The next morning, I dropped Lucy at the train station and drove straight to the police station to see Mike O’Malley. The station was locked, so I jogged across the road to Babe’s.
“How’s it going?” I asked, looking around. The crowd was mixed-late laborers and early commuters but no cops.
“It’s going,” Babe said, juggling dishes and menus. “Want a menu or just coffee?”
“Just coffee. I overdid it last night.”
“Suit yourself. You’re the one who’s always saying you shouldn’t skip breakfast.”
Common sense kicked in. I ordered.
“You seemed distressingly sober. Did I miss something?” she asked, bringing my setup. “Unless you had your own little party afterward.” Babe had a vivid imagination.
“After coming here for some surprisingly tasty scones, Lucy and I went home and gossiped till about three A.M. I polished off a container of yogurt, but that was as rowdy as it got. You’ll just have to live vicariously through someone else’s exploits. What am I saying? From the looks of it, you’re not exactly sitting home reading the Farm Journal every night,” I said, referring to her handsome young date of the night before.
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Neil and I thought it was about time we went public. I was convinced we’d be a scandal, but Neil didn’t care. Then old Margery conveniently got the vapors and stole the show. I’ll have to thank her next time I see her. Anyone know how she is?”
I gave her the flimsy explanation Richard had left on my answering machine the night before, but neither of us really believed one glass of wine was enough to knock the old girl on her keister.
“Something took her breath away and it didn’t come from Connecticut’s wine trail.”
Back at Halcyon, my regular parking spot was taken by a silver- blue Springfield patrol car.
“We did say eight, didn’t we?” O’Malley knew I thought he’d meant 8 P.M., but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying it. He held out a cardboard tray with coffee and what looked suspiciously like half a dozen donuts.
“Don’t worry. The donuts are for me-sugar fix. I got you a couple of low- fat blueberry muffins.”
“A couple? Have you any idea what’s in those things? Besides, I’ve already had breakfast. C’mon, let’s go around to the back. I’ll watch you clog your arteries.”
We sat on the brick terrace and Mike handed me a coffee.
“I looked for you last night,” I said, peeling a triangle out of the plastic lid.
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. It was about the person Anna maimed with my aerator sandals.”
“You mean Jon Chappell?”
The coffee hadn’t even made it to my lips. “Am I, like, half a step behind everyone in this burg?”
“This may surprise you, but I am a real cop. After a nutritious, low-fat, omega-whatever salmon dinner not long ago, I popped by your neighbor’s place-where the noise was coming from. I gave him a few tips on how to be a considerate suburbanite and was heading back to my car when I noticed a vehicle pulled over onto the shoulder near the bird sanctuary. If Chap-pell’s going to do undercover surveillance work, he really should get a less memorable car. Or at least not announce at a crowded party that he owns a Sunbeam Alpine. Someone spotted a Sunbeam in your neighborhood the day of Anna’s incident.”
The police had picked Jon up an hour ago, and Anna had already identified him.
“You think he’s the one who sent me the e-mail and locked me in the green house, too?”
“He denies it. He’s certainly been watching you, though. You might consider drapes.”
“I might consider a burka, too, but I’m not going to,” I said, a little too fast.
“What is your problem? First, you’re annoyed that we’re not doing our job, and then you’re annoyed because we are. I’ve got to take things one step at a time. I can’t go off half- cocked because some senior citizens have been filling your head with fairy tales. We got the bad guy. Granted, trespassing is only a misdemeanor, but at least we can put your conspiracy theory to bed.”
“I’m not talking about finding Jimmy Hoffa. Hugo Jurado did not stab Guido. Certainly not over a hundred dollars and a few racy remarks.”
“A few racy remarks? So you didn’t know that Anna had a run- in with Chiaramonte the morning he was stabbed?”
I kept my head down, picking at a few stubborn weeds between the bricks so O’Malley wouldn’t see the shock on my face.
“Yeah. He offered her a lift at the bus stop and it was pouring, so she said okay. Apparently, he introduced her to little Guido. She threw hot coffee on the little guy, Guido slammed on the brakes, hit the car in front of him, and Anna had to jump from a moving car. Some people might think that’s a pretty good motive.
“Look,” he said, blowing out air like a dying balloon. “Got milk?”
“What?”
“Ever read a milk carton? People go missing all the time. It isn’t that I don’t care, it’s just that the more time passes, the less likely they are to ever be found. That’s reality. I know it doesn’t sell newspapers or make good television, but there it is. And it’s extremely unlikely that Guido Chiaramonte was stabbed in retaliation for a girl that went missing thirty years ago. I am sorry about Hugo-and, I agree, it does seem out of character for him-but it doesn’t look good. And other than an alibi from his intended, he can’t account for his whereabouts the day Guido was stabbed.”
“What if he could? I thought of something last night at the party. Maybe someone at the marriage bureau had a video camera. People video everything nowadays. I’ve been to a civil ceremony. Even though it’s just two people signing papers, they bring flowers, throw rice-why not shoot video?” My voice trailed off. “You could ask. Maybe put an ad in the paper.”
I knew he was thinking of my great candy evidence, which had gone nowhere. So was I. We were quiet for a few minutes; the only sounds were me pretending to blow on my cold coffee and O’Malley poking around in the donut bag. He took out the muffins and set them on a paper napkin on the terrace, a piece of waxed paper covering them. Then he left.
After a few minutes, I heard three quick taps on a horn and the sound of a vehicle out front. I ran to see who it was, hoping it was O’Malley coming back to tell me that upon further reflection, my idea was brilliant.
It wasn’t.