Murder at a Yard Sale (A Myrtle Clover Cozy Mystery, #22)

Murder at a Yard Sale A Myrtle Clover Cozy Mystery, Volume 22 Elizabeth Spann Craig Published by Elizabeth Spann Craig, 2023. This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. MURDER AT A YARD SALE First edition. May 16, 2023. Copyright © 2023 Elizabeth Spann Craig. ISBN: 978-1955395236 Written by Elizabeth Spann Craig. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen About the Author This and That Other Works by Elizabeth Chapter One “The hole is too deep, Dusty. Fill it in a little.” Dusty, Myrtle’s ancient yardman, leaned on his shovel and glared at her. “You done told me to make the hole deeper.” “Yes, but not that deep, Dusty. Pay attention! The poor tree will perish if you bury it. Its root collar will be under dirt.” Dusty appeared to be gritting his teeth as he tossed a shovelful of red clay back into the hole he was digging. Myrtle’s friend Miles, who was sitting beside Myrtle, winced in sympathy. “You might be wearing Dusty out,” he murmured. “Dusty might be wearing me out,” retorted Myrtle. “Every time he puts the tree into the hole, it’s either practically underground or it’s perched on a mound of dirt. There must be a halfway point.” “I kin hear you, you know,” muttered Dusty. “Nuthin’ wrong with my ears.” He narrowed his eyes at Myrtle. “Anyway, the most important thing is to water the tree. This ain’t the right time of year to be planting ‘em.” “I had no control over that, as I mentioned. I won the raffle for garden club and was presented with this wispy dogwood. I’m going to put all of my considerable energies into ensuring the tree does well. I’m very motivated. Besides, it’s a perfectly acceptable time of year to plant. I looked it up online.” “Fall is better,” said Dusty. “Plus, this is the same spot you had another tree. An’ that one died.” He put the tree back in and looked questioningly at Myrtle. “Now the tree is sitting up too high. Take just a smidge of soil back out again.” Miles looked uneasily at Dusty’s stormy expression. He said, “Let’s go inside for a spell, Myrtle.” “But we’re having a picnic.” Myrtle indicated their plates which held pimento cheese sandwiches and boiled peanuts they’d gotten from Crazy Dan, a somewhat unstable individual who was their friend’s brother. “We can bring the food inside.” Myrtle stood up and then looked at Dusty who was now covered with red clay. “I do have some food for you, Dusty. Pimento cheese.” Dusty spat into the soil. “Too exotic for me.” Myrtle stared at him. “I didn’t have you pegged as a picky eater. Puddin isn’t creative enough to handle a picky eater.” Dusty was now glaring at her again. “I make my own meals.” “That can’t be true. I’ve heard Puddin raving over the chicken pot pies she makes.” Dusty grunted. “Sometimes I eat what she makes. Sometimes I eat my own food, and she eats her own food.” “Hm. Well, to each his own. So no pimento cheese for you.” “Nope,” said Dusty. “I will take some of them boiled peanuts, though.” “Done. I’ll set them out on the kitchen counter in a bowl.” Dusty started shaking his head. “Gotta eat ‘em outside. If I track red clay into yer kitchen, Puddin’ll have my hide.” Puddin was Myrtle’s lackadaisical housekeeper. “Considering it would be tough for me to even persuade Puddin to come over on the premise of cleaning, I have to agree with you. I’d end up having to scrub the floor myself and at my age, the floor and I aren’t particularly well-acquainted.” So Myrtle put together a large bowl of boiled peanuts, and Miles stuck them outside on the bench where he and Myrtle had been sitting. “Are we eating in the kitchen?” asked Miles. “Let’s bring the food into the living room. We can watch our soap opera.” “I do wish you’d stop saying that.” “Why? It is our soap opera. Stop pretending you don’t enjoy Tomorrow’s Promise as much as I do.” It was true. Miles had, against all odds, gotten hooked on a show that included tropes like alien abductions, returns from the dead, and amnesia. “Perhaps it’s true,” admitted Miles. “But it should stay our secret.” Myrtle liked having secrets. “I’ll work on that.” She turned on their show, which she’d taped earlier. They tried to stay one day behind on Tomorrow’s Promise so that they could watch it whenever it suited them. When the show opened, there seemed to be a lot going on. Adelaide and Benjamin were having a terrible argument about going to the South of France. The argument was taking place in the hospital where Benjamin had just had brain surgery. “This seems especially dramatic,” said Miles. “Surely Adelaide can see their vacation can’t possibly proceed. Benjamin might not even make it out of the hospital.” Myrtle paused the show so they could discuss the issue. “But remember that Adelaide believes Benjamin is conjuring excuses to avoid spending time with her because he’s having an affair.” Miles raised his eyebrows. “Brain surgery as an excuse?” “Well, perhaps Adelaide is a bit warped. But Benjamin isn’t helping matters.” She hit play again and the show continued. As was the norm with the soap opera, the scene ended with Adelaide and Benjamin staring meaningfully at each other. Another scene started, this one involving a woman who’d been kidnapped and was being held for ransom by a masked bandit. There was a sudden, loud knock on the door. Myrtle and Miles both jumped violently. “Mercy!” said Myrtle. “Who on earth is that?”