Wales, originally.â
Ada looked delighted. âFrankâs granddad was Welsh, isnât that right, Frank?â Frank nodded patiently. âBut he wasnât a Taylor. Where exactly are you from, dear? Might we have heard of it?â
âIâm from Swansea . . .â
âThatâs where that Zeta-Jones girl is from, isnât that right, Frank? And Tom Jones was from near there too, I know. Fabulous voice. Jones was Frankâs grandfatherâs name and he was from . . . I think it was Aber-somewhere. Was that it, Frank, dear?â
Frank didnât seem to be very engaged. âYes, dear, thatâs right,â he replied. I had no doubt that heâd hardly heard what his wife had said, and that mentally he was somewhere else. He rolled the end of his fat cigar in his mouth, then rested it in the large ashtray on the patio table.
âThat murderer was in there killing Margarita when I was right next door, you know.â Frank made the statement with grim determination. âImagine. I was that close to him that I could have stopped him, if only Iâd known.â
Ada shook her head. âDonât start that again, Frank.â
I took my chance. âHow close were you, exactly, Frank? Were you literally next door to the flower store?â
Ada opened her mouth as if to answer on his behalf, but Frank gave her a firm look, picked up his cigar again, and manipulated it in his fingers as he replied. âIâd gone down to the Rocas Hermosas Resort on the seafront, right opposite Margaritaâs flower shop. I wanted to see a guy who works in the bar there. Heâs great at getting these things for me at a reasonable price.â He looked almost lovingly at his cigar. âAnyway, Iâd just left him, and I was wandering through the gardens, waiting for this one to finish at the spa. What was it today, dear? Mani, or pedi, or both? I lose track.â
âBoth.â Ada nodded and wriggled her neat French manicure by way of evidence.
âWeâd agreed Iâd pick her up when she called me. You never know how long Serenaâs going to be, do you, dear?â
âNo, not really. Sheâs very much a mañana person, Cait, so youâre never quite sure when sheâll start on you, or finish. Once youâve got your feet in that basin, well, thereâs not a lot you can do about it really, eh?â Ada shrugged. For two retired people, I couldnât imagine that a small delay when you were getting a pedicure would be a big issue, but Frank struck me as the sort of man who liked a schedule for his days.
âSo there I am, hanging around waiting for Ada, when Serena comes out of the spa and calls over to me.â
So far, Frankâs account agreed with my own observations, and augmented them. Serena was the name of the woman in the capri pants whoâd come out of the spa. The spa she obviously owned. And it had been Frank that Serena had crossed the road to greet.
âShe came toward me, and she had this big cake box with her. Then she told me it was Bob and Mariaâs wedding anniversary, and would I join the celebrationââ
Ada interrupted her husband. âBob and Maria are the couple who own the bodega next door to Margaritaâs flower shop. Bobâs Bodega. Lovely couple. Married forty years. Wonderful.â
âI was getting to that,â responded Frank. âThey own Bobâs Bodega, as Ada said, and they are very nice. Of course I said Iâd join her, though I have to admit that I was a bit puzzled about Ada. I mean, if Serena was in the street, what was Ada doing?â
âI told you I couldnât leave, Frank. Serena had finished me, but I had to wait another ten minutes for my toes to dry properly. Thereâs no point getting them done if youâre going to ruin them, right, Cait?â
I nodded and smiled, though my personal experience of pedicures is