The Corpse Won First Prize

How it begins

The corpse won first prize by fourteen pounds.

Mavis regretted that this was her first thought.

Her second was that the trophy had already been engraved.

She stood in the produce tent holding a blue rosette while the ambulance crew worked quietly behind a screen. Outside, the brass band continued playing something cheerful because nobody had told it what else to do.

Ben Alder removed his judging badge.

"Should we cancel?"

"The competition or the entire fair?"

"I don't know."

Neither did Mavis.

For twenty-two years she had organized this event through rain, livestock escapes and a disagreement about whether a marrow could possess artistic merit. Death had not appeared on her risk assessment.

The winning pumpkin occupied a reinforced trolley.

It was enormous, deeply orange and now the least complicated thing belonging to its owner.

Mavis set the rosette beside it.

Something rustled inside.

She looked at Ben.

"Mice?"

"Unlikely."

"Please don't say snakes."

He leaned closer.

A small square had been cut into the underside and replaced so neatly that the seam resembled a natural crease.

Ben lifted it with the edge of his ruler.

Inside was an envelope.

Dry.

Sealed.

Addressed to the person who comes second.

They both turned toward the entrance.

Outside the tent stood six disappointed gardeners, all of whom had spent the summer explaining why this particular man did not deserve to win again.

Mavis had heard them.

She had even agreed with one.

Ben unfolded the envelope.

A photograph slid into his hand.

His face lost its color.

"What is it?"

He turned the photograph over before she could see.

That was a mistake.

Mavis had spent two decades persuading grown adults to tell the truth about vegetables. She recognized the precise moment when a person decided to become more difficult than necessary.

"Ben," she said, "put that on the table."

The band began another tune.

This one was called Happy Days Are Here Again.