They’d found a body in the garden. Muriel was sure that was important, but she couldn’t remember why. They asked questions, of course. But she couldn’t fathom why the body had been buried between the rose bushes, or, really, of what consequence it was. There were roses, there were flowering trees, bushes that gave off some kind of fruit, and a body. In the garden. Why all the fuss? And the men with their big shoes, trampling her grass, digging up her flowers. Harold’d have something to say about it, when he got home. Eventually. He’d been gone so long.