I woke up with the strong belief that a little sun on my face would take away the too-much-gin pain behind my eyeballs. So far, I had been half-right. If I squinted with the left eye closed, I didn't hurt as much.

I found a button-down shirt left over from my professional attire-wearing days, a clean pair of jeans, and a pair of tassel loafers. Socks were too formal for my planned activities. Having gotten myself presentable for snooping around my yard, I fixed an omelet, took it and a large glass of milk out to the deck, sat on the step and tried to develop a plan.

If there?s one thing I?ve learned in the last two weeks, it?s this: that murder is really no big deal. It?s just a boundary, meaningless and arbitrary as all others- a line drawn in the dirt. But now that someone else was onto my garden party, I was becoming progressively more concerned.

Yes, Phillip was dead. His own doing technically. If you want to be meticulous about the facts, I did set out that vase of Foxglove. And I did mention flower petals were edible. But Phillip?s foolhardiness cannot be placed in my hands. I should add, his death was probably brought on prematurely when Phillip rather decided he was wired for two-20's instead of one-20. I only add up to 25 years thus far.

Well, he had more than two 20 year olds to sully his common sense and lower his intellect to that of a beetle, but you get the idea. He was the same self-serving caitiff who had aided and abetted in the fine old practice of ?Cucquean? , or cheating, as in "Your Cheating Heart," if you prefer Hank Williams to William Shakespeare, as some folks do. Also, please note, I am not bitter. I just detest him. I digress, sorry.

Now, mind you, I knew I had absolutely no business trying to investigate just who was out for jollifications at my expense, or to find out who knew what about whatever they assumed I had done to that no-account Phillip--my resume boasting only a recent history of dead man?s wife once removed, preceded by landscaper. Not real impressive by any stretch of the imagination. Did that stop me? Heck, no. Once I got the bug under my bonnet, I began acting like I was Miss Marple on steroids.

Anyhow, truth be known, I wasn't looking for trouble. It just found me. Minding my own business, wallowing in low self-esteem, wondering how much chocolate it would take to raise the scales a few more pounds and puttering around in the garden with a few odd landscaping jobs thrown in on the side just to make life interesting.

Yes, it could safely be said I was having a tough time dealing with the fact that I no longer abided in Suburban Bliss; a house in the burbs, living off a six-figure income, and by all appearances a loving husband.

"The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones."
William Shakespeare, ?Julius Caesar?

The stench of an exhumed corpse has never ceased to destroy my appetite, sometimes the effect lasting as long as several hours. Oh yes, a corpse is a smelly ol? thing that can lead you to sing, the blues in the night. The corpse of Keely?s husband was no exception. In fact, he was worse than most. Perhaps it was the combination of the usual rotting as it mingled with the berry bushes that were so meticulously planted above him. He would not have been quite so disgusting had not his wife been keeping vigilance at the window every night. That caused a considerable delay in what I needed to do.

Perhaps she just gave up, or perhaps she had fallen asleep early; whatever it was, she was not at the window once this particular night was half past. A quick call brought my men to the yard and they very carefully removed all the berry bushes and plants that were covering the body. The corpse was put into a black bag and removed from the premises.

Morning light was only an hour away when we put several bags of soil where the body had been, added a ?special little something?, and then replaced each and every plant in the exact same location from where they were removed. The soil was smoothed and made to look like the rest of the garden. In the end, not even Little Miss Landscape would be able to tell that we had been there.

The next step of the plan was ready to be revealed.