by Parnell Hall
Wilbur folded the rag over. The other side was just as dirty. His eyes gleamed. “Suppose I got there before two o’clock? Suppose Benny wasn’t there? Suppose I sat in my car across the street from the motel where I could see the door? To see if Benny returned?”
“Did he?”
“You know he didn’t. You were there. You drove up, knocked on his door. Got no answer. You must have come back later.”
“Did you see me?”
“I didn’t stay. I got a business to run.”
Cora kept a straight face, refrained from comment. “When’d you leave?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Did you wait until Benny came back?”
“You know I didn’t.”
“How would I know that?”
“You’re right,” Wilbur said. “You don’t know that. I could have seen him before you did. Then you could have showed up and killed him.”
“I’m curious about when you left the motel.”
“Why?”
“A schoolgirl whim.”
“Lady, you’re something else. I left at two-thirty. You hadn’t come back yet. Benny hadn’t come back yet. Nobody had come back yet. Nobody had been at the motel. At least while I was there.”
“You left the motel at two-thirty?”
“At least nothing’s wrong with your hearing. Yeah, I left at two-thirty. I don’t care how smug and mysterious the guy is, a half hour’s all I’m gonna wait.”
“Why do you say smug and mysterious?”
“The guy said he had my chairs.”
“Maybe he did.”
“No, he didn’t. He had chairs he ripped off from somewhere else.”
“But you didn’t know that.”
“Says who?”
“You didn’t know that. You hadn’t seen the chairs. You had no idea where he got them. It could have been from anywhere. He could have been the guy who stole ’em from you.”
“Sure, lady. And then he kept them for a year and then called and told me he had ’em.”
Cora shook her finger. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to call it unlikely. The whole thing’s unlikely. Someone making such a big deal about a bunch of chairs is unlikely.”
“Not such a big deal. They’re stolen. I want ’em back.”
“Yeah, but why are you so obsessed? The only explanation I can come up with is you think you know who stole ’em. You can’t bear to see that person get away. But you can’t prove it without the chairs. So you’re desperate to find ’em. How about that? Am I close?”
“Not even in the ballpark.” Wilbur snorted. “Women. They overthink everything. Something so simple, they make a big deal.”
“I don’t see what’s so simple.”
“You prove my point. And you wonder why I’m upset when Chief Harper palms me off on you?” Wilbur was in danger of rubbing the gnome’s face off. He realized what he was doing, stopped, leveled his finger. “Lady, I don’t need a killer telling me my business. Get the hell out of here before I call the cops.”
Cora was tempted to call his bluff, but she didn’t really feel like talking to Chief Harper at the moment.
She got the hell out of there.
PAUL FISHMAN LOOKED confused. It occurred to Cora a less handsome man couldn’t have gotten away with it. He crinkled his nose, shrugged his shoulders with an aw-shucks expression. “Excuse me?”
“I want my pictures.” Cora flopped her drawstring purse down on the counter, reached in, and pulled out her gun.
That wiped the goofy grin off his face. “Whoa!” Paul took a step back and nearly fell over. “Hey! Hey! Lady!”
“Oh. Sorry.” Cora stuck the gun in her purse, fished out her wallet, and calmly produced the stub from the Photomat envelope. “Here you go.”
Paul took the stub gingerly, read the number as if it were a valuable clue. “Oh.” He put down the stub, placed his hands flat on the counter, took a breath. “I’m afraid I don’t have them.”
“I know you don’t. Now, what are we going to do about that?”
Paul exhaled sharply, blew the stub off the counter. It floated to the floor. Cora stooped down and retrieved it. “Let’s hang on to this, shall we? Just in case there’s any question about it.” She stood up. “There’s not going to be any question about it, is there?”
Paul was pawing through a box under the counter. He flinched and nearly banged his head. “No, of course not.”
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for duplicates. There don’t seem to be any.”
“What a surprise.”
Paul stood up, spread his hands. “Look, I know you’re angry. But you gotta understand. It was my duty.”
“Your duty? You run a Photomat. I don’t recall any list of duties.”
“My civic duty. In a police investigation, anyone with any information, it’s their duty to come forward.”
“Why? Do you think I did it?”
“Of course not.”
“Of course not? That’s generous of you. The police think I did it.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“You believed it enough to give them my pictures.”
“I didn’t think they implicated you.”
“They were my pictures! Who’d you think they implicated? Michael Freaking Jackson?”
“Sorry. I just didn’t think.”
Cora shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re doing the dumb blonde bit on me. Just because you’re young and good-looking, don’t think you can get away with that crap. You can’t have it both ways. Were you doing your civic duty, or did you have no idea what you were doing?”
“You’re quick with words.”
“You think so? Wait’ll you hear my lawyer. When you get cross-examined on the stand.”
“I’m not a witness against you.”
“Well, you’re sure not a witness for me.”
“I swear I meant you no harm.”
“Well, you wanna make it up to me, tell me what happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“How’d you come to turn me in to the cops?”
“It wasn’t like that at all. You gotta understand. I’m in the Photomat. It’s a one-man operation. And business is slow. Oh, I’ll have a run of customers. But in between I’m just making prints. With the equipment these days it’s not hard. Lighter, darker, color correction. I can do it in my sleep.” He lowered his voice con-spiratorially. “I got a little TV under the counter. I keep the volume down, so no one sees it. Or some bozo would claim I wasn’t paying attention and his pictures were the wrong tint.
“Anyway, Channel 8 is on, and Rick Reed’s doing a remote from the motel. There’s shots of the sign, and shots of the door to Unit 12, and it all seems damn familiar. Then I remember. Your prints. The ones you didn’t come back to pick up.”
“It’s amazing you remembered. I’d have thought you’d be distracted by the cheesecake.”
“Huh?”
“Photographer’s word for sexy pictures. Probably before your time.” Cora shook her head. “God, I’m getting old.”
Paul Fishman had calmed down, gone back into his pretty boy, aw-shucks mode. “Lady, I’m really sorry. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
Cora cocked her head, ironically. “Well, you might have contradicted me.”
CORA GOT BACK to the house to find Brenda’s car parked out front. She groaned. That couldn’t be good.
It was even worse.
Dennis and Brenda were sitting on the couch. Dennis was dressed for work in a suit and tie. Cora wondered why he wasn’t there.
Sherry, in sweater and blue jeans, sat opposite them in an easy chair. Sherry looked gorgeous and buffaloed. As if the world were spinning out of control, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Cora scowled. “All right, what’s going on here?” she demanded.
Dennis had on his most earnest face. He might have been channeling Rudy Guiliani, post 9/11. He was a mens
ch, a healer, a helpmate, a pillar to lean on, a solid rock, a friend in time of need. “It’s terrible. We came to help.”
Cora snorted derisively.
Brenda said, “I told him you wouldn’t want it, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Cora could imagine that conversation, a knockdown, drag-out fight that had wound up with Brenda tagging along. Dennis was doing a great job of pretending he didn’t resent her.
“Then maybe he’ll listen to me,” Cora said. “Dennis, I don’t want you here, I don’t need you here, now get the hell out of here before I pick you up and throw you out. Is there any part of that you don’t understand?”
Dennis nodded in perfect agreement. “I know just how you feel. If it happened to me, I’d feel that way too. And I would never think of intruding on you at this time. Except I have some information. Something important. And I want to bring it to you instead of the police, because the police obviously don’t know what they’re doing, or they never would have arrested you.” He magnanimously included his wife with a gesture. “Brenda didn’t want me to come, but I just had to tell you.”
“And a phone call wouldn’t have had the same dramatic umph,” Cora said dryly.
“See, I told you you should have called,” Brenda said.
“Well, we’re here now, and we’ve gotta make battle plans. Before the police make a tragic mistake.”
“Sherry,” Cora said, “why don’t you go to your room. I don’t want you to see me beat up your ex-husband and your best friend.”
“Oh, stop it,” Sherry said. “Let him have his say, and then throw him out. It’s easier than arguing.”
“What’s his pitch?”
“He wouldn’t say. He insisted on waiting for you.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Cora dug her lighter and cigarettes out of her purse, fired one up. She stood facing Dennis Pride, puffing the glowing end red-hot, as if ready to torture him if he deviated from the truth. “All right, make it snappy.”
Dennis smiled. He leaned back on the couch, perfectly at home. “The police got off on the wrong foot. They think you stole the guy’s crossword puzzle and killed him when he made a fuss. That’s a real joke, since you couldn’t do a crossword puzzle to save your life.”
Cora looked at Brenda.
“He’s my husband,” Brenda said. “Of course he told me. And Sherry’s my best friend.”
“And you’re threatening her with exposure? Some friend.”
“That isn’t it at all,” Dennis said. “I’m just pointing out how mistaken the police are. Too bad you can’t afford to set them straight.”
“You came here to tell me this?”
“No. I’m just explaining why I did. Anyway, that’s the police theory, and it’s stupid as all hell, but you’re hard-pressed to deny it. So you gotta come up with another explanation. One that they can buy.”
“That’s brilliant! My God, why didn’t I think of it?” Cora blew a perfect smoke ring.
“Yeah, but I got one. Benny Southstreet ripped off Chuck Dillinger. Chuck wanted his money back. This was the result.”
Cora’s eyes narrowed. She sat down on the couch next to Dennis, studied his face as if he were a World Series of Poker player who’d just gone all-in. “How do you know that?”
“So it’s true?”
“I have no idea if it’s true. I’m asking what makes you think so.”
Dennis smiled. “I get around. I see a lot of people, know a lot of things. Chuck thinks I’m on his side. I could worm my way into his confidence, find out if he’s guilty. Because someone is. We know it wasn’t you.”
“Worm your way. Now, there’s an image that will haunt my dreams. Brenda, if you have any influence over this guy at all, get him out of here. I’m tired, and I’d like to rest.”
“Yes, of course,” Brenda said. “We’re just concerned. What with your TV statement. And then the autopsy report came out. And then with the speculation about your column.”
“What speculation about my column?”
“It was on the Today Show. The effect on the Puzzle Lady. They said half of the syndicated papers are standing by you. Of course, that means half of them aren’t. If you lost that much business the first day, it’s only going to get worse the more this thing drags on.”
“Sherry? Did you know this?”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right. It’s bad enough being in this position, without losing our livelihood. If the cereal company follows suit, we’ll be in big trouble.”
“Actually . . .” Brenda said.
“Actually what?” Cora demanded.
“Granville Grains issued a strong statement of support,” Sherry said. “But they’re pulling the TV ads while the matter is pending.”
“In those words?”
“Cora—”
“While the matter is pending?”
“If there’s anything we can do to help . . .” Dennis said.
“Go away, and don’t come back. If you get any more bright ideas, take ’em straight to the police. If they’re lies, I don’t want to hear them. If they’re the truth, they can’t hurt me. Now, go, go, go!”
“But—” Dennis began.
Brenda was tugging at his arm. “Let’s go, honey. You’ve done all you can here.”
Between Brenda’s urging and Cora’s threats, they managed to get Dennis out the door.
Cora turned around, mopped her brow. “Good God, could it get any worse?”
“It’ll be all right,” Sherry told her.
“And you weren’t going to mention I lost my job?”
“You didn’t lose your job. You’re just losing some residuals. While the ads are on hiatus.”
“And if it goes on too long, they’ll hire another spokesman.”
“Spokesperson.”
“I’m going to hurt you.”
“How do you suppose Dennis found out about Chuck Dillinger?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t wanna know. That guy is living poison, Sherry. You keep him out of your life.”
“You’re charged with murder. If Dennis knows anything that might help . . .”
Cora made a rather disparaging comment about what Dennis might know. “He’s guessing, Sherry. The only way he’d know something useful would be if he bumped the guy off.”
“You’re not serious.”
“About him killing the guy? No. About him not knowing anything useful? You can bet on it.”
CHUCK DILLINGER STEPPED down onto the platform of the Bakerhaven train station, and looked around for his wife. He was surprised not to see her. The station was small. There was no crowd. She was usually standing right there.
Cora Felton stepped out of the shadows. “Need a ride?”
Chuck scowled. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might want a lift. You’re miles from home, and the cab service here is so poor.”
“Where’s my wife?”
“She couldn’t make it.”
“She asked you to pick me up?”
“Not exactly. You want to take a ride? Standing here reminds me of one of Lady Bracknell’s lines in The Importance of Being Earnest. Something about ex- posing us to comment on the platform. I think it had to do with missing trains, though.”
Chuck shifted his briefcase from hand to hand. “Look, I’m trying to make allowances. I know you’ve been arrested. You must be very upset.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Maybe not, but it’s none of my business. Why don’t you run along?”
“And leave you stranded? That wouldn’t be very neighborly.”
“My wife’s coming to pick me up.”
“She’s going to be delayed.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I pounded a nail into her tire. Right rear. She won’t get a block. Then she’s gonna have to change it. And even if she does, it won’t help, because these new cars have those tiny spares just good enough
to get you to the gas station. Don’t you hate them? Anyway, she’ll have to get the tire fixed. By the time she does all that, we’ll be long gone.”
“You sabotaged her car?”
“It sounds so bad when you say it like that. But I had such short notice. I had to talk to you. It’s important. Not just because I’m arrested for murder. That’s annoying, but it will go away. Some things won’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
Cora gestured to her Toyota, parked in the lot. “Come on, hop in, I’ll give you a ride.”
Chuck looked at her suspiciously.
“Hey, come on. If I were that crazed killer they’re all talking about, you’d be dead by now. That was a joke. Come on, I won’t bite you.”
Chuck glanced around the parking lot. Aside from Cora’s, there was only one car, presumably for the woman in the ticket booth. He weighed his options, climbed in.
Cora’s purse was on the seat. “Just put that on the floor. Throw your briefcase in back. You might wanna fasten your seat belt. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
He looked at her, baffled.
“Bette Davis, for Christ’s sake. Does everyone have to remind me that I’m old?”
Cora started the engine, pulled out of the lot. “Okay, here’s the deal. You know a guy named Dennis Pride?”
Chuck turned sideways in his seat. “What about him?”
“He’s a psychotic wife-beater. And that’s his good side. He’s my niece Sherry’s ex-husband. Totally obsessed with her. Won’t leave her alone. Even though he’s remarried, and she’s about to be. Makes any excuse at all to see her.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want you to be that excuse. Dennis claims he knows something about you and Benny Southstreet. I don’t think he does. I think he’s just bluffing. But he’s counting on the fact that I’ve been arrested, so Sherry will do anything to save me. I don’t want that to happen. That’s why I’m warning you about Dennis. He’s pond scum. He’s the Ebola virus. Am I getting through to you? This is not someone you want to have anything to do with.”
