by Parnell Hall
“You see?” Benny Southstreet said. “You see? This is the reaction I can expect. No one cares.”
“I think it’s an outrage, but you got no case. Unless the person who stole it was someone famous.”
“Oh, yeah? It’s the Puzzle Lady, for Christ’s sake. You think I got a case now?”
“The Puzzle Lady stole your puzzle? I like it. This is really good.”
“Dennis.”
“I’m going, I’m going. I would not want to interfere with this. You got a live one here. This could be worth some money.”
Dennis grinned at Becky, and ducked out the door.
Becky watched him go, then turned back to her prospective client.
Benny’s arms were folded. His head was cocked in an I-told-you-so pose. “Well,” he demanded, “what do you think now?”
DENNIS AMBUSHED BENNY Southstreet outside the pizza parlor. He’d meant to ambush him outside Becky Baldwin’s, but Benny foxed him, ducking in for a quick sausage and peppers. Benny was holding it over a greasy paper plate and feeding one end of the folded slice into his mouth when Dennis came walking up. “Get any satisfaction?”
Benny chewed the pizza, swallowed. “God, that’s good! Yeah, she’s taking the case.”
“You mind walking away from here so she doesn’t come out and see me?”
“What’s the problem?”
“I’m supposed to check in with her. I checked in with her. I don’t need a lecture.”
“How come you gotta check in?”
“I’m on probation.”
“For what?”
“Possession of drugs. And it wasn’t even my drugs.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“The court agreed it wasn’t my drugs. Not that they cared. Never mind. Tell me about your case.”
“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” Having made that virtuous pronouncement, Benny couldn’t stop talking about it. He filled in Dennis in between bites of pizza.
Dennis frowned. “So, the Puzzle Lady ripped you off?”
“You find that hard to believe?”
“I find it very interesting. That a woman with so much to lose would take such a chance.”
“Well, she didn’t know it was going to be in the paper.”
Dennis put up one finger. “I wouldn’t be so quick to concede that. Not with a lawsuit pending. How do you know she didn’t expect it to be in the paper? Maybe she knew the type of woman this Mimi What’s-her-name was and expected it to be in the paper.”
“Are you saying she did?”
“Not at all. I’m exploring possibilities. Which is what you should be doing. This woman she wrote the puzzle for—what do you know about her?”
“Housewife and mother. Husband works for some law firm in New York.”
“They got money?”
“Why?”
“You’re suing them. It would help if they had money.”
“They have some.”
“What kind of house they got?”
Benny shrugged. “Small two-story colonial. No great shakes.”
“You seen it?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I hear they had a break-in.”
“Are you accusing me?”
“Should I be?”
“Not unless you want a fat lip.”
“So what did you find?”
“Where?”
“At their house.”
“I’m warning you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
“Why are you so interested?”
“The Puzzle Lady’s niece.”
“What about her?”
“I used to be married to her.”
“You still got feelings for her?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Any chance of a reconciliation?”
“Not much.”
“How come?”
“I remarried.”
Benny raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Benny grinned. “Ah! Struck a nerve.”
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. If Cora Felton searched their house, what might she have found? That was important enough to turn over to the cops. We’re talking something small enough for her to stick in her purse. That she’d have to sort out from her other junk.”
“I have no idea.”
“Neither do I.” Dennis cocked his head at Benny. “Luckily, whatever it is can’t send me to jail.”
CHUCK DILLINGER’S OFFICE was small. It also faced the interior court instead of the street. What good was an office on Madison Avenue if your office wasn’t on Madison Avenue? True, it was a Madison Avenue address, but it wasn’t his address, it was the partnership of Hendricks and Sloane, and he wasn’t Hendricks or Sloane, so he had a small office on the interior court.
Chuck Dillinger was a young associate, hoping to make partner. It wasn’t cheap raising a family, especially in Connecticut. Not in a house as nice as his, on the good side of town. Without help, he couldn’t make it. He’d have to move to upstate New York, or even New Jersey. Not the direction his life should be heading. Not the direction at all.
Chuck checked his appointment book. He had no client meetings today. Which left him with paperwork.
He hated paperwork. That was what his paralegal should be doing. Only Chuck didn’t have a paralegal. He relied on the switchboard girl, who didn’t type and didn’t file. Which left him typing and filing.
The phone rang. It was, of course, the switchboard. Either that or his wife. Only she had his direct line. Chuck was surprised to hear a man’s voice.
“Mr. Dillinger?”
“Yes.”
“This is Officer Brogan, Bakerhaven PD.”
“Oh?”
“I’m working on the break-in at your house.”
“Oh.” Chuck’s pulse raced. “Caught the guy?” he asked casually.
“ ’Fraid not. So little to go on. Just wanted to follow up. You said your study was broken into, is that correct?”
“I’m not sure it was broken into, since nothing was taken.”
“No, but you said so. Isn’t that right? Not that it was broken into, but the fact you reported it was?”
“I may have said something like that.”
“Why would you have thought such a thing?”
Chuck’s head was coming off. What the hell was this all about? “Officer, I don’t even remember saying such a thing, but if I did, uh, there’s nothing in the house worth stealing, so I would naturally think the study.”
“There’s things worth stealing in the study?”
“Well, my computer’s there. And some expensive cigars.”
“You thought someone broke in to steal your cigars?”
“No. Of course not. I have no idea why anyone might break in. I have nothing worth taking. Nothing was taken. I assume the thief broke in, looked around, was disappointed, and left.”
“That sounds quite reasonable.”
“Good. I hope that clears things up, Officer.”
“Yeah, but that’s not why I called.”
“Oh?”
“There was something under the blotter of your desk. Which probably wouldn’t mean anything. Except with your claim someone broke into the study . . .”
“You found something under the blotter of my desk? You didn’t mention anything about that.”
“Neither did you.”
“What?”
“You didn’t mention keeping anything under the blotter of your desk.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What did you find?”
“The torn corner of a hundred-dollar bill.”
There was a silence on the phone. Sam Brogan continued, “Do you have any idea what that was doing there?”
After another brief silence, Chuck said, “Oh, is that all. You had me worried.”
“You know what the bill was doing there?”
“Yes, of
course.”
“You wanna share that information?” Sam said dryly.
“I often keep a couple of hundreds under my blotter for emergencies. The corner must have torn off one of them.”
“So these were your hundred-dollar bills?”
“That’s right.”
“And you think the burglar took them?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I spent them.”
“Oh?”
“I ran out of cash and spent the bills. The corner must have torn off when I pulled them out.”
“Okay. So you’re saying what we’re dealing with is the corner of a genuine hundred-dollar bill, it’s your hundred-dollar bill, and it wasn’t stolen?”
“No. I’m sorry, Officer. If you’re looking for leads, I’m afraid it’s another dead end. But I certainly appreciate your taking the time and effort. Was there anything else?”
“No, that’ll do.”
Chuck hung up the phone. Son of a bitch! The cop would have to find a piece of a bill. He wondered if it was foolish to have claimed it was his, but what else could he do? His wife had bought the stage money explanation, but the cop was another story. Mimi would never check, but the cop might. When there wasn’t any movie money, there’d be hell to pay. No way to lie his way out of that.
Of course, there’d be hell to pay if the cop checked with his wife. But that would be easier to explain. The bills were his personal secret stash. His wife didn’t know about it. He couldn’t admit it to her. No way.
Wait a minute! Mimi hadn’t seen the corner of a hundred-dollar bill. She’d seen a whole stack of ’em. Five thousand dollars’ worth. How could he reconcile that?
Chuck was sweating profusely, and his office had air-conditioning, one of the few perks of the job. Good lord, how would he handle that?
Chuck hyperventilated, trying to calm himself. It wasn’t so bad. Why would the cop bother to check with his wife? There was no reason to, and—
Icy terror gripped him.
What if he already had?
What if the cop knew Mimi’s story, and was just baiting him? What if the cop was merely waiting to spring the trap?
The phone rang.
Chuck stared at it in horror. Oh, my God! That was the cop calling back. “I checked with your wife. Would you like to reconsider the story about the hundred-dollar bills?”
Good God! Maybe he should duck into the men’s room, pretend he was out of his office. No, that would never do.
Chuck scooped up the phone. “Hello?”
“Mr. Dillinger?”
Chuck had never been so relieved to hear the receptionist’s voice. “Yes?”
“Someone to see you. A Mr. Dennis Pride.”
DENNIS PRIDE WAS grinning like he’d just won the lottery. A cocky, insolent grin. He glanced around the office as if making an unflattering value judgment.
Chuck wanted to wipe the smug smile off his face. But what if he was a new junior partner? Younger morons were being wooed away from more and more firms these days. There was no way to know them all. He didn’t dare be overtly hostile.
The young man was wearing a suit and tie— granted, not the quality one would expect from a hotshot attorney; still, he could be someone’s eccentric nephew. There was no reason not to tread cautiously.
Chuck extended his hand. “Mr. Pride, I’m Chuck Dillinger. Come in, sit down. What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping we could help each other out.” Dennis shrugged. “Actually, I was hoping you could
help me out. Anything that helps you would be entirely incidental.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Benny Southstreet.”
Chuck frowned. “Who?”
Dennis nodded approvingly. “That’s good. Very good. You’re either a terrific poker player or you’ve never heard of him.”
“I’ve never heard of him. Who’s Benny Southstreet?”
There was one comfortable client chair in the office. Dennis lolled back in it, crossed his legs. “I understand you had a break-in at your house.”
“Are you a cop?”
“Good lord, what an idea. Wait’ll the boys in the band hear that. I mean band as in rock group. This is my day job. I actually sing.”
Chuck just gawked.
Dennis chuckled. “That’s your cue to say, ‘You sing a funny tune,’ or something equally square and cliché.”
“Damn it, what about the break-in?”
“Ah, the man lives. I understand you were pretty upset, considering nothing was taken.”
“Well, nothing was.”
“Then why were you so upset?”
“How’d you like someone to break into your house?”
“I haven’t got a house. But I concede the point. Let’s talk about something else.”
“What?”
“Cora Felton.”
Chuck’s mouth fell open.
Dennis grinned. “That’s a pretty good barometer. I think we could safely say you’ve heard of Cora Felton and you haven’t heard of Benny Southstreet.”
“Of course I’ve heard of Cora Felton. She’s the Puzzle Lady.”
Dennis laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just that’s the only thing you’ve told me so far. That Cora Felton is the Puzzle Lady.”
“Well, everyone knows that.”
“Yes, they do. That’s why I find the information less than useful. I understand you’ve had particular reason to know about the Puzzle Lady.”
“I don’t know how that puzzle got in the paper.”
“Didn’t your wife put it there?”
“I suppose she did.”
“And you knew that, didn’t you? But you automatically lied. It’s like a reflex action with you. Is it because you’re a lawyer? Is that why you do it?”
“I’ve had enough of your insolence. What do you want?”
“Do you know Cora Felton searched your house?”
“What?”
“Your wife didn’t tell you that. I wonder what other things she hasn’t told you.”
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing at all. That was just for fun. Cora Felton found something, stuck it in her purse. I don’t know what it was, but she told the cops about it.” Dennis was watching Chuck’s face. “Ah, I see that means something to you. You know what she found. What was it?”
“I have no idea.”
Dennis shook his head. “There you go again. The automatic lie. Just when we were having fun. This Benny Southstreet that you never heard of—you know who he is? He claims he wrote the puzzle Cora Felton gave your wife that got printed in the paper.”
“What?”
“That’s what he claims. Personally, I think he’s the guy who broke into your house. He knows where it is, he knows what it looks like. And he needs to find evidence to back his lawsuit.”
“Who is this guy?”
“Ah, now you’re interested. Can I assume something valuable was taken?”
Chuck clamped his lips in a tight line.
“I’ll take that as a yes. And Cora Felton found evidence of the theft. Did Benny drop something, I wonder, something that might have his fingerprints on it, something that would implicate him?” Dennis studied Chuck’s face. “No, that’s not it. And you know that’s not it. Now, how do you know that’s not it? Did the cops ask you about it? Aha! The cops told you about it. Asked you if you know what it is. Did you lie to them? I’ll bet you did. That would be your immediate reaction. Even if you didn’t have to. I wonder if you had to. Now, why would that be? Let’s see. Suppose it was drugs. That’s a biggie. Did Benny rip off your drugs? No, that doesn’t work. If the cops found evidence of drugs, you wouldn’t be here. No, it’s gotta be something embarrassing but not illegal. You have a porn site, by any chance? That Benny Southstreet found on your computer? Did Cora discover it and write down the URL?”
/> “Now you’re just wasting my time. Who the hell are you? What has any of this got to do with you?”
“Ah, the crux of the matter. I’m an interested party, and I’m not the police. If you lost something valuable, perhaps I can get it back. For a percentage, of course. Should we say half?”
“Are you a private eye?”
“Oh, my God. This gets better and better. First a cop, now a private eye. You’re missing the point. I’m the guy who can help you out. I’m the guy who can get back what was stolen.”
“What makes you think you can do that?”
“I’m in a wonderful bargaining position. I have nothing to hide. I haven’t done anything illegal. I can act on your behalf, and I can act on Mr. Southstreet’s behalf, and I can effect a reconciliation. And neither one of you will complain, because you don’t want to involve the police.
“Now then, let’s start again. What did Benny Southstreet take from your study that you would like to have back?”
MR. WILBUR RUBBED a hole in the sludge on his dirty windowpane, and peered out to see who was knocking on his door. The man on the doorstep didn’t look like an antiques dealer. There was something way too cagy about him. Not that antiques dealers weren’t cagy. The most knowledgeable people in the world were antiques dealers. But this guy was different. This guy looked like he knew nothing about antiques, and couldn’t care less. There were a fair share of them in the business too. They had the look. Wilbur knew it well. The look of someone hoping to screw you out of one particular item.
Wilbur opened the door on a safety chain. “Yes?” he demanded.
Benny Southstreet put on his most ingratiating smile, which didn’t fool Wilbur for a moment. “Are you open?”
“Depends what you want.”
“I want to see some antiques.”
“Name one.”
“Excuse me?”
“What antique do you want to see?”
“Just browsing.”
“I’m not open for browsing. You think what you want, come back.”
Wilbur slammed the door in his face.
Benny Southstreet stood on the front steps and assessed the situation. It was not the first time he had had a door slammed in his face, so he was not astounded by the occurrence. He mused for a moment how a man with so few people skills managed to stay in business. He assumed the guy owned the house and had next to no overhead.
