A Body in the Backyard: #4

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Red was taken aback. "A reception? With...food?" 

"Of course with food! This is the South, Red. People want food when they're grieving. People expect food when they're grieving," said Myrtle. 

"They don't expect the kind of food you cook, Mama." Red and Miles exchanged grim looks.  

"I think they'll be delighted," said Myrtle. She frowned. "Are you trying to be ugly about my cooking again?" 

"I'm just saying that, unless you want a whole bunch more dead bodies on your property, I'd consider getting your reception catered," said Red. "Okay, that's it for me. Miles, I'll be getting back in touch with you soon I'm sure. I better head over to the station and fill out paperwork." He headed to the front door. 

Myrtle said quickly, "Better watch out. Erma has left her lair and it looked like she wanted to pester somebody." 

Red peered out the front window at the sea of gnomes. "You know, Mama, you're not exactly a prize for a neighbor either." 

"I certainly am!" 

"I'm your neighbor, so I think I'm well-qualified to give an opinion on your adequacy in that regard," said Red. 

"Miles, back me up," said Myrtle. 

But Miles looked like he was suffering a nightmarish flashback of some kind. Myrtle trusted it had nothing to do with her worthiness as a neighbor.  

Red said, "At any rate, it looks like Erma has given up and gone back inside." 

"Pasha is such a good cat," said Myrtle, pleased. 

"If you say so," said Red. "And Mama, I'm not sure what's going on with the murder in your backyard, but please make sure to keep your doors locked. We just don't know what we're dealing with right now. And for heaven's sake, don't play detective. All I need is for you to stick your nose into the middle of this stuff and muck up my investigation." He walked out the front door and strode down the front walkway. 

Myrtle hurried after him, thumping the walkway with her cane. "I don't make a habit of mucking up investigations," said Myrtle, making her voice as frigid as she possibly could. "As you know, I solve the mysteries. I help you out." 

Red shook his head. "Maybe you've been lucky, Mama. Maybe you've stumbled into stuff by accident. Regardless, you need to keep out of it this time. You only just finished getting over that really dangerous virus, followed by an infection." 

"What dangerous virus? You mean the sniffles?" Myrtle gave what she hoped was a careless, scoffing laugh. "It takes more than a drippy nose to take me down, Red." 

"It was more than a drippy nose. It got into your chest, as you well know, and you ended up with bronchitis." 

"Just a little cough," said Myrtle. This was all starting to make her feel grouchy.  

"Just a little cough, or another reminder that you're in your late-eighties? You're no spring chicken, you know. Leave the investigating to the pros." 

It was lovely being told she was too old to do things. 

Red's toddler son, Jack, bolted out of their house and saw the lawnmower that Dusty was packing up into his dilapidated truck. Jack was currently fascinated by anything with an engine. "I mow!" he half-commanded, half-begged his father, pointing at the beat-up mower.  

Red picked up Jack and gave him a hug. "Can't do it, buddy," he said, swinging the boy around and putting him back down again. "You're too little to mow the grass. But I'd love for you to help me out in another ten years."