Page 18 of The Body in the Backyard
“It tastes like a salad.”
“Now, what can I do for you…uh, three?” Alistair asked, glancing down at Burt as he slurped and snorted his way to the bottom of the bowl.
“We’re doing private security at some adult prom for rich, boring people,” Nick said.
“We’ve been invited to a black-tie masquerade gala tonight,” Riley corrected.
“Ah, the masquerade. How exciting to mix and mingle with the elite of Harrisburg,” Alistair said.
“Now I wanna go even less,” Nick said.
“We don’t have anything in our closet that’s masquerade appropriate,” Riley explained.
Alistair clapped his hands. Burt looked up questioningly from his crystal bowl, water streaming from his jowls. “This is myfavoritekind of favor.”
Riley nudged Nick and tilted her head at the slobber tsunami. He rolled his eyes, then oh so casually swiped what looked like a Burberry tea towel off the oven handle. “Is that a new expensive but cool thing?” he asked, pointing at the built-in bookcase in the dining room.
“What a good eye you have. Danny and I picked that up in Venice last month,” Alistair said, turning to admire the twisted black vase on the shelf.
Nick dropped the towel on the floor and swished it through the puddle with his foot.
“And look at this cheeky fellow we found at an estate sale,” Alistair said.
They followed him across the room and pretended to admire the miniature cast-iron chimpanzee baring its teeth in a demonic grin.
“Oh! Company, how ni?—”
The greeting came from the man Riley presumed to be Alistair’s husband, Danny. He was tall and a little bulky with pale freckled skin and salt-and-pepper hair. His sentence was cut short when his Birkenstock hit a puddle.
“Ahhh!” Danny went airborne and landed on his back with anoof.
They raced to his aid, but Burt got there first with his tongue lolling and front paws on Danny’s chest.
“Al? Why is there a pony in our kitchen?” he demanded.
Burt gave Danny’s face a hearty slurp.
“Oh good. You’ve met Burt,” Alistair said.
“You’re not takingus to some empty building to get murdered, are you? Because that will piss me off,” Nick said as he helped Riley out of the back seat of Alistair’s hybrid Lexus. The parking lot of the Krevsky Center, a muraled brick building on Sixth Street, was empty except for a dented minivan with a bumper sticker that readSewciopath. Burt hopped out and immediately jogged off to water a bush.
“I’m creatively solving your problem,” Alistair insisted as he led them to the back door of the colorful brick building. He produced a key from the pocket of his gray linen trousers and opened the metal door.
Burt muscled his way inside first.
“Don’t go investigating,” Riley called after the dog as she followed him into the building. It was dark, and the air had the musty tang of concrete floors and sawdust.
Alistair flipped a light switch, and overhead lights snapped on high above their heads. “Welcome to your VIP backstage tour of Theatre Harrisburg.”
Stacks of painted scenery flats and show posters leaned against studded walls. Clothing racks of period costumes were clustered in front of storage rooms constructed from chicken wire and two-by-fours. Along one wall was a trio of makeup vanities. Burt was snuffling his way through a collection of feather boas.
Nick gallantly pulled Riley behind him as he scanned the space for threats. “This place smells weird, like…history,” he observed.
Alistair waved toward a door nearly hidden on the black- painted block wall. “Follow me, my little ducklings. This is where you become swans.”
At the wordducklings,Burt raced to Alistair’s side.
“He’s definitely going to murder us,” Nick decided.
