Like everyone else in Springfield, Babe Chinnery had heard about the body. She’d left me a voice mail message the next afternoon, so I checked in at the Paradise at around 5 P.M. before heading to the library, where I planned to spend my downtime researching the Peacock garden. I’d barely walked through the door when she rushed over and hugged me, showing a maternal side I hadn’t known existed.
“How the hell are you?” she whispered, steering me to a booth. She sat down with me. This was about as common as Rick having a drink with someone in Casablanca.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“Really?”
“Really. I just didn’t expect to walk into a local ghost story my first day on the job. I thought they were kidding when they called that place the Addams family house.”
She motioned for Chloe to bring us some coffee. “I found a stiff once. Backup singer. OD’d right before a show. Pretty unprofessional, if you ask me.”
The midriff- baring waitress came over with two cups and a plate of Pete’s homemade donuts, which I suspected could also be used to border flower beds.
“Why does every sixteen- year- old kid think we want to see her belly?” I asked. Then I remembered who I was talking to. I sipped the coffee and broke off a chunk of the donut. Babe wasn’t moving until I told her everything.
“It was so old,” I whispered, donut in midair, “it looked more like a museum piece than a body. Like a toy papoose you’d see in a Thanksgiving pageant.” That crack finally convinced her I was all right.
“I heard you hurled in the flower bed. Is that what you call adding organic matter?”
“What, is that in today’s Bulletin?” I angrily popped the hunk of donut into my mouth. Stress eating.
“O’Malley stopped by this morning. Don’t be mad. He was worried about you.”
“Mr. Sensitivity. If he’s so worried, he can finish up fast and let me back onto the property. I’m losing time. I don’t work, I don’t eat.”
“You don’t eat anyway. Get an advance. Tell Stapley you need to order things. Don’t you need stuff?”
“I don’t even know what I need yet.” Mysteriously, the entire donut on my plate had disappeared. “Not until I hit the books. Any idea how late the library’s open?” I asked.
“Beats me. I get all my books from Kathy’s Book Nook; us little guys have to stick together.”
After a minute or so, someone said, “The main branch is open until nine P.M. tonight.”
I turned to a lean Hispanic guy reading at the counter. At first glance, you might mistake him for any one of the dozens of guys who stand around downtown Springfield at six or seven in the morning. They wait for contractors or landscapers to give them the nod like the rotten union boss does in On the Waterfront. I’d met a lot of the Manual laborers at the nurseries; most of them looked sad, slump- shouldered in their cheap T-shirts from places they’d never been and weren’t likely to go. Not this one.
“There is a book club meeting to night from seven to nine.”
“Thanks. I wonder what they’re discussing.”
He held up a copy of Lolita. “I am almost finished. Lots of work at the beginning of the season.”
“I know, I’m a gardener, too. Paula Holliday.”
“Felix Ontivares.”
“Nice to meet you.”
He nodded in my direction, then he peeled a few dollars from his wallet, paid, and left.
“Just another conquest,” I said, shaking my head as the door flapped closed behind him.
“Don’t take it personally. Most of the nursery guys are quiet, but it’s a language thing. Felix doesn’t have that problem. He’s new, only been around a couple of weeks. Guido says he’s a good worker, too. And you know Guido-he doesn’t like any of the immigrant guys. Only the women,” she added with a smirk.
“Babe, is there anything else I should know about the Peacocks? You kind of suggested Stapley didn’t tell me everything.”
“Nothing I can tell you. You think I’d have sent you there if I thought you’d find a stiff? There were so many rumors about the old girls, I didn’t think he had the time to tell you everything.” She changed the subject. “Are you okay for cash? What’s he paying you, anyway?”
I looked down, groaning inwardly. “Well, it’s such a great opportunity, I thought…”
“That cheap bastard. Look, the library’s open for hours. Stay here for a while. I’ll tell you about the time I met the Lizard King. Chloe,” she yelled, “we’re gonna need some more coffee. And a couple more donuts.” As an old Doors fan, I couldn’t refuse.
The Ferguson Library is a large white clapboard building in the center of town, the kind of place that’s either the library or the funeral home in a small New En gland town like Springfield. I hadn’t been there before, and Mrs. Cox, the librarian, did everything but ask for a tissue sample before issuing my temporary library card. After the presentation was made, she kept me under surveillance.
The Historical Society’s Web site was still under construction and the Bulletin‘s wasn’t much better, but it did yield a number of useful links and more pictures of the garden. The lion’s share of the info was still on microfiche, the seventies’ version of index cards. Mrs. Cox directed me to a file cabinet that looked like it was waiting for a tomb raider to open it.
Dorothy Peacock was ninety- three or ninety- seven years old when she died, depending on which piece of local folklore you chose to believe. She followed the colorfully named Renata, who had passed away four years ago. The two had lived alone for many years, any other Peacocks having died or dispersed years before.
Halcyon had been built in 1830 by Dorothy’s great-great- great- grandfather Owen for his bride, Olivia, on a lush piece of property right on the water as befitting the former sea captain.
Although the captain was wealthy, and another of Dorothy’s ancestors had made a tidy sum in the railroad business, the original three- hundred- acre homestead had been whittled down to the current seven acres through a combination of greed, bad investments, and the inevitable wastrel descendant or two. Dorothy’s father recovered from the stock market crash, but his untimely death left the Peacocks’ real estate assets in a holding pattern, and he was never able to fulfill his dream of buying back the acreage other family members had sold off. And Dorothy had other interests.
I was wandering in turn- of- the- century Springfield when my cell phone jolted me back to the present. Mrs. Cox scoured the room for the perpetrator. Not wanting to incur her wrath or disturb the book club crowd, which was just gathering, I ducked outside and fished the phone out of my bag with the same mixture of annoyance and surprise I always registered when it rang these days.
It was Lucy Cavanaugh, childhood friend and former colleague, currently orchestrating a seven- figure children’s television deal (international and DVD rights included). I could hear furious keyboard clicking in the background; at 7 P.M. she was probably still in her office.
“Bravo for actually having the phone on. Listen, I just had drinks with the programming director at the Garden Channel. They have a fat bud get, and they’re looking for producers. They need you, and you can do both of the things you love: TV and gardening. It’s perfect. What’s that stuff you’re always going on about- mulch? You can produce the definitive history of mulch. Every other history from guns to candy canes has been done, why not mulch?”
“Is mulch in the air today?” I asked incredulously.
Then I told her what had happened, and the keyboard clicking finally stopped. “Jeez. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m like one of those utility workers who accidentally uncovers ancient burial grounds. The cops’ll do their thing, and eventually I’ll get back to work.”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t know-is it inappropriate to congratulate you on the job, I mean, under the circumstances?”
“Inappropriate? Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Lucy? It’s cool. Thanks.”
“In that case, were any of the cops cute?”
Same old Lucy; priorities in order: work, men.
“One of them was sort of cute, if a little tubby.”
“I’m not prejudiced. In fact, I’m tired of guys who are cuter than I am,” she said, keyboard clicking resumed.
I delivered my pitch. “Come up next weekend. You can check out the men in uniform yourself. We’ll have a spa weekend, you can detox from the party circuit. We can work out,” I said sneakily. I could get a good eight hours of gardening out of her if I told her it burned fat.
“Sure. We’ll have a little mystery party-rent a few Hitchcock movies, play Clue.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, pleased with myself for signing on my first unsuspecting volunteer.
“Good. Look, I’m off to a screening. Pick me up at the train station a week from Friday; I’ll get the six oh four. Call if you-I don’t know-if you need anything or find another body.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Okay, my best friend is off to quaff champagne, flirt ferociously, and make financially lucrative deals at a film screening, and I’m pulling weeds at a haunted house. What’s wrong with this picture?
Back inside the library, I collected my things and tidied the table where I’d been working. This earned me an approving smile from Helen Cox. Her thin lips had been set in a straight line since the moment I’d gotten here, reserving judgment until she was sure I was a responsible library user. I whispered “Good night” to her, and that really sent my stock soaring. On my way out, Felix Ontivares strode in. He nodded but kept going.
I might not have stopped at the substation at all if it hadn’t been next to the Dunkin’ Donuts. I felt momentarily disloyal to Babe, then the moment passed.
“Great One, skim milk, no sugar, please.”
I heard a voice behind me. “This late in the day, a coffee that size will have you up all night alphabetizing your seed packets.” It was Officer Smythe. He had the body of a serious weight trainer, so I was a little surprised to see him there, licking powdered sugar off his fingers.
“You caught me,” I said. “I’m a sucker for Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. I thought I’d stop next door to see when I can get back to work.”
He shrugged. “Mom’s not in. Talk to Guzman.” He picked up his bag of Munchkins and pushed the door open with his tiny, rock- hard butt. “Later. Gotta go mind the speed trap.”
It didn’t hurt for a single woman living on her own to have a good relationship with the local police. Maybe next time weirdo neighbor acts up, I’d impress him by being on a first- name basis with the Man. I took my supersized cup and went next door to the Haviland substation.
“Hi. Are you Officer Guzman?” I asked the first guy I saw.
“No, I’m much better looking.”
“I’m Guzman,” came a voice from the back of the office near the watercooler. “Pay no attention to him- he’s a lonely man. What can I do for you?” she said.
I closed the door behind me. I’d forgotten Guzman was the name of the female cop. She was my height but more muscular, with dark hair pulled into a stubby ponytail, held on the sides by half a dozen metal clips. I told her why I was there.
“No, Mikey would have called. He’s good that way-if he says he’s gonna call, he does.”
She must have seen how disappointed I was, and added, “Sit tight, you’ll be back digging in the dirt before you know it. Off the record,” she whispered, “I think you’ll be hearing from him soon.”
Very soon, in fact, because just then O’Malley walked in.
Guzman shrugged with a little smile. “I saw him through the window.”
“Hello, Plant Lady. I hope that’s decaf,” he said, eyeing my extralarge coffee.
“Is that my official nickname?”
“Oh, no, just trying it on for size. It needs tweaking.”
I knew it wasn’t my business, but I asked how the case was going.
“Not going too far, truth be told. Have a seat.”
While he got out the files, I checked out his cubicle. The bulletin board was layered with yellowed WANTED posters for missing persons and for information regarding a cop shot close to twenty years ago.
“I guess there’s not much crime here. Those flyers look pretty old.”
“Or it could mean that we catch most of the bad guys, and those are just a few that got away.”
Touchй.
There were perfectly edged stacks of papers lined up against the far edge of the desk. A couple of pictures of kids (his?), a few postcards from national parks, and a wooden plaque inscribed WORLD’S BEST MOM. A pencil cup had the quote MEASURE TWICE, CALL A #*%! CARPENTER. Anal, I thought.
“Okay,” he said, “the corpse, as you know, had been a corpse for some time, tucked away quite lovingly, until the new gardener came along.”
“How come it didn’t decompose? Just working in the garden or hiking I’ve seen animals…”
“Any number of things can cause a body to mummify, but it doesn’t usually happen by accident in Connecticut’s acid soil. Most probably someone intentionally treated either the body or the material it was wrapped in. It’s also possible the body was moved from some drier, more airtight resting place. That was suggested by the outer box, and the absence of seedlings and rocks that unconsciously led you to dig in that particular spot.”
All right, maybe he wasn’t just a suburban donut hound.
“So whose baby was it?”
O’Malley shrugged. “That we don’t know. We may never know. The two obvious candidates, those being the dead sisters, aren’t talking.”
“What about DNA testing? Can’t you do tests to figure out who the baby is?”
“That’s the problem with law enforcement nowadays,” he said, looking around to his colleagues for confirmation. “Too much television. Everyone’s an expert.”
I felt a sermon coming.
“Here’s the CliffsNotes version,” he continued. “We can take a sample from the corpse, but we have nothing to match it to without exhuming the bodies of the two dead women. To go through the legal hassle and considerable expense just to confirm that some woman had an illegitimate child forty or fifty years ago… who seems to have died of natural causes anyway… what purpose would it serve?”
“What about finding the father?”
“You want us to take DNA samples from all the geezers in the area? And what if Dad was a traveling salesman or a sailor on leave? That little tidbit of information may never be known, but odds are very good that the mother was one of the Peacock sisters.”
“I guess you’re right. I just thought with all the stuff you hear about DNA testing, you know, it would be easy.”
“It’s a wee bit more complicated than it sounds. Without a reference sample you can’t prove much more than that it was a human child, a boy, by the way.” I was a little ashamed that I hadn’t asked. “There are half a million DNA samples sitting in labs waiting to be analyzed. And thousands of people currently in prison hoping to have convictions overturned because of them. And these are mostly rape and murder cases, mind you. So don’t judge us too harshly just because some dead lady’s indiscretion of fifty years ago doesn’t rank high on anybody’s to- do list. If there’s no real payoff, it’s hard to justify. We can’t exactly drop the sample off at our local drugstore like vacation pictures.”
“Okay, Sergeant, can I help you with that soapbox? You’re right-too many reruns of Law and Order.”
“No, you’re right. We should be able to do this, but it all boils down to money and priorities. The medical examiner’s office just doesn’t think it’s worth it, given the circumstances. There will be an autopsy, but that will, most likely, just give us the cause of death. If that’s suspicious… well, I’m getting ahead of myself.”
He paused for effect. “I can tell you that the baby wasn’t one of the Romanovs.”
“You guys must be a riot at your Christmas party.”
I shook my head and tried not to laugh.
“Does this mean I can go back to the house soon?”
“Yes, ma’am. Someone will be there tomorrow to clean up our mess; you can start making your own in a day or two.”
“Thanks.” I got up to leave. “So, they have Cliffs-Notes in Ireland, too?”
“Indoor plumbing, but no CliffsNotes. That’s why we moved,” he teased. “Dad and I came here from Ireland twenty- five years ago after my mother died.” He held the door for me.
“You know, Sergeant, even if the baby did die of natural causes, someone did move it. And recently. Isn’t that a crime?”
“I said maybe someone moved it. Let us deal with that, Ms. Holliday.”
As soon as he closed the door behind me, I could hear the conversation inside start up again, but I was damned if I was going to turn around to see if they were talking about me. I jogged back to my car, then drove home, faintly pissed off but not sure why.