by Parnell Hall
Cora went up on the front steps and knocked.
The door was opened by the woman herself. She certainly didn’t look like a witch. In a short skirt and light blue top over a body that could only be described as voluptuous, Amanda looked more like a call girl. At least, that was Cora’s impression. Granted, she tended to judge her female competition harshly.
If Amanda Hoyt was equally catty she didn’t show it. Her smile was welcoming. “Ah. Cora Felton. Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Really?” Cora said. “You saw it in your crystal ball, did you?”
The witch didn’t take offense. She smiled at the witticism. “You often help Chief Harper out when he’s faced with something he doesn’t understand. It doesn’t take a psychic to know he’s out of his depth on this one. Do you know anything about computers?”
“I know more than Chief Harper.”
“You would have to. He looked at mine as if it were a foreign object.”
“Still he got the gist. Apparently you mislaid a memory card.”
“It was stolen.”
“Those cards are small. It’s easy to lay a piece of paper over them.”
“That didn’t happen in this case. Someone broke in my kitchen door, came into my office, took the card out of the machine.”
“It was left in the machine?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s almost a reflex action when you’ve finished backing up the data to unplug the card.”
“Not for me. I leave the card plugged in so it won’t get lost.”
Cora went in the kitchen and inspected the back door. It was as Chief Harper had described.
“This door was locked?”
“That’s right.”
“A burglar picked the lock and got in?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Has your house been broken into before?”
“Not that I know of. Of course, I haven’t lived here that long.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“I moved in two years ago. After my husband died.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She smiled. “Why should you? I lived in New York. After Bill died, I didn’t want to be in the apartment anymore.”
“I can understand that.”
“Yes. You’ve been married, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Several times.”
“And some of your husbands are dead.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“I know.”
“ESP?”
She shook her head. “I’m just a good judge of character.”
“And that’s all it is, isn’t it?” Cora said. “This whole medium shtick. You size people up, tell them what they want to hear.”
She smiled again. “I wish it were that simple. You quit drinking. Can I get you some tea?”
“I quit long before you came to town.”
“I know.”
“Do you do that deliberately?”
“What?”
“Try to piss me off.”
“Not at all. So, tea? No, you hate tea. Everyone’s always offering you tea. Iced tea would be better, but not great. Let’s see. Ah! Iced cappuccino. Here you go. I’ve got an espresso machine. I put the milk in this little thermos, put it on the spindle, press the button, and a light comes on and it froths the milk. Press it and hold it, and the light turns blue and it froths the milk without heating it up.”
Amanda made the iced cappuccinos. Cora tasted one. They weren’t Frappuccinos, but they weren’t half-bad.
“I don’t have the ice crushing machine,” Amanda said.
“What?”
“To make a Frappuccino. That’s what you’d prefer. So would I, but I make do with these. So, let’s go back in the living room, sit down, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“This is not a session,” Cora said as they sat down.
“Of course not. I meant with regard to my case. Chief Harper has essentially assigned it to you, hasn’t he? Not that I mind. You’ve had great success.”
Cora settled back in her chair, sipped her iced cappuccino. “Before we go any further, I have one question.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s no crossword puzzle involved, is there?”
Amanda frowned. “Crossword puzzle?”
“When the chief assigns me something, often it’s because there’s a crossword puzzle involved. He thinks it’s my field of expertise so I should handle it.”
“Not this time.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Then, conceding the fact something was stolen, we have a simple, straightforward robbery. So, let’s discuss your case. You had a memory card stolen. A memory card is merely for backing up files that are on your computer. The card is gone, but the original files still exist.”
“Unless the person who stole them deleted some of the files.”
“Is there any evidence that happened?”
“Nothing that jumps out at me. Obviously I haven’t gone through everything.”
“Until we discover otherwise, let’s assume the files still exist. I’m assuming you also print out hard copies in case a power surge wipes out everything.”
“I have surge protectors.”
“So do I. I still print anything important. From the size of the file cabinets in the corner I would say you do, too.”
“Yes, I do.”
“The file cabinets are kept locked?”
“They are.”
“Any indication they were broken into?”
“No.”
“What sort of files do you keep in there?”
“I’m sorry, that’s confidential.”
Cora rolled her eyes.
Amanda smiled. “You think this is all witchcraft, don’t you?”
Cora coughed. Having accused the chief of being afraid of the witch, she was hard-pressed to deny it. Still, Cora had not survived a half-dozen odd husbands plus a bogus profession without having mastered some of the fine arts of prevarication. “I think you do things I don’t understand. And I’m not sure any explanation would help me.”
“Well put. I try to figure out what people need, and help them get it. My methods of help are as varied as people’s needs.”
“You’re a licensed therapist?”
She smiled. “A psychiatrist, actually. But people don’t think of me that way. There is no degree for what I practice. I am, however, rather good at it. I don’t advertise, my clients come by word of mouth, and my word of mouth is good.”
“Who would you give as a reference?”
“I wouldn’t. People who contact me already have a reference, the person who sent them. If that isn’t sufficient, they’re free to seek help elsewhere.”
“What kind of help do you offer?”
“Are you looking for help?”
“No, I’m looking for your memory card.”
She smiled again. “Well put. I’m afraid the usual lines of inquiry aren’t going to help you much. You might as well abandon them. Assume the memory card is a priceless antique, for instance a diamond-studded tiara once worn by Queen Victoria.”
“Did she allow herself such excess?”
“Let’s say she did. And let’s say I had it, and let’s say someone stole it. Just assume the memory card is a valuable piece of property, and proceed accordingly.”
“That’s not going to work,” Cora said, “and I can’t imagine you wouldn’t know why. In the case of your diamond-studded tiara there are limited avenues for disposing of such property.”
“I would imagine there were limited avenues for disposing of a memory card, too.”
“Yes, but the police don’t know what they are. And they’re not going to find out if you won’t tell them what’s on the memory card.”
The witch nodded. “It’s a puzzle, isn’t it?” She smiled. “No wonder they sent you.”
Chapter
8
“It’s a robbery, Chief.”
/> Chief Harper had been packing up his desk to go home. He looked up and frowned. “What?”
“She was robbed. Someone broke in and stole her memory card.”
“Oh, my God,” Harper said. “You’ve gone over to the dark side.” He got up from his desk, walked out of his office. “Did you hear that, Dan? She’s in league with the witch.”
“Yeah, she told me,” Dan said.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her to tell you.”
“Dan—”
Dan Finley put up his hands. “You sent her out there. You think I’m going to dismiss the report you asked her to get?”
“And I’m certainly grateful,” Harper said. “Though I didn’t expect to have a report so soon.”
“I believe in giving service,” Cora said. “So, here’s your report. The woman is not a witch, she’s a licensed therapist. She’s not scatterbrained. She’s precise and methodical. If she says the card was plugged into her computer, it was plugged into her computer.”
“What was on the card?”
“She won’t say.”
“See, this is where it breaks down for me. I try to be broad-minded, but the minute you make me play guessing games about what was stolen, I lose interest. It kind of curtails any speculation as to who the perpetrator might be.”
“Oh, so that’s how you solve crimes, Chief. By speculation. Surely more effective than investigation and analysis. I can see why this one wouldn’t interest you.”
Dan Finley suppressed a giggle.
“Don’t encourage her,” Chief Harper said. “You think this case deserves investigation?”
“Why not? It’s not like there’s some crime wave you’re dealing with.”
Chief Harper frowned. He cocked his head, looked at Cora quizzically. “You like her. I can’t imagine that. Why would you like her? This is the type of woman you would normally think of as competition.”
“Why, Chief. I had no idea you were such an astute judge of women.”
Harper flushed. “Sorry. I just can’t see you embracing a woman with such a dubious profession. Particularly when your own expertise is so grounded in fact.”
“I’d quit, Chief,” Dan said. “You’re just digging the hole deeper.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Harper said.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure Cora will tell us.”
Harper caught the twinkle in his eye. “All right. You two are making fun of me. I’d like to close up the station in time for the fireworks. If I’m late taking my wife, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“A rather sad assessment of the authority of our mighty chief of police,” Dan Finley observed.
“You’ve obviously never been married, Dan,” Cora said, “or you’d recognize a simple universal truth.”
Chapter
9
Cora, Sherry, Aaron, and Jennifer watched the fireworks from the fairgrounds. It was a first for Cora. For years Cora had ignored the fireworks from the comfort of her own home. But that was before her niece had a child old enough to be interested. If Jennifer liked it, it was entertainment. Not the activity itself, but the activity of watching her enjoy the activity.
The fairgrounds were only half-full, which was par for the course. Half the townspeople lived close enough to see it from their own backyards. Others ignored it completely. After all, it happened every year, and unlike the impressive displays on the Hudson, it was really nothing to write home about.
Chief Harper lived close enough to town that he could have seen it from his backyard, but that would not have satisfied his wife, who saw it as an opportunity to socialize. The Harpers were there in full force. Even their daughter, Clara, was home for the holiday, though Cora would not have recognized the poised young lady whom she had first met as a teenaged schoolgirl. It, like so many things these days, gave her pause. Cora always found it amazing how people around her aged while she stayed remarkably young.
Matt Greystone was not among those present. Cora could attest to the fact, as could most of the rest of the town. There was more craning of the necks than usual, and not in the direction of the sky.
“See,” Sherry said to Cora. “He’s not even here.”
“Who?”
“Matt Greystone. I told you he wouldn’t be.”
Sherry hadn’t gotten around to solving the crossword puzzle yet. Cora had been afraid she’d run into Matt Greystone’s wife and not be prepared.
“I wasn’t looking for him,” Cora said.
“Oh? Who were you looking for?”
“The witch. And guess what? She’s right over there.”
Amanda Hoyt was indeed standing with two other women. From their body language, they were not close friends.
“Which makes this a rare opportunity,” Cora said.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t think of another time when I can count on her being anywhere.”
“So?”
“So I’d be a damn fool not to take advantage of it.”
Sherry’s eyes widened. “Cora!”
“What?”
“You’re going to break into the house to solve the robbery?”
“It does seem a little counterintuitive.”
“Counterintuitive? Is that your word for the day?”
“‘Bite me’ is my word for the day.”
“That’s two words.”
“They’re the nicest two I can think of. After you ruined my Fourth of July by not solving the crossword puzzle.”
“Ruined your Fourth of July? You never celebrate the Fourth of July. You couldn’t care less about the Fourth of July. Don’t change the subject. You’re going to break into a house. As if that weren’t bad enough, you just made me an accessory before and after the fact by telling me about it.”
“Sorry about that. I was hoping you’d keep an eye on her so she wouldn’t come home and catch me in the act.”
“I don’t know the woman. What do you expect me to do, run up and tackle her?”
“No, but I’d appreciate a heads-up.”
“What do you want me to do, call you on the cell phone you don’t have? Or do you want me to loan you mine, so when you’re caught they’ll have evidence I was complicit?”
“No. Just call her phone.”
“What?”
“When I talked to her I got her phone number.” Cora handed Sherry a piece of paper. “Here you go. If she starts to leave, call this number, let it ring twice, and hang up. When I hear that I’ll get the hell out.”
Sherry looked at the paper. “You had this ready the whole time.”
“So?”
“You planned this. You just didn’t tell me, because you knew I wouldn’t do it.”
“You’re not going to do it? That’s okay. I understand. You can visit me in jail.”
Cora smiled at her niece and was gone before Sherry could stop her.
Chapter
10
The witch’s door was locked. That was unfortunate. At least half of the residents of Bakerhaven left their houses unlocked. Of course, most of them had never been robbed. A woman whose house had been burglarized could be excused for being a tad cautious.
The front door lock appeared substantial. Cora was a woman of many talents, but picking locks was not among them. She acknowledged it as a flaw in her education.
The kitchen door, she recollected, was not nearly as formidable. It had also been recently broken into. Some of the wood around the lock was actually missing. It occurred to Cora a good credit card would probably jimmy it. It occurred to her a bad credit card would probably break off and be stuck in there with her name on it.
Cora fished in her floppy drawstring purse. The first thing she encountered was a Smith & Wesson revolver, but she wasn’t about to shoot the lock off. She pawed further, and finally found her Swiss army knife, offering a wide selection of blades. She opted for the screwdriver, which proved to be too short for the purpose. The awl was also sh
ort. The large blade was perfect, but she hated to dull it. She stuck it in the door, pushed down, and the lock clicked back.
The kitchen was dark, but there was a light on in the living room, not an uncommon practice among people hoping to discourage robbers, or not wanting to stub their toes in the dark. Cora left the kitchen light out, made her way down the hallway by the light from the living room. In the study, she risked the light. She figured the odds of a neighbor seeing it go on, knowing the witch wasn’t at home, and putting two and two together were rather slim.
The computer was on. Cora first checked to see if there was a memory card, not that she intended to steal it. Still, the information on it would be the most likely source of why someone wanted to steal it before. But there was no card plugged into the machine.
Cora sat down at the desk chair, clicked the mouse, and the computer sprang to life.
Cora was immediately greeted by a number of helpful icons. They were not, however, helpfully titled. They were merely small designs offering hints as to what they might be.
Cora clicked on a tiger’s head and came up with a program similar to Quicken. As far as Cora could tell, it differed from Quicken only in not being Quicken. She was unable to see how different, since it wouldn’t open without a password. Cora tried a few generic passwords, such as “1234” and “password” to no avail. She wished she knew the name of the witch’s latest pet.
Cora found an icon that was either Sigmund Freud or one of the Smith Brothers cough drop boys. She clicked on it and discovered the witch’s client file. It also required a password. On a whim Cora tried “Sigmund,” “Freud,” and “Sigmund Freud.” None worked. She wondered vaguely what the first names of the Smith Brothers were.
Cora gave up the computer as a lost cause. After all, the witch had files. Of course, they were locked. On inspection, the locks fell somewhere between the unpickable front door, and the pickable kitchen door.
Cora retrieved a paper clip from the desk drawer, and went to work on the locks.
Chapter
11
