get the man back over to her house. He ended up surprising her by having done a very careful, thorough job with the repairs that she did give him to finish. The only thing that he hadn’t fixed was the planter that needed to be reattached to the back wall of the house—he hadn’t had the right screws. Red would be pleased, thought Myrtle as she watched Lee wave to her while carefully making his way through the maze of gnomes to his aging pickup truck.