The Finger in the Backyard

9:02 a.m.

I sit down to start working on a book cover an author wants when I realize that I forgot my coffee. Crap.  

9:15 a.m.

Coffee’s done. I sit down. Freddy, my little corgie, starts whining. I vault up. Last time I ignored him he left a puddle the size of Lake Erie in front of the door. 

9:24 a.m.

Dog peed in front of the door. Banished the dog to the backyard. Maybe he’ll start digging again? It’s a minefield out there, but it’s better than pee inside. Maybe I’ll fill in the holes one day. Maybe when my landlord complains? Batting my eyelashes at him normally makes him stop getting after me, so maybe not. 

9:45 a.m.

Banished the dog. 

11:30 a.m.

Made some progress. Dog is scratching at the door. Strange. Normally he’s good for hours. When I open the door he has some dirty fabric in his teeth. I put some food in his dog bowl and put both him and his bowl outside. I’m on a deadline and I can’t waste time. 

11:45 a.m.

Dog whines at the backdoor. I ignore him.

11:46 a.m.

I realize that I forgot to put food in the dog bowl. Oh, well. He’s stopped whining. I really am on a deadline. 

2:31 p.m.

I lean back, stretching and giving a satisfied sigh. The book cover is done and I’ve notified the author. I can start working on what’s next. My conscious intrudes and insists I make sure my dog is fed. And I need to get up and walk around. 

2:40 p.m.

My dog is chewing on something. Is it a stick? He normally doesn’t like sticks enough to lick his lips while chewing on them. I avoid the holes as I walk over to him, curious. 

It’s a…that’s got to be fake. 

I crouch down, seeing the blood on my dog’s snout. I want to snatch it out of his mouth but I also want to throw up just seeing it. 

I need to call someone, but my phone is inside. I run to the door, but I trip on one of the holes. I look down and wish I hadn’t. 

Sticking out of the dirt is a human hand. It’s missing a finger. 

3:30 p.m.

The cops are here. I look like a mess. I brushed my teeth after I threw up but I still taste vomit. I try to grab some gum, except I’m out. 

A pair of detectives pull up, summoned by the police officers who first answered my call. 

They get out, and I recognize one of them. 

He’s tall and thin and strides up to the door, his shorter colleague jogging to keep up. 

He’s got an incredibly long nose and hooded dark eyes and I remember that I tried to kiss him once after a blind first date and it didn’t go so well and I hoped to never ever see him again. His eyes widen when he sees me. 

I haven’t showered since yesterday. 

I can’t decide which is worse. Seeing him, or finding a dead body in my backyard. 

4:30 p.m.

They’ve dug him up. Even though he’s not in the best shape I instantly recognize him. I retrieve a photo for the police that the previous tennant left. 

It’s a couple in the photo. The girl, pixie-like and grinning, is looking up into the face of her boyfriend. The girl lived here before me. The boyfriend just got unburied from my backyard. 

“What happened?” I ask. She looked so sweet. Had she killed him?

“We’d like to know that too,” The tall detective says. Killian. That’s what his name was. He introduced himself as Detective Morrow. But I remember his first name. 

He didn’t remember mine. 

Just typical. 

11:59 p.m.

I can’t sleep. 

3:30 a.m.

She crawled through a window after I finally fell asleep. 

She held a knife to my throat. “How much did you tell them?” Her voice was colder than the metal kissing my throat. 

“I-I….” 

She shook me slightly, “He deserved it. He deserved it! Tell me what you told them!”

I kicked her away. She grunted when my feet hit her midsection. I scrambled away but she yanked on my hair. My knees hit the hard floor and I cried out. 

My blood pounded in my ears. I kicked. Scratched. 

“Get out of my house!” I screeched. I broke away and ran for my bedroom door. 

I thudded into a chest. I bucked against it, but whoever it was held me tight and said, “Drop the weapon.” More quietly, he told me, “Get behind me.” 

I did. 

“I’m not going in for this!” The girl yells. “It’s not my fault!”

“Get her good,” I say. 

“Will do,” Detective Morrow replies. 

3:45 a.m.

I am freezing. 

I sleep in a silky nightgown that I am very proud about. 

“Here,” Detective Morrow said. He shrugs off his jacket and holds it out to me. I put it on before I realize that I have a robe. 

I snuggle in to his warm jacket and breathe in. Smells like eucalyptus. Better than a robe.

I look back up at him and he’s blushing. Slightly. I snuggle even deeper inside the robe. 

“Do you have someone you can call?” He asks. His adam’s apple bobs slightly. Is he nervous?

“Yes. But I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure about that?”

“Well, the murderer already gave herself up, so not much more to worry about is there?”

“Paperwork.” 

I cock my head. 

He clears his throat, “There’s always the paperwork to worry about. My least favorite part.”

I laugh a little. It’s a joke, isn’t it? I look away. It’s really much more comfortable not looking at him. He’s far too attractive and I’m feeling far too vulnerable. 

It’s silent for a little longer. Shouldn’t he be going home soon or something?

“I just want to say I’m sorry. About the date we went on.”

“Look, I’m sorry I kissed you.“ 

“That’s a shame.”

I finally look at him. He’s looking at me, his face intent. 

“I was hoping we could have a do-over.”

I open my mouth to answer, but only succeed in croaking, “Why?”

He shrugs slightly, “Because I should have kissed you back.”

I blush. My neck, my ears, my face, it all turns bright red. 

Loud footsteps sound from outside my door and I jump, “Hey, Romeo, did you get her statement?” It’s his partner. 

I hide my face in my hands. 

He gets up to leave, and I spring up and rush to my bedside table. 

I tear a page out of my journal and pencil my number on it.

“Don’t lose it,” I tell him. 

He takes it, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and then he leaves. 

3:50 a.m.

I can’t sleep.

He forgot his jacket.

Two Weeks Later

I’ve never been a witness in a murder trial. I don’t do much. Detective Morrow is sitting in the back of the room. 

He smiles at me when I first go up. 

When we leave, there’s a moment when I walk past the girl who killed her boyfriend. I lean in, and whisper, “Thanks.”

She stares at me. 

I walk over to Detective Morrow, and when he takes my hand, he’s Killian. Just Killian. 

“Lunch?” He asks. 

“Yes! Murder makes me ravenous.”