by Parnell Hall
“Maybe you can write a little puzzle that does that.”
Benny stared at her. “Talk about divas! I’ve met rude celebrities before, but you take the cake! Christ, lady, didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“I heard you. I’ve seen you. And I’m done with you.” Cora chucked the little poodle under the chin. “Now get lost before I sic Cujo here on you.”
MIMI MADE UP her mind. She’d been stewing about it all day, ever since she dropped Chuck off at the train. Somehow, she’d managed to hold off during breakfast. And then during the ride in the car. Of course, she didn’t want to talk in front of the child. Not that the child could understand, but still. That had been sufficient excuse to put off the decision.
The night before, he’d come home drunk—well, not drunk drunk, but certainly tipsy—after his evening out. She couldn’t say anything then. Break in on his mood. When he’d tumbled into bed and gone right to sleep, she’d been almost grateful.
What a day. What an awful day. This morning she’d peeked under the blotter, to see if it was still there. And it was. She’d barely heard anything the other women said in the bakery. All she could think about was the money. She’d have to ask him about it. There was no way out. She had to ask him. And no matter what he said, it would be bad. Because she’d have to explain how she found it. It was too much on top of the dented fender incident. He’d been so good about that. To try his patience with something else. He’d be angry. Very angry.
Still, he had the money. He was the one in the wrong. How could he justify that? Was it her fault for pointing out his transgression? Could he really hold that against her?
Of course he could. He could hold anything against her if he wanted to. That was the way men were. Or at least the way Chuck was. If he had a bad day, it was her fault.
No, that wasn’t fair. Chuck was a good guy. But there was no reason to deliberately rile him.
Like today. Making a doctor’s appointment for four forty-five. Yes, it was the only one she could get. And, yes, Darlene was running a fever. And Chuck had been nice about taking a cab home. Even so, she wished she’d been able to pick him up. Though she’d dreaded picking him up at the station, because she wouldn’t want to bring up the money until they got home, and she’d feel awkward not talking about it. Just as she felt awkward about the cable TV guy flirting with her, if that’s really what he was doing, at any rate getting a little too familiar. She felt awkward not mentioning that, though not nearly as awkward as she would have felt mentioning it. So she hadn’t looked forward to the ride home in the car.
Of course, she hadn’t deliberately scheduled the four forty-five appointment. That was the one she was offered. Surely they wouldn’t have been able to give her an earlier one just because she had to pick up her husband. Of course, she hadn’t asked. She would have felt funny asking. Everyone had problems. They couldn’t rearrange the office schedule just to accommodate her.
Darlene had strep. Thank God. If it had been nothing, she’d have felt terrible about the appointment. Instead, she felt terrible about being glad Darlene had strep throat. Still, she felt vindicated as she stopped off at the pharmacy to pick up the antibiotic.
Now Mimi parked the car in the garage, took Darlene out of the car seat, and went in the house to tell her husband his child was sick and ask him what five thousand dollars in cash was doing hidden under the blotter of his desk.
Chuck was indeed already home. His jacket was over the back of a chair, his briefcase on the floor by the portable bar.
Mimi took a breath, braced for the occasion. With a child in one arm, and a bottle of medicine in the other, she stalked into the office.
Chuck was on the phone when she came in. He had a glass of scotch in one hand. He saluted her with it, said, “Just a second, Dave. Hi, honey, be right with you. Look, Dave, my wife is home. I gotta get off the phone. Anyway, I checked out the movie money and you’re in the clear. It’s not counterfeiting if the bills can be distinguished from the real thing by reasonable effort. You just have to make a few changes. For starters, the serial number. I talked to the producer myself. The stuff is gonna be bundled, there is absolutely no reason for a different number. It’s not gonna play on camera. If it did, they could always use a real bill on the outside of the pack. The guy doesn’t much care. He says it’s like how all movie telephone numbers are 555. Anyway, if you’re doing ten million in hundreds, just run the same bill with the same number. Your problem is, you’re doing too good work. Cut a few corners for a change.”
Chuck put down the phone, smiled at his wife. “So, how are you?”
Mimi was totally at sea. How could she bring up the money now? Chuck had just accounted for it. If it really was the money under the blotter he was talking about. Was that money fake? It must be. But how could she tell? She couldn’t ask. She’d have to admit she’d been snooping. Which she could get away with if he was in the wrong. But to admit to going through his things and finding play money . . .
Chuck frowned. “Honey? What’s the matter? You look upset.”
Mimi was having a panic attack. What could she tell him? What could she say?
Then she remembered.
Mimi slapped on a concerned face, and tried not to sound relieved.
“Darlene has strep throat,” she told her husband.
BENNY SOUTHSTREET COULDN’T believe it. The woman lied to his face. First she rips him off, then she lies to his face. The great pooh-bah of puzzles and cereal. A liar and petty thief. Here he was, a decent, honest, hardworking puzzle constructor, getting ripped off by the queen of words herself. She probably figured she was so high-and-mighty no one would take his word against hers.
Even though he had the documentation. Even though he could prove his case. Who would listen? The grid was the same, and most of the entries. And most of the clues. The theme was different, but not that different. There was no way it was a coincidence. No way. It was a ripoff, plain and simple, and she would not, no, she would not get away with it.
Scrunched down in the front seat of his rental car,
Benny Southstreet watched Cora Felton’s Toyota pull out of her driveway and head for town. The yappy little dog’s nose was out the back window. That was a break. Benny had puppy biscuits in his pocket just in case, but he was happy not to have to use them.
The minute Cora’s car was out of sight, Benny slipped out of his car and crept up the drive. It was early evening, not yet dark. Anyone in the house could have seen him coming. But Benny was sure it was empty. Cora’s niece had gone out about an hour earlier with a young gentleman, and from what Benny had been able to pick up nosing around town, they were the only ones who lived in the house. Even so, Benny knocked on the front door. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say if anyone answered it. Luckily, no one did.
Benny tried the knob. The door was unlocked. He figured it might be. People in the country so seldom locked their doors. Benny slipped inside, began his search. In a modest ranch house, it wasn’t difficult. The office was the first door down the hall.
There was a pile of papers on the desk. Benny pawed through them. Many were crossword puzzles, none of them his. Benny frowned, glanced around the office. The bottom shelf of the bookcase caught his eye. The oversized paperbacks looked suspiciously like crossword puzzle collections.
They were.
One of them looked damn familiar. Benny had sold so many puzzles to so many magazines it was hard to keep track. But he could have sworn he had one in that collection. He pulled it out, leafed through.
There it was! “My Bad,” by Benny Southstreet.
There! That proved it! All he had to do was call the police and—
Get caught for breaking and entering.
Not only that, he’d be accused of planting the puzzle book. Even if he wasn’t, the fact that she had it wouldn’t prove that she used it. It would certainly raise the inference. But he wanted proof.
All right. When she changed his puzzle into hers, most
likely she did it on the computer.
Benny checked out the icons on the screen. Sure enough, the Puzzle Lady had Crossword Compiler. Benny called it up, clicked on OPENto see a directory of the puzzles. The title “My Bad” seemed almost too much to hope for.
It was. The puzzles didn’t have titles, merely numbers and dates. Benny clicked on “#5134, 5/06.” The puzzle that appeared was one he had seen in the paper. Benny couldn’t care less about solving puzzles. If he was going to, it wouldn’t be some ditzy old lady’s. But he’d been checking out her column since she stole his puzzle. And this was one of the ones he’d seen.
So, where was his puzzle? Had she deleted it?
She must have. Which made sense. She wouldn’t want to keep the evidence around.
Unless . . .
Benny clicked on an icon, opened Cora’s mailbox. Half a dozen e-mails came in, mostly spam. Benny didn’t want RECEIVED MAIL. He moved the mouse, clicked on SENT MAIL.
The woman who had given the puzzle to her husband was named Mimi Dillinger. There was no such person listed. But Benny knew e-mail addresses didn’t always reflect people’s names. He called up all the letters that had been sent in the last week, looking for one with an attachment. There was none. Well, another idea down the drain.
Benny guessed that was all he could do. Except he knew a bit about computers. With a little effort, he could figure out where Cora had been. Of course, that had nothing to do with the crossword puzzle. It would be a wholly unjustifiable intrusion into Cora’s personal space. There was no reason whatsoever for him to do so. Except in the hope of finding something scandalous and embarrassing about her. Like a penchant for S&M porn sites, for instance. Stuff he had no right or reason to know.
Benny opened Netscape Navigator, checked for recent use. Discovered Cora had just been on eBay. Well, that was certainly none of his business. He wondered what she had been trying to buy. It was easy enough to find out. He scrolled through the list of recently opened eBay screens, clicked on one.
Huh. Chairs. Cora was bidding on chairs. And who was she bidding against?
Benny glanced out the window just to make sure no car was coming up the drive, then busied himself at the keyboard.
CHIEF HARPER FROWNED at his coffee. It was late morning, the goodies from Cushman’s Bake Shop were long gone, and the chief was making do with a cup of sludge from the station pot. “Solve the case yet?” he inquired.
Cora Felton graced him with a look usually reserved for Amway salesmen. “No, I have not solved the case. Though I must say I probably put in as much work in three days as you did in a year.”
“That’s because I have other cases. I can’t concentrate on just one.”
“Yeah. Look, I got my dog in the car. What do you want?”
“You left your dog in the car?”
“I’m taking him for a haircut. Yesterday I took him for a shot. I swear, I should get a chauffeur’s license.”
“A shot?”
“Rabies. Distemper. I don’t know. Some yearly vaccine the vet thought up to make money. Now he needs a trim because poodles don’t shed, and there goes another sixty bucks.”
“I think there might be a local ordinance about leaving an animal unattended in a motor vehicle.”
“So bust me. Come on, Chief. You called me in here. If you just want a progress report, I haven’t got time.”
“I see you have time to get your name in the paper.” Harper pointed to the Gazette, open to the puzzle page. “Awfully nice of you, helping out the young woman.”
“There’s nothing nice about it. She tricked me into it.”
“Still, to go to all the trouble of making a puzzle.”
“You don’t make a puzzle, you construct it. Don’t you know anything?”
“When it comes to crossword puzzles, not much. Anyway, whatever you want to call it, you did it. And you did it all by yourself.”
A chill ran down Cora’s spine. “What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said. The puzzle you gave to the woman. It’s just like the ones in your column. You didn’t get paid for it, but, aside from that, it’s just like all the rest.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I have no idea. But it’s not copyright, or whatever it is, when you put a puzzle in the paper. Not that this puzzle’s not in the paper, but you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean. And I really don’t care.”
“Maybe not. But while we’re on the subject, can you assure me you had no outside help in coming up with it?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”
“So, if someone said you ripped off his puzzle, that person would be lying?”
“Would he ever. I’ve never ripped off anyone’s puzzle in my life.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Why, Chief? What’s this all about?”
“After the puzzle appeared in the paper I had a phone call. Some guy askin’ if you’d ever been charged with literary theft.”
“You mean plagiarism? What did you tell him?”
“I told him no, of course not. He asked me to make sure you wrote the puzzle in the paper.”
“So, what did you do?”
“Nothing. I’m not going to put any faith in an anonymous voice.”
“The guy didn’t give a name?”
“If he had, he wouldn’t be so anonymous.”
“But you asked me about it anyway.”
“Give me a break. I didn’t ask you to ask you. I asked you to tell you.”
“You called me in here,” Cora reminded him.
“Not for that. I got another case for you.”
Cora brightened immediately. “Really?”
“Yes, and it’s right up your alley. Chuck Dillinger, the husband of the woman you helped, lodged a complaint this morning that his office was broken into.”
“His office? In the city?”
“No, in his house.”
“He has an office in his house?”
“Not his office. His study.”
“His study was broken into?”
“You find that strange?”
“He locks his study?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Do you lock your study? I bet your study doesn’t even have a lock.”
“My study doesn’t even have a door.”
“There you are. The guy locks his study. Did you ask him why?”
“No.”
“What kind of a lock does he have on it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it.”
“Of course not. You just spoke to him on the phone. Tell me, Chief, do you do all your work over the phone? Do you ever leave your office?”
“Why should I? I’m the chief. I’ve got people to handle things for me.”
“Like who?”
“Like you. Wanna go see the wife? You got a relationship with her already. Why don’t you run out there, ask her what’s what.”
Cora looked pained. “Oh, come on. I’m trying to get away from the woman.”
“You’re looking for a crime. What’s wrong with breaking and entering?”
“Breaking what? The study door you’re not even sure the guy has?”
“There you are. That’s something you could find out for me.”
“Yeah, great. Tell me, Chief, what were you going to do about this if I hadn’t come in?”
“Probably wait to see if the guy called again. Then I’d know if he was serious.”
“I don’t know when you’re serious, Chief. Are you as lazy as you sound, or are you just pulling my leg?”
“A little of both. Actually, I sent Sam Brogan out there. He hasn’t reported in yet. That’s why I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Sam probably scared her to death,” Cora observed dryly. Bakerhaven’s crankiest officer had reduced interrogations to a Zen art that often reduced witnesses to tears.
“Sam’s a good boy.
If he found anything, he’d have reported in.”
“He didn’t,” Cora said. “So, why do you want me to go out there and do it?”
“Because you’re just that much better than Sam.”
Cora scowled suspiciously. But Chief Harper kept a straight face.
MiMi DILLINGER SEEMED hassled. “What do you want?” she said, stopping Cora at the door.
Cora frowned. Mimi had the baby on one hip and a diaper over her shoulder; still, one would have expected a slightly warmer greeting for the savior who bailed her out with hubby. “I hear you had a break-in.”
“Who told you that?”
“Chief Harper.”
Mimi frowned. “Why is he telling everyone our business?”
“It’s not like he made a public announcement. I stopped by the station and he asked me to help him out.” Cora took a breath, said, “I sometimes help people out.”
Mimi, prompted, chimed in with belated thanks.
“Well, you certainly helped me,” she gushed. “Chuck took it so well. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You didn’t have to put it in the paper.”
“I suppose that was a bit impulsive. But once I sent the fax I didn’t know how to get it back. Is it a problem?”
Cora waved it away. “What’s done is done. But about this break-in . . .”
“Oh, it was nothing. The police were here.”
“Sam Brogan?”
“Yes.” Mimi frowned. “Is he always like that?”
“Yeah,” Cora said. “Anyway, Chief Harper would like to get the facts without the attitude.”
“Oh. Well, then, come in.”
It was, to Cora’s thinking, a rather grudging invitation. She followed Mimi into the living room of a modest two-story colonial. The decor was what Cora referred to as functional-modern. As opposed to what Cora referred to as ultramodern. Or silly.
Cora gazed wistfully at the portable bar. It was not that long since she’d given up drinking.
Mimi put the baby in a playpen in the corner. Darlene immediately began bawling.
