“You mean losing her first husband?”
She nodded. “Margery was a ghost those first years. I remember seeing her at Halcyon when I was a child and thinking, Who is that terribly tragic and romantic figure? Pale, painfully thin-almost invisible. Renata told me we must always be kind to Margery, because the world had not been.”
Margery Russell’s father had been a tyrant. She’d married against his wishes, and when her husband was killed in the war, the father practically celebrated. Richard Stapley ingratiated himself with Margery’s father, and after only a year, he and Margery were married. Some doubted she was even consulted. All that dovetailed with what Jon Chappell had told me.
“People make mistakes,” Hillary said. “There’s no need to spend the rest of one’s life paying for them.”
“Ms. Gibson, I appreciate your loyalty to your friends. We may never know how that baby came to be buried in the garden, but I’ve got a bigger problem. I’m loyal, too, and my friend is in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. I’m convinced either the baby or Yoly Rivera or both motivated someone to stab Guido Chiaramonte. And I’m going to find out who did it.”
“I suppose I knew you’d say that. Just like Gerald.” She got up to leave. “I hope you find the person and find out what happened to that girl. I just hope you’ll be sensitive and give some thought to the living, too. And don’t judge people too harshly if you find out some other things in the pro cess.”
She put down her teacup, and I walked her to the door.
“God knows, I’m no fan of Guido Chiaramonte’s,” she said, “but if there is some connection between him and Yoly Rivera, this could get dangerous for you. And for Gerald. Please be careful. I’ve just found him again, and I don’t want to lose him a second time.”
As soon as she was gone, I called Lucy.
“She knows Margery’s the mother,” I said, “and doesn’t want the old girl pushed off the deep end. Or … Margery knows Hillary’s the mother and will spill her guts as soon as anyone asks her.”
“What about the fertility issues?” Lucy said.
“Maybe she did have mumps as a teenager. How do I know the mumps can really make you sterile? Maybe she’s just flat- out lying to me and to Gerald.”
“She was helpful at the beginning,” Lucy said.
“When she thought it was the answer to the big unsolved case from her sweetie’s career.”
“Sounds like you’ve narrowed it down to two candidates. What does your accordion player think?”
“O’Malley?” I asked. “Who knows? He’s pissed at me because I didn’t tell him that was Hugo’s car at the nursery.”
“Too bad. He could be useful,” she said. I had a feeling she was referring to his other possible talents.
“How’s the lovely Anna holding up?”
“She’s amazing. Baking goodies for Hugo and the guards. He’s been moved to Stamford; they have a larger facility there.”
“And Felix?” she asked.
“I got a voice mail message, but it was vague, and he didn’t leave a number.”
“At least he called. I’m free this weekend. Still need help?”
“Sure.”
CHAPTER 43
Mike O’Malley once told me Springfield had everything the big city had, just less of it. I wasn’t so sure Springfield didn’t have more than its share.
After talking to Lucy, I poured myself a drink and made a fire. It wasn’t that cold, but there was a chill in my bones I couldn’t shake. I wanted to blame it on my snooze in the ditch, but as I settled in with my wine and a yellow legal pad in front of me, I knew that wasn’t it.
I made three columns-Yoly Rivera, Guido Chiara-monte, and Baby. Then I sat and stared at the blank page, filling in the things I knew, or thought I knew, about each of them. I scribbled down thirty different scenarios, but no amount of English would make all the cherries line up.
I was putting a few more logs on the fire when I heard the fax machine chugging in my office; I went to investigate. Printed on Springfield police department letterhead was a typed note from Sergeant Guzman.
Dear Ms. Holliday,
Six companies/entities are authorized to enter and use the facilities of the Springfield Recycling Center during off- hours. They are:
UConn at Springfield Extension Services
Harleysville Raceway
Aardvark Refuse
Morning Glory Cemetery
Fairmont Lawn Funeral Home
Springfield Historical Society
Yours truly,
Sgt. Rosaria Guzman
Springfield Police Department
The raceway I could understand. The town couldn’t be cruel enough to make someone open the gates for a dump truck of steaming horse manure and then force him to spend the entire day babysitting it. The sanitation company probably had a contract with the town- Gerald could find out. Presumably, the funeral home and the cemetery were dumping faded floral arrangements and nothing more sinister. That left the university-shredded term papers, probably. But why should SHS need to dump anything after hours?
I gambled that Gerald Fraser would be one of the few Sunnyview residents still awake at the ungodly hour of 11 P.M.
The switchboard operator kept me on hold for twelve minutes before returning to tell me, “He’s gone.”
“You mean he’s out?”
“No, ma’am, he’s gone.”
Stay calm, I told myself. If your voice betrays the fact that you think she’s an idiot, she’ll be even less helpful, if that were possible.
“Gone where, dear?” I said, through clenched teeth.
“Well, usually they go across the street.”
The fax from Sergeant Guzman made me ask the next stupid question. “To the recycling center?”
“No,” she said solemnly. “Morning Glory. The cemetery.”
“But Mr. Fraser didn’t, did he? He went somewhere else.” This conversation was going to be work.
“The main office is closed. I really don’t know anything. You can call back tomorrow, during regular hours,” she added.
And relive this? No, thanks. I thought fast, What the hell was her name?
“What about Genevieve? The attendant? Is Genevieve there?”
“Genevieve Barkley?”
“Yes,” I said, exhausted. It was a small facility; how many Genevieves could they have?
“Why didn’t you say? I’ll get her.”
After another ten minutes, Genevieve came to the phone. Mr. Fraser was indeed gone. Genevieve had helped him pack up two suitcases and three boxes of his belongings.
“Just about everything he had,” she said. “He left most of his books to our library here. He gave me his stereo and a very generous gift as well.”
Fraser’s forwarding address was on file in the office, which was, as the excruciating switchboard operator had told me, locked. His belongings were to be shipped the next morning and I could practically hear Genevieve crane her neck to read the address on the shipping label.
“It’s definitely New York, but that’s all I can see. The lights are off and the box isn’t facing the door. I can call you with it in the morning, if you like. We start at six.”
“That would be great, Genevieve. Thanks so much.” I gave her my cell number. “I was just a little worried.”
“Don’t you worry none about Mr. Gerald. He looked very happy when he left here. If that lady takes as good care of him as she does of that car, he’s got no problem.”
CHAPTER 44
“I’m sorry for calling so early.”