“I bet he’s hiding a dead body in there,” said Fred.
“Why would he have a dead body in his shed,” asked Ted.
“Cuz that the sort of place you’d hide a dead body. No one would think to look there,” replied Fred.
“That’s not what I meant,” said Ted. “I was asking why would Mr. Carmichael have a dead body at all?”
“Rich people always have skeletons in their closets,” responded Fred.
“Have you gone soft in the head?” asked Ted. “That’s an expression. It doesn’t literally mean they have skeletons!”
“I know what it means!” shouted Fred. “But I’m tellin’ you, he’s probably hiding a body in there.” He pointed to the tall brick building with the high windows and corrugated metal doors.
“And who might he have in there, since you’re the expert?” asked Ted.
“I don’t know. Unfaithful wife, maybe? Mistress? Some bloke trying to blackmail him?” shrugged Fred.
“You’re daft. If they ever find a body in there, I’ll buy you rounds all night long,” scoffed Ted.
Four days later, Ted and Fred watched the police haul out the body from the shed on a stretcher. The beer flowed steadily at the pub that night.
Word Count: 200
[This is my entry into the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge, hosted by Alastair Forbes. Write a short story of 200 words or less from the photo prompt provided.]