The Corpse with the Emerald Thumb by Cathy Ace Page B

Wales, originally.”
    Ada looked delighted. “Frank’s granddad was Welsh, isn’t that right, Frank?” Frank nodded patiently. “But he wasn’t a Taylor. Where exactly are you from, dear? Might we have heard of it?”
    â€œI’m from Swansea . . .”
    â€œThat’s where that Zeta-Jones girl is from, isn’t that right, Frank? And Tom Jones was from near there too, I know. Fabulous voice. Jones was Frank’s grandfather’s name and he was from . . . I think it was Aber-somewhere. Was that it, Frank, dear?”
    Frank didn’t seem to be very engaged. “Yes, dear, that’s right,” he replied. I had no doubt that he’d 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.
    â€œThat murderer was in there killing Margarita when I was right next door, you know.” Frank made the statement with grim determination. “Imagine. I was that close to him that I could have stopped him, if only I’d known.”
    Ada shook her head. “Don’t start that again, Frank.”
    I took my chance. “How close were you, exactly, Frank? Were you literally next door to the flower store?”
    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. “I’d gone down to the Rocas Hermosas Resort on the seafront, right opposite Margarita’s flower shop. I wanted to see a guy who works in the bar there. He’s great at getting these things for me at a reasonable price.” He looked almost lovingly at his cigar. “Anyway, I’d 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€œBoth.” Ada nodded and wriggled her neat French manicure by way of evidence.
    â€œWe’d agreed I’d pick her up when she called me. You never know how long Serena’s going to be, do you, dear?”
    â€œNo, not really. She’s very much a mañana person, Cait, so you’re never quite sure when she’ll start on you, or finish. Once you’ve got your feet in that basin, well, there’s not a lot you can do about it really, eh?” Ada shrugged. For two retired people, I couldn’t 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.
    â€œSo there I am, hanging around waiting for Ada, when Serena comes out of the spa and calls over to me.”
    So far, Frank’s account agreed with my own observations, and augmented them. Serena was the name of the woman in the capri pants who’d come out of the spa. The spa she obviously owned. And it had been Frank that Serena had crossed the road to greet.
    â€œShe came toward me, and she had this big cake box with her. Then she told me it was Bob and Maria’s wedding anniversary, and would I join the celebration—”
    Ada interrupted her husband. “Bob and Maria are the couple who own the bodega next door to Margarita’s flower shop. Bob’s Bodega. Lovely couple. Married forty years. Wonderful.”
    â€œI was getting to that,” responded Frank. “They own Bob’s Bodega, as Ada said, and they are very nice. Of course I said I’d 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€œI told you I couldn’t leave, Frank. Serena had finished me, but I had to wait another ten minutes for my toes to dry properly. There’s no point getting them done if you’re going to ruin them, right, Cait?”
    I nodded and smiled, though my personal experience of pedicures is