by Parnell Hall
“Never mind what I’m upset about. What’s this about a license plate number?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. What’s Dan Finley been telling you?”
“Dan? What’s Dan got to do with it?”
“Nothing, I’m sure. Chief, what the hell did you drag me in here for?”
“Becky Baldwin was by. Wanted to know if we could pull your ex-husband’s rap sheet.”
“Melvin’s got a rap sheet?”
“I have no idea if Melvin has a rap sheet. Because I didn’t pull it. Assuming he has one. Which I wouldn’t know, because I didn’t look. That’s because I’m the chief of police and not a private investigator in the hire of your attorney.”
“Of course. You couldn’t be expected to look for Melvin’s rap sheet.” Cora kicked herself for not having been the one to think of it. “But if you were going to pull it, how would you go about it?”
Harper took a breath. “Cora, I’m trying to indulge your loopy behavior because I understand you’re under a lot of stress. But as far as your divorce hearing, I want nothing to do with it.” He frowned. “Still, there’s one thing bothers me.”
“What’s that?”
“Dan, hold down the front desk, will you? I’m going to have a little talk with Cora.”
Chief Harper led Cora into his office and shut the door. He motioned her to a chair and sat behind his desk. “Now then. The banker who testified against you.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Exactly. You seem pretty pissed off at him.”
“Well, wouldn’t you be?”
“All he said was you cashed the check. You did cash the check, didn’t you?”
“I refuse to answer on advice of counsel.”
“There you are. It’s no revelation you cashed the check. Everyone knows you cashed the check. Whether you want to admit it or not.”
“So?”
“Why are you so mad at the guy?”
“I’m not mad at him.” Cora grimaced. “Well, yes, I am. I check out his so-called robbery and the next thing I know he’s in court testifying against me.”
“Do you think there’s a connection?”
“Do you?”
“How could there be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the crook steals something valuable, says, ‘If you don’t testify the way I want, you’ll never get it back.’ ”
“Of course he said nothing was stolen.”
“What, you think he’s gonna come out and say someone ripped him off for half a pound of heroin?”
“You think he’s a drug pusher?”
“I don’t know what I think. But I’m not about to give the guy a free pass. When I saw him take the stand, a little bird said, Why?”
“I don’t suppose a subpoena had anything to do with it.”
“Yeah, very funny. The point is, who knew to subpoena him? Did he come to Melvin, or did Melvin come to him?”
“I imagine it was Melvin’s attorney who—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Cora waved it away. “It’s too pat, and I don’t like it.”
“What about the KenKen?”
“What about it?”
“You solved it. So tell me. What devastating revelation in the solution could lead an honest, upstanding bank manager to feel compelled to go to court and testify against a persecuted puzzle constructor?”
“My God, you’re getting good with words, Chief. Maybe you should write my column.”
“I’m serious. How is any of this the bank manager’s fault?”
“I don’t know, because I don’t know all the facts. I just know Melvin’s involved, so nothing can be taken at face value. He’s a born liar, he’s been practicing all his life, and he just gets better and better. If you want proof, take a look at his current wife.”
“Current wife?”
“Yeah. He’s tooling around town with her. At least he was. He probably dropped her off at day care.”
“She has kids?”
“No.”
Harper sighed. “Okay. I understand. The guy’s trying to cut off your money and he’s pushing his young wife in your face. This is why you have a lawyer. Because the lawyer isn’t emotionally involved, and can think rationally. Except when your lawyer’s as pushy as Becky Baldwin, she’s apt to exceed her boundaries and try to tell me my job. But even so, she’s got a firmer grip on the situation. When the bank manager testifies against you, she doesn’t take it personally. She tries to see how much it damages your case, and what practical thing she can do about it. Which does not include beating the guy to a bloody pulp.”
“I got it, I got it. You don’t have to spell it out in words of one syllable. You’re not talking to a two-year-old.”
Harper grimaced, put up his hand. “Once again, in affairs of the heart—”
“This is not an affair of the heart! I hate the son of a bitch!”
Harper waited until the sound waves had finished reverberating through his office.
“Yeah, right.”
Chapter
16
Cora confronted Becky Baldwin in her law office. “You went behind my back to the police?”
Becky frowned. “I don’t know about anybody’s back. I spoke to Chief Harper.”
“About Melvin’s rap sheet.”
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t think to run it by me first?”
“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”
“I’d just like to know what you’re doing.”
“I’m trying to win a court case. By any means possible. If you’re quoting me to the media, by any legal means possible.”
“Come on, Becky, can’t you beat this case on the merits? Why do you have to drag Melvin’s record into it?”
“He has a record?”
“I have no idea if he has a record. But a man of his many talents would have to be very lucky not to.”
“If he has a history of scamming women out of money, that would certainly be relevant.”
“He has a history of scamming everybody out of everything.”
“Well, I didn’t get his rap sheet. But a check of vital statistics was rather interesting.”
“Why, is he dead?”
“You’d be surprised how many times he’s been married.”
“I probably wouldn’t.”
“Eight. Four times since you. Most recently to a Miss Evelyn Anne Miller, an actress-slash-cocktail waitress considerably his junior.”
“That would be Bambi. I met her.”
“Oh?”
“He brought her to town. Just to throw in my face. In case his legal maneuvers weren’t pissing me off enough. He was hoping a hot trophy wife might make me blow a gasket.”
“Is it?”
“You haven’t seen her. Jesus, Becky, she makes you look like Grandma Moses.”
Becky pointed her finger. “Hey, watch it, or I’ll charge you what I’m actually worth.”
“In the meantime, I don’t suppose you found out anything about that bank manager.”
“What about him?”
“He seemed awfully eager to sell me down the river.”
“Maybe.”
“Chief Harper thinks it’s funny. So do I. I was out at the guy’s house just last week. Investigating an alleged burglary. In which nothing was taken, but a KenKen puzzle was left.”
“What’s a KenKen puzzle?”
“Oh, not again.”
Cora went through the whole explanation about solving KenKen.
“What could it possibly mean?” Becky asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Did you solve it?”
“Of course I solved it. It’s a piece of cake.”
“Let me see it.”
Cora reached in her drawstring purse, found the KenKen.
Becky looked it over, said, “Hmmm.”
“Hmmm? What do you mean, hmmm?”
“Well, one thing jumps out at you.”
“What wou
ld that be?”
Becky pointed. “Look at the first line.”
“What about it?”
“It’s 1, 2, 4, 3.”
“So? It’s gotta be the numbers 1 through 4 in some order or another. There aren’t that many possibilities.”
“It’s just interesting that it’s that one.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t notice?” Becky smiled. “It’s the amount of your alimony payment.”
Chapter
17
Roger Randolph pulled into his driveway, stopped the car, and got out. He popped the trunk, took out the bag of groceries, and the case of light beer he’d picked up at the Stop & Shop, and went up the walk. Balancing the groceries and the beer with one arm, he fumbled with his keys and opened the front door. He went in, kicked the door shut behind him, shifted the weight of his burden, walked into the living room, and stopped dead.
Cora Felton was sitting on the couch. She was reading a mystery novel. She looked up when he came in. “About time you got home. I was beginning to worry.”
“What are you doing in my house?”
“Reading a Joan Hess book.” Cora held it up. “Quite funny, actually. You’d like it.”
“How did you get in here?”
“Excellent question.” Cora nodded in agreement with herself. “See, that’s the question you should have been asking last Thursday. When the place was robbed and nothing was taken. How the hell did the robber get in? I guess you can’t call him a robber if nothing was taken. And you can’t call him a him or you’ll get in trouble with the PC police. After all, the robber who wasn’t a robber could well be a her. Like me, for instance.”
“You broke into my house?”
“Not last Thursday. Last Thursday I came with Chief Harper. And, no, I wasn’t coming back to the scene of the crime. That was the first time I’d ever been in your house. And this is not returning to the scene of the crime, either. Well, actually, it is, but not in the sense you mean it. Because I didn’t commit the crime. You wanna put your beer down? It looks heavy.”
Randolph set the beer and groceries on the floor, popped back up. “How dare you break into my house.”
Cora pursed her lips. “Gee, I don’t know. More chutzpah than the average bear? That’s possible. Frustrated by the day in court? Another good one. Freaked out by meeting my accuser before my day in court? Before I was even summoned, for goodness sake? That’s got to be pretty close to a winner.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cora shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no. How can you not know what I’m talking about? I was in your house, examining your quote robbery unquote, the one where nothing was taken and something was left. Now, surely you remember that.”
“I’m going to call the police.”
“Good. Ask for Dan Finley. He’s waiting for my call.”
“What?”
“You didn’t think I’d come here without backup, did you? Well, actually, I would. I was bluffing about Dan Finley. But I’ve got a gun in my purse.” Cora put up her hand. “Not to worry. I haven’t shot anyone in ages. The point is I’m here, and I’d like to know what’s going on.”
“You’re crazy. You’re out of your mind.”
Cora grimaced. “See, now, that’s not the answer I was hoping for. Let me make it easier for you. Did you know my ex-husband before today?”
“No.”
“That’s Melvin. The one suing me now in court. Did you know him?”
“I said no.”
“Okay. Did you know of him?”
“What?”
“Had you been contacted by anyone representing Melvin? Had you been approached by anyone with any threats or inducements to do me wrong?”
“That’s absurd.”
“My sentiments exactly. Do you deny it?”
“Of course I deny it. Now will you get out of my house?”
“What did you think was stolen?”
“Huh?”
“When you called the police. To report the burglary. Where nothing was taken. What did you think was taken?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you call the police?”
“My house was broken into. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you. Obviously it doesn’t, since you’ve just done it again.”
“I haven’t done it again. I never broke into your house before, and I resent the implication.”
“This is a nightmare.”
“Yes, but it’s my nightmare, and I’m just trying to make it make sense. Let me put it this way. You meet any young blondes lately?”
“What?”
“Of the practically prepubescent variety. Sexy, alluring, and out of your league. Way too interested in you for your type of guy.”
“Hey!”
“Anyone like that in your life?”
“My personal life is none of your business.”
“Obviously not, or you’d be bragging about it. All right, let me put it another way. Do you do KenKen?”
“What?”
“The puzzle found in your safe. The KenKen. Do you do them?”
“Why?”
“You do. That’s interesting. Who knows you do KenKen? Is it a secret vice? Or do you do ’em on your coffee break at the bank? Or when things are just slow?”
“Would you leave? I gotta put my food away.”
Cora heaved herself off the couch, grabbed a bag of groceries. “Come on. I’ll help you.” She headed for the kitchen.
Roger looked at her in exasperation. He picked up the case of beer, trailed along behind.
Cora put the bag of groceries on the kitchen table, opened the refrigerator door. “Here you go. Wanna put away the perishables? Maybe a couple of beers. I don’t drink it, but you could probably use a few.”
The banker still looked somewhat dazed. “This can’t be happening.”
“Yeah, but it is. What have we got here? Milk. Orange juice. Healthy boy.” She put the cartons in the fridge. “Got any eggs? Cottage cheese? Yogurt? Frozen foods? No, just cans and dry food. Looks like we’re good to go.”
Cora closed the refrigerator door. “So. This teller who brought you the check. Why did you remember it so vividly? She a cutie? You sweet on her?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to talk to you. Isn’t there a law against tampering with witnesses?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. This isn’t a murder trial. This is a sneaky ploy by a scheming ex-husband in an alimony proceeding. Do you really want to be a part of that?”
“Now I am going to call the police.”
“So the KenKen meant nothing to you.”
“Of course not.”
“Did you solve it?”
“Huh?”
“You do KenKen. Did you solve this one?”
“The police took it.”
“Right. As evidence of the nonburglary. Well, I got good news for you.” Cora reached into her floppy drawstring purse, pulled out a piece of paper. “I got a copy for you. Just in case you’d like to solve it.”
“Why?”
“If someone broke into my house and left something for me, I’d want to know what it was.” Cora whipped out a pencil, thrust it at the banker. “Here you go. It’s a 4-by-4. Piece of cake. Bet you can do it in less than a minute.”
“I don’t understand. Why do you want me to solve it?”
“Because it’s there. You know, like why did they climb Everest. In this case, because it’s there. In your room. After the robbery. I would think you’d like to know why.” She cocked her head and said insinuatingly, “And if you don’t want to know why, that would be interesting in itself.”
The banker exhaled noisily. He snatched the pencil from her, solved the KenKen. Slapped the pencil down on the table. “There.”
“That wasn’t so hard, now, was it? Let’s see if you got it right.”
“Of course I got it right.”
“I’m sure you did, but I’m going t
o take a look.” Cora scanned the KenKen. “Yeah, that’s it all right. That the first time you ever solved it?”
“Obviously.”
“You had no idea what the answer was?”
“Not at all.”
“Take a look at it, see if it means anything to you.”
“How could it?”
“You tell me.”
He glared at her, picked up the KenKen, scanned it, and put it back on the table.
“Well?” Cora said. “How about it? That ring any bells? Look familiar? Mean anything to you?”
He shook his head. “Not a damn thing.”
Chapter
18
The phone rang in the middle of the night. Cora grabbed for it, knocked it off the nightstand. Or would have, had there been a phone on the nightstand. As it was, she knocked off her glasses, keys, and ashtray.
Cora heaved herself to her feet, stumbled past the other bedroom, where Sherry and Aaron were snoring like a pair of porpoises, worn out, no doubt, from connubial bliss. She staggered into the office, flipped on a light, grabbed the phone.
“Hello?” she growled.
“Cora?”
“Yes.”
“Chief Harper.”
“What the hell time is it?”
“Three A.M.”
“This better be good.”
“Randolph’s dead.”
“What?”
“He’s been murdered. Shot in the head.”
“It couldn’t be self-inflicted?”
“No. It’s murder.”
“When was he killed?”
“I don’t know.”
Cora frowned. “How is that possible?”
“I gotta get off the phone. Just thought you’d like to know,” Harper said, and hung up.
Cora described the chief in terms that were hardly laudatory yet loud and quite elaborate.
Sherry staggered in the door. “What’s going on?”
“Harper called. It’s a murder.”
“Who?”
“Randolph.”
“Guy who got robbed?”
“He wasn’t really robbed.”
“But he’s really dead?”
“According to the chief.”
Cora went back in her room and pulled on her clothes. Halfway through getting dressed, she stopped and checked her purse. Her gun was in it. It had not been fired.
