by Parnell Hall
“Pushing? I wasn’t aware that I was pushing. Of course, he’s not the best bridegroom in the world if he feels he’s being pushed.”
“He says you went to Brenda’s father. Advised him to go ahead with the wedding.”
“You mean as if the whole thing was Dad’s idea and the kids had no say?”
“Nice evasion, Cora. Did you do it, yes or no?”
Cora shook her head. “I must have gotten to you with that lawyer crack. Now you’re cross-examining me.”
“The only thing keeping me from strangling you is the fact you’ve had a personal loss. Come on, Cora. I need help now. Maybe not as much as you, but I do. Would you please help me figure out what Dennis is up to?”
Cora took her niece by the hands. “That’s the whole point, Sherry. You don’t need to figure out what Dennis is up to. You just need to decide that whatever Dennis is up to doesn’t concern you.”
“Oh, really?” Sherry’s eyes blazed. “What am I supposed to do, call the police, say he’s harassing me? The guy’s on the hook for a murder he didn’t commit. Every bit of bad publicity only sinks him deeper. I should call the cops on him, get him more bad press? I did it before, it didn’t matter. I do it now, it gets on TV.”
“Is that all you’re feeling?”
“You’d like more?”
“I certainly wouldn’t. Did you ask Dennis where he was at the time of Daffy’s murder?”
“No.”
“No? It would seem a pertinent question. If he had a good alibi for the second crime, it would go a long way toward proving he didn’t commit the first.”
“That’s the difference between us,” Sherry said bitterly. “I don’t need any evidence to prove he didn’t commit the first.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Cora cocked her head. “What about the cryptograms? You believe he didn’t send them? The ones that were in his car? The ones he tried to get rid of?”
“It could have happened just the way he said.”
“Sure it could.”
“There is nothing in those cryptograms to prove he sent them.”
“Is there anything to prove he didn’t?”
“How could there be?”
“I don’t know. You seem so sure. Did you look for something?”
Sherry’s gaze faltered.
Cora pounced. “You did, didn’t you?” she said. “You’ve been over those cryptograms with a fine-tooth comb trying to prove Dennis didn’t send them. And you can’t do it, can you?”
“So?” Sherry said. “Never mind proving anything. You can’t find anything to even suggest he did.”
Cora’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, yeah? Where are they?”
“On the computer.”
“Lead me to ’em.”
Cora followed Sherry into the office. Sherry sat at the desk, clicked on a notebook icon similar to the one on Raymond’s laptop.
The cryptograms opened up.
“Okay,” Sherry said. “There you go. What can you tell from that?”
Cora skimmed swiftly through the translations. Which told her absolutely nothing. Cora considered the prospect of bluffing her niece. It seemed a losing proposition.
“Well?” Sherry prompted.
“Give me a break. I’ve read over the messages. Now I’m examining the possibility the writer revealed himself in his choice of substitute letters.”
“Talk about desperate,” Sherry scoffed.
Cora continued to scan the letters. Then she frowned. “Hey, wait a minute. What are you trying to pull? This isn’t the second cryptogram.”
“Sure it is.”
“Like hell. The second one is the one Raymond and I solved. And that’s not it.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Hey. I saw it on his laptop. Not the solution, the code. I mean, the cryptogram. The substituted letters. And it wasn’t them.”
“Like you really remember the letters.”
“Hey, goosey. I know what I saw. And it sure didn’t start out RUJ FGTPO RUJ’SQ. Nothing repeated and there wasn’t an apostrophe. I don’t even think the first word was three letters.”
Sherry, who’d been preparing a sarcastic reply, instead blinked at her aunt. “You saw this on Raymond’s laptop?”
47
A BLOCK FROM RAYMOND’S HOUSE, CORA PULLED THE TOYOTA to the curb and killed the lights.
Sherry, peering out the window, said, “The crime-scene ribbon’s still up.”
“Of course it is. There’s no one living there to take it down.”
“Don’t the police usually do that?”
“The cops are busy. They got this new case to crack.”
“That’s why they didn’t take the ribbon down?”
“Stands to reason.”
“If we’re not breaking into a crime scene, why park here? Why don’t you pull right up to the house?”
“Sherry. Sweetie. Dennis and Brenda are staying across the street. So are Brenda’s parents. There’s no reason to involve them in this.”
“This?” Sherry raised her eyebrows. “Seldom has a demonstrative pronoun been used with such reckless abandon.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The this you don’t want to involve them in is probably broad enough to include everything in the penal code.”
“You’re starting to sound like Becky Baldwin.”
“Bite your tongue.”
Cora and Sherry got out of the car and crept down the street, keeping in the shadows. There were two cars parked in front of the B&B, Dennis’s rental and the Wallensteins’ Mercedes. And the lights in the house were on.
Cora detoured across the street, found herself in front of the Dirksons’ house. The porch swing was empty. The house was dark, except for a dim light from one of the rooms in the back. Cora could imagine Jack Dirkson sitting in the dark with the TV on, smoking dope, and having the worst trip of his life.
“Okay,” Sherry said, joining her. “Do we take the crime-scene ribbon down?”
“Not our job.”
“I thought you said the owner of the house would.”
“We don’t own the house.”
Cora went up the steps, ducked under the ribbon, tried the door. It was locked.
“Gonna open it?” Sherry said.
“There’s a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t have the key.”
“Is that right? I don’t recall you mentioning that.”
“It didn’t come up.”
“You said we weren’t breaking in because it was your house. You didn’t mention you didn’t have a key to your house.”
“You set such store on details.”
“This is not a detail.”
“It will be.”
Cora reached into her floppy, drawstring purse, came out with a gun.
“Aunt Cora!”
“Shhh.”
Cora stepped up to the front window, gripped the gun by the barrel, smashed a pane of glass with the butt. She reached in, undid the lock, and raised the window.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Sherry said. “I thought you were going to shoot your way in.”
“Are we attracting any interest?”
“Not that I can see.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Cora brushed the glass off the sill and climbed through the window. Sherry was right behind.
“Can we risk a light?” Sherry asked.
“Not here. We can in the study. The window’s in the back.”
Cora led Sherry through the foyer, past the door to the living room, and into the study.
“Okay. Close the door and I’ll hit the light.”
Cora groped on the desk, switched on the lamp.
The little laptop sat closed in the middle of the desk.
“Oh,” Sherry said. “It’s a Dell.”
“What’s the matter? Can’t you use it?”
Sherry gave Cora a look, elbowed her away, and sat at the desk.
Sherry raised the top, switched the computer on. “Hmmm. Simple dial-up modem. You can’t use the phone while you’re on-line.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cora said impatiently. “What about the code?”
“The machine’s gotta boot up.”
“And that takes time?”
“Didn’t you ever turn a computer on?”
“Why would I?”
“You’re an anachronism,” Sherry told her.
“Whatever,” Cora grumbled. “All the technology in the world, and they can’t design a machine that just turns on.”
“Is there another computer in the house?”
“Why? This is the one we want.”
“Yeah, but is there another?”
“No. Why?”
“This one is networked.”
“It’s what?”
“It has a wireless network adapter. So it could be part of a system, if you had more than one machine.”
“Well, we don’t. Maybe he did in San Diego.”
“I suppose.”
Icons filled the screen.
“That’s it!” Cora said. “That little notebook!”
“Got it.”
Sherry clicked on the icon.
The notebook page filled the screen.
“That’s it,” Cora said. “See? It’s not at all the same.”
“It sure isn’t,” Sherry said. “Wow, that’s amazing.”
“What?”
“It’s a cipher.”
“Right, and we gotta crack it. Come on, come on. Print a copy.”
“That’s a problem.”
“Why?”
“There’s no printer.”
“No printer?” Cora was indignant. “How can there be no printer?”
“It’s a laptop. It would have to be connected to a printer. You would have to have a printer, and connect it to the printer. Otherwise there’s no printer.”
“Don’t talk down to me.”
“Well, how do you want me to say it? There is no printer. Unless there’s one someplace in the house. Did Raymond take the laptop into another room to print things out?”
“If he had, don’t you think I’d have mentioned it?” Cora said sarcastically. “So, how do we print this?”
“The traditional method. A pad and a pen.”
“With my handwriting? Fat chance. Can you do it?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Sherry—”
“But I don’t have to. I can simply go on-line and e-mail it to myself.”
“You’re not on-line?”
“Of course not. I gotta dial up.”
Sherry opened the screen, clicked on CONNECT. Lights flashed and the numbers beeped as the modem dialed.
Cora watched with increasing impatience.
“It’s a slow modem,” Sherry explained.
There came the sound of a busy signal.
Sherry reached to click CONNECT again.
Cora grabbed her arm. “Aw, the hell with it.”
Sherry looked at her in surprise. “You don’t want the code?”
“Of course I do.”
Cora switched the computer off, closed the lid, unplugged the modem and the power cord, and stuck the laptop under her arm. “Let’s vamoose,” she said.
48
CORA RIPPED THE PAGE OUT OF SHERRY’S PRINTER. “ALL right, let me at it!”
Sherry’s lips twitched. “You’re going to crack the code?”
“Why not? I solved the other ones. So maybe I had a little help. But I know how to do it. Cracking a code is not like solving a damn crossword puzzle. It’s just substituting letters. I can do that all day.”
“It’s a little harder than that.”
“Oh, don’t be a killjoy. Hang on, and let me plug in the salutation.”
Cora squinted at the page:
“Hey! Wait a minute! DADTT can’t be Dear. It’s five letters, and there’s two D’s and two T’s!”
“Yes, there are,” Sherry said. “You notice anything else, Cora?”
“I sure as hell do! It doesn’t say Puzzle Lady, either!”
“I was speaking more generally.”
“Yeah, well, speak more general English, then. How the hell do you solve this? There’re no apostrophes, and no single-letter words! What a rip-off!”
“Do you know why there’re no single-letter words?”
“Do you want a fat lip?”
“Look at the words, Cora. How many letters are they?”
Cora’s eyes widened. “They’re all five letters!”
“That’s right.”
“Well, what the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know. It might mean they’re not words.”
Cora refrained from strangling her niece, but it was a close call. “Could you be more explicit?” she said through clenched teeth.
“Sorry,” Sherry said. “What I’m trying to say is, this is a code. I don’t know what kind of code. But each grouping of five letters might stand for something. A single letter, perhaps. Or the letters might be real, but rearranged. You see what I mean?”
“Not at all. Can you solve it?”
“I hope so. But it’s going to take time. I may have to do some research. This is out of my field of expertise.”
“Oddly enough, it’s also out of mine. What’s the story?”
“In the other cryptograms we had a one-to-one correspondence of substituted letters.”
“Say that in Croatian. Maybe I’ll understand it then.”
“Cora, you’re brilliant at solving crimes. Why are you an utter moron when it comes to language?”
“Why are you such a moron when it comes to tact? Just spit out what you mean. And never mind this one-on-one corespondent bit. To a woman who’s been married as often as I, the word co-respondent has a rather nasty aftertaste.”
“You know, you’re much more adept verbally when you get angry.”
“I’m much more adept physically too. You want me to tan your bottom? What’s the deal?”
Sherry sighed. “I told you, this is not like the other cryptograms, where one letter equals another, like A equals D. Instead, it would appear to be a transpositional cipher.”
“You got a Code-Breaking for Dummies definition for that?”
“Actually, Code-Breaking for Dummies is exactly right.”
“Thanks a heap.”
“I mean the code-breaking part. That’s exactly what this is. Not a cryptogram, but a code. The letters are not substituted. They’re merely transposed into a different order.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done codes before. But I think it has something to do with columns, and there may be a clue in the fact there’s five letters in each word.”
“A clue? Jesus Christ, can you solve this or not?”
“I don’t know. I gotta look some stuff up on the Internet.”
“What stuff?”
“Transpositional ciphers. The Enigma code.”
“The Enigma code? That’s World War Two, isn’t it?”
“Right. It’s the code the Germans used. It took the Allies nearly a year to break it.”
Cora groaned, and fumbled in her purse. “You sure know how to build up a person’s confidence.” She pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. It was empty. “Damn!” She crumpled it tighter, hurled it in the vague direction of the wastebasket. “Well, come on. Get crackin’.”
“I could do a lot better if I were able to concentrate. Committing grand larceny at the scene of a homicide makes me anxious. I don’t do my best work.”
“Okay,” Cora said. “Division of labor. You solve the code, I’ll get the smokes.”
49
“CORA! CORA!”
Cora Felton was ripping the cellophane off the pack of cigarettes she’d just purchased at the Route 9 convenience store. She glanced up to discover the plump form of Harvey Beerbaum trotting past the gas pumps toward her car. Cora had to stop herself from making
a face. Harvey might mean well, but he was truly annoying. Cora didn’t need to hear him apologize one more time for not having cared for her defunct intended. She hoped to God that wasn’t what Harvey wanted.
It was.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” he said, “but you’re always so busy, so busy. I understand, of course, but it’s so frustrating to carry the burden around and not be able to set it down.”
Cora sucked in her breath. She had half a mind to tell Harvey that it was her burden that was being toted here, and he could jolly well not add to it, thank you very much. Instead, she tore open the pack of cigarettes and fired one up. She took a drag, leaned against her car door, and prepared herself to supply the appropriate nods and “uh-huh”s.
“I . . . just didn’t want you to hear it from somebody else,” Harvey was saying. “You know how things get distorted. It’s like the telephone game. A word gets changed here or there, and before you know it the whole meaning is lost.”
Cora, on whom the whole meaning of Harvey’s explanation was already lost, nodded sagely, took a deep drag on her cigarette, and made a conscious effort not to look at her watch.
“I can’t understand why no one’s spoken to me,” Harvey continued. “I keep waiting for someone to speak to me, but no one does. So when I see you avoiding me—”
“I’m not avoiding you, Harvey.”
“Well, you’re not talking to me, either. I would have thought you’d have come to talk to me.”
“And why would I do that, Harvey? So you and Raymond didn’t get along. Big deal. It’s not like you did anything.”
Harvey’s eyes shifted.
The blood drained out of Cora’s face. Suddenly she felt light-headed. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be. Please, Cora thought. Don’t let it be.
But it was.
Cora knew instantly. There was no mistaking what she’d just seen. She was too good an interrogator. It was what she’d trained herself to look for. The guilty reaction.
But Harvey?
Not Harvey.
Never Harvey.
Cora hung on to her cigarette as if it were a lifeline. Hoped she didn’t look as overwhelmed as she felt. But why shouldn’t she? First Dennis, then Aaron, then Harvey. Time was out of joint. Nothing was as it seemed.
Could Harvey really be a killer?
