edges. I dropped my backpack and lunch in a shaded spot on the brick steps and got to work.
I wriggled one of the heavy stone dogs out of the way to make room for the rectangular buffet table SHS was delivering tomorrow. I rolled the other stone dog out of its regular spot to accommodate a small lectern where Richard would say a few words at the opening on Saturday, and a priest would marry the happy couple on Sunday. All the other planters were repositioned to flank the arbor under which Hugo and Anna would be married and to make room for the folding chairs for the wedding guests.
The work left me sweaty and a little winded, so I took a break on the steps for some water and a sugar rush from the buttercream icing on Pete's test cake. It was a home run—quite possibly the best thing I'd ever tasted.
Only a few months before I'd sat on these same steps, my life a shambles. Now I had more work than I could handle and I'd solved two mysteries; and two good friends were getting married. Life was good. I treated myself to another swipe of icing, surveying my work.
In all the time I'd been at Halcyon, I hadn't paid much attention to the maze, which was a ten-foot-high privet hedge of five interlocking circles. It needed only the annual crew cut, which Hugo had given it early in the season, and the occasional nip and tuck, which I decided to give it now. I placed a napkin on top of the cake to keep the ants away, and left it and the water on the steps for later.
My long-handled loppers were in the toolshed; I found them and walked past the white garden to the maze, where I trimmed a few wayward branches and yanked out errant strands of Virginia creeper and wirelike, mile-a- minute vine. The maze wouldn't be open for the ceremony this weekend, so if all I got to do was a little cosmetic pruning on the outside, that would be enough.
I was almost finished when my phone beeped with the Ca rib be an music that let me know I had a text message. It was from Neil MacLeod:
Under the circumstances? What did that mean? I put down the loppers, crossed the terrace, and entered the Peacock house through the unlocked door that had welcomed so many other women. In the mudroom, the two needlepoints I'd seen on my first visit were still there.
I dialed quickly. No answer. I waited for the beep to leave my message. 'Gerald, it's Paula. Look, I'm at Halcyon. There's something strange here. The Peacocks had a series of needlepoints with lines from the Song of Solomon. One's missing, and it's about 'a fountain sealed.' What if the empty shelf isn't missing books? What if it's missing another framed needlepoint that was resting on the shelf? A needlepoint with a message someone didn't want seen? I'll call you back in ten minutes, but meet me here as soon as you can, okay?' I hung up.
I hurried outside to escape the suddenly claustrophobic atmosphere in the library. I went back to the maze to wait for Gerald. I checked my phone. Still no calls or messages. I picked up my loppers and kept working, more out of nervousness than anything else.
Deep inside the maze, farther than I had ever been, something dark green, like a lawn and leaf bag, caught my eye. 'Jeez, I asked those guys not to leave garbage around,' I said out loud. As I got closer, I saw it wasn't a trash bag. It was an oversized army surplus poncho draped over a twelve-speed bicycle with a bent rim.
'They won't be able to blame Chiaramonte for this, but I'm sure I'll think of something.'
I froze. Stepping out from behind a wall of privet was Richard Stapley. 'You killed Yoly?' I said, stepping back. 'Why?'
'I had to,' he said calmly. 'Boring as she is, I could hardly give up an heiress for a penniless piece of fluff. When Yoly told me she was pregnant, I had no recourse. She interfered with my plans and had to be dealt with. Just like Guido.
'That son of a bitch was sneaking out of Dina Fi-field's bedroom when he accidentally saw Yoly and me in the Peacocks' garden. He's been holding it over my head ever since. It took some time, but I dealt with him.'
I took another step back, bumping into the privet.
'And now you're interfering with my plans.'
Stapley lunged at me, grabbing my shoulders. I pulled free and cracked him on the side of the head with my loppers. I heard a squishing sound, and Richard's silver hair turned pink as blood poured from the gash on his temple. I bayoneted him with the loppers and tore ass out of the unfamiliar maze, bouncing from side to side as I ran. He caught me by the sleeve as we exited near the stone wall, and he slammed me against it. He swung me around to the left, and it was just the windup I needed to land a powerful left hook to his kidneys.
He crumpled over. 'Bitch,' he spat.
I ran a few yards, hurdling over the first row of boxwoods, then I felt my legs give out from under me as he knocked me off my feet. I rolled over to my left and instinctively covered my right cheek so the punch he landed wasn't as bad as it might have been. I grabbed a handful of crushed oyster shells and threw them in Richard's eyes. It bought me just enough time to scramble to my feet and run to the steps of the terrace with Richard close behind.
'Dammit!' he yelled. I heard his big frame crash to the ground. He'd stepped on the wedge of wedding cake and slid on the thick buttercream, smacking his knees on the bricks.
I made the mistake of turning to look, and he grabbed my ankles, bringing me down again, my chin hitting the pavers. I tasted blood and let out a scream but kept kicking with all my strength at his hands, his chest, finally connecting with his face. His head snapped back and hit the long nose on one of the stone dogs I'd repositioned not an hour before. I crawled away on all fours, reflexively kicking, even as I moved farther away from him.
I climbed to my feet and ran to the edge of the terrace, still shaking. My mouth was filled with blood, and tears were streaming down my face. I watched Richard's motionless body for a few minutes. Blood was splattered everywhere—some his, some mine. I turned away, unable to look anymore. If I'd been wearing my heart-rate monitor, it would have been off the charts. I fumbled in my pants pocket for my cell and dialed 911, bloodying the phone.
Something moved behind me. I switched the phone to my right hand, twisted my torso, and landed a hard right—square in the face of Mike O'Malley.
CHAPTER 52
O'Malley and I sat opposite each other in the emergency room at the Springfield Hospital, holding ice packs to our faces. He massaged his jaw. 'Not a bad punch.'
'You're supposed to pivot that back foot and twist your hips,' I said, my cheek full of cotton wadding. 'Ellen's boxing class at the sports club.'
A doctor approached us. 'Mr. Stapley is in stable condition. It looked worse, because of all the blood,' she said. 'I told the other officers no questions, but he seems to be rambling on his own.' Mike leaped up and jogged down the hall to Richard's room.
'How are you feeling?' She gently turned my face to the side to inspect my stitches. 'You'll have a respectable shiner but no scars on the chin. I'm a good seamstress. He got the worst of the deal. Good for you.'
The emergency room's swinging doors flew open.
'Would it be heartless of me to ask you for an exclusive?' Jon Chappell called, rushing toward me.
'I'm fine, thank you for asking,' I said. 'Go ahead, ask your questions. The public has a right to know.'
He got out his pad and tape recorder. 'Shoot.'
'Richard Stapley killed Yoly Rivera.'
Jon let out a long, low whistle.
'He killed Guido, too.'
'
