“There’s such a fine line between cheesy and clever.” Babe Chinnery held up that morning’s edition of the Springfield Bulletin. “GARDENER DIGS UP TRUTH IN 30-YEAR-OLD MYSTERY.” I curtsied and slid onto a stool at the counter to a smattering of applause from my fellow diners at the Paradise.
“Breakfast is on the house,” Babe said, pouring me some coffee. “If I had a liquor license I’d buy you a drink.”
The previous week had been a blur. The bones found underneath Dina Fifield’s fountain were conclusively identified as Yoly’s remains by matching a sample of her DNA with Celinda Rivera’s. Guido Chiaramonte had apparently stashed her body under Neptune and, over the years, in the course of checking on Dina Fifield’s plumbing, kept an eye on Yoly.
Jon Chappell’s editor had unleashed his inner Rupert and given him carte blanche on Yoly’s story. To Jon’s credit he kept the tone reasonably respectful.
Guido’s killer was still at large, but as long as Hugo was in the clear, I was leaving that problem to the professionals. The closemouthed day laborer community wasn’t providing many answers, and Mike O’Malley feared the killer had already left the country and would never be found. Like Yoly, Guido would wind up on a yellowing flyer on someone’s bulletin board.
It wasn’t my problem; I’d solved my two mysteries and was happy to be back digging in the dirt. As people had predicted, I was inundated with job offers once the story broke.
“Where’ve you been? Busy giving interviews?” Babe asked.
“I’ve been working my little tail off,” I said, picking at the crisp, parsleyed potatoes next to my omelet. “Halcyon opens to the public next week, we just finished Dina Fifield’s hardscaping so the landscaping starts soon, and I am booked solid until the end of this season. And I’ve got a meeting set up with a small golf course in Westport that could be big.”
“Muy bien. Any word from the beautiful muchacho?”
Felix Ontivares had accompanied Celinda Rivera and her daughter’s remains back to Mexico. Mexican news online ran the story for three days, complete with pictures of Felix and Yoly’s surviving family members, including her mother and beautiful nineteen- year- old niece, a budding Tejano star.
“Ships passing in the night,” I told Babe. “He had his arm around the niece in that picture, and if he’s anything like his father, he likes them young. I’m a big girl. At least I’m not still mooning about the ex.”
“True. I always say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone.”
“Lucy said the same thing. Was that something you got in a fortune cookie?”
“Just a saying. Neil’s the quote guy. I don’t think it’s Shakespeare, but I’ll ask him.”
“While you’re at it, ask him about these, too.” On a clean napkin I scribbled down some of the lines I’d seen on the Peacocks’ needlepoints. “I’ve been meaning to look them up but keep getting sidetracked.”
The Springfield Historical Society had agreed to let Hugo and Anna have a small ceremony on Halcyon’s brick terrace the day after the opening, in appreciation of all the work Hugo had done there. Anna was thrilled; she’d been lobbying me since they set the date.
“I’ve got a few final touches for the garden. Then on Saturday night, I’m going to bring in an arbor and cover it with vines and flowers as a surprise.”
“Cool. You know Pete’s baking their cake.”
“Don’t tell him I said this, but his cooking’s getting better.”
“Be nice. He’s been practicing for weeks, even took a cake- decorating class in Wilton. Here, try a piece of today’s test cake. I’ve gained three pounds being his guinea pig.”
It was charmingly decorated with a cluster of wisteria made entirely of sugar. Impressive, but it was a little early for buttercream, so I asked her to pack up the huge slab she’d cut for me and promised to try it later.
I considered swinging by SHS to pick up the bonus check Richard finally agreed to, but there was time. Besides, next week I’d have a new assistant to handle collections, the future Mrs. Hugo Jurado.