I didn’t want to think it, but I had to admit the evidence wasn’t exactly looking good. A body had been buried under my deck – a deck that hadn’t existed until the previous owner who, by the way, had asked me to help burn a rather large leaf pile in the general location where Tor had dug it up. Of course, it could’ve been coincidental. Hope and doubt changed places the more I thought about it.

Then there was the issue of a bag of gold coins; money I was loath to part with. However, I was more averse to parting with my good name. Even if no one discovered my secret, I would know it. The Bible verse, “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches” had been drummed into my skull throughout childhood, and was now pestering me like a very determined mosquito.

I got up, washed my lunch dishes, and grabbed the leash to take Tor out for a walk until I could safely let him in my backyard again. But as I headed for him, leash in hand, he bolted, and knocked over my coffee table. Darn dog! Now I had a 3 legged coffee table – one I wouldn’t be able to replace soon at the same great price I’d gotten from Susan, my house’s former owner. I snapped his leash on rather more aggressively than usual. It didn’t take long for Tor to do his business. That was one good thing about my dog. He’s focused. By the time we got back to the house, so was I.

I called the local police and asked if someone could drop by. Good thing I live in a small town with a bored police force. Thinking I’d better make the living room presentable, I picked up the coffee table leg to see if there was any chance Super Glue could come to my rescue. Ha! No need! It appeared I could just screw the thing in. As I congratulated myself on this bonus and turned the table upside down, a slip of paper fell out of the leg. I should’ve known they were hollow. You don’t get much for five bucks. Weird, though.

Squinting, I peered inside the leg. Nope. Nothing else. I unfolded the paper. It said: Hypocrisy is the audacity to preach integrity from a den of corruption. – Wes Fesler. Okay. I’m not much of a sports fanatic, but why was a quote from him written down? And stuffed in the leg of my end table?

Sitting back on my knees, I stared into space, then quickly screwed in the leg and unscrewed the other three. I looked into their small openings and shook each one. The first two were as empty as an old sock, but another slip of paper fell out of the third one on my last shake. I barred my door to bribery, and knocked it to the floor. He’ll eat his gold in silence and bother me no more. Who wrote it? The former owner, Susan? I righted the table as the doorbell rang.

By the time I’d given sweet tea to the officer, told him and showed him everything, including the two slips of paper, I was ready for an old movie. I was also richer. Detective Timmons informed me they’d do a cursory investigation, but most likely I’d be able to keep the money under the ‘finders keepers’ law. That’s not really what it’s called, but that’s what it amounts to.

As far as Simon – well let’s just say after snipping some pieces here and there and filling some plastic bags with them, Timmons confided to me he suspected it was a fellow by the name of – O why should I spread tales? Suffice it to say that he’d caused trouble for town folks for a long time, including corrupting a number of folks who didn’t have it in them to turn down a dollar; and the whole town should be grateful someone finally put a stop to it. The coroner (who I suspect had been on the bullying end of the not so dearly departed) didn’t seem interested in storing the body after doing her thing and talking to Timmons. I’d made the mistake of calling him Simon, so she asked if I had a preference for his final resting place. Small towns. Ya gotta love ’em.

It’s been a couple of months since. Tor is free to roam the back yard again. I planted my garden and, for the first time ever, its blooms are brilliant.

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