Page 37 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"I have little legs."

"You have perfectly average-sized legs."

"I have enthusiastic legs."

Frank sighed.

"That's not a thing."

"It is now."

The gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I hurried down the garden path, pretending mostly to myself that I was simply a concerned neighbour welcoming someone to the area. Perfectly normal. People did that all the time, didn't they? Probably. I hoped so.

The delivery truck sat outside the cottage next door, its engine still rumbling softly while one of the delivery men climbed down from the cab carrying a clipboard.

It’s not furniture or boxes. Too much and too little space in the back. My curiosity stretched a little further.

"What do you think he ordered?"

Gerald looked at the truck.

"A body."

I blinked.

"Gerald."

"What?"

"You can't accuse the detective of ordering bodies."

"I wasn't accusing."

"You literally just said body."

"I was guessing."

Frank rubbed his tiny ceramic forehead.

"I miss when our biggest concern was watering roses."

The rear doors of the truck swung open.

I leaned forward. Just a little. The delivery driver disappeared inside. There was the sound of metal shifting. A latch.

A bark.

I froze.

"No..."

Another bark, louder this time. My entire face lit up.

"No way."

The driver's voice drifted out from inside.

"Easy there, big fella."