by Parnell Hall
Chapter
44
“Let’s get back to the office,” Becky said.
“Why?”
“I stashed Jackie Greystone there.”
“In your office? She must be going nuts.”
“It’s a nice office.”
“Not when your husband’s in jail and you might be next. It’s a place to pace the room and wonder what’s going on. And there’s not much room to pace.”
“Better than a big, empty house that’s a crime scene with cops and reporters stumbling around.”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
Becky unlocked the office door.
Jackie Greystone sprang from her chair. “Did you get him out?”
“I left him in,” Becky said.
“What?”
“Reporters think he’s in the hospital. Actually, he’s sleeping it off in a cell.”
“What about Don?”
“Same thing, but he’s not as drunk.”
Jackie nodded. “Matt never could hold his liquor. So, how’d you manage that?”
“The doctor helped us pull it off. He’s a Yankees fan. Lenny went to the hospital to help sell the idea.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“Just prudent. He’s making sure no one films Matt in his current condition.”
The news crews were desperate for footage. The cops had impounded all footage at the crime scene as evidence. Money shots of Matt in anguish were in custody.
“We gotta talk turkey,” Becky said. “Anything you tell me in front of Cora is not privileged. So if you’re going to say anything incriminating, I’ll send her away.”
“I’ve done nothing. Neither has Matt.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. We’ll get along a lot better if you believe me.”
“I believe you. And I want to trust you. But there’s some things that don’t add up.”
“Like what?”
“Amanda Hoyt was at the party.”
“So?”
“Was she on the guest list?”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“Did you invite her?”
“No.”
“Did Matt?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then why was she there?”
Jackie shrugged. “She wanted to go.”
“They were checking invitations at the gate.”
“She got in.”
“You blame the batboy?”
“Not at all. I’m sure he did a fine job. But if people want to get in, they’re going to get in. It’s not like the property is fenced.”
“At any rate, she got in.”
“Yes.”
“Why would she have come back?”
“I have no idea.”
Cora gave a short, pungent exclamation of disbelief.
“You doubt my word?”
“Save the indignant act. You gave me a crossword puzzle that when solved said check the file. The witch’s files were broken into. One file she was particularly concerned with and wanted the police to check for fingerprints, was alphabetically right where Greystone would be.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No, but when I didn’t find the file, I got another puzzle helpfully titled ‘Matt.’ And, guess what? It’s the same puzzle. Check the file. Whose file? Matt’s file. I can understand why Matt wouldn’t want people thinking he believed in the occult. He’d be laughed off the mound. Except now it’s a murder and no one’s laughing. If he was seeing the woman professionally, the cops are going to find out. It’s going to look like she had something on him and Matt killed her to cover it up.”
“Now Matt’s the killer?” Jackie said. “I thought the police charged me.”
“They’re flexible,” Cora said.
“The theory is Matt killed her for the same reason he killed Leon Bratz?”
“Of course.”
“Matt was nowhere near the sauna.”
“No, but you were. If you and Matt were in this together.”
“Were in what together?”
“I don’t know,” Cora said. “That’s just one theory. Here’s another. When I burst into the clearing, I thought it was you on the ground. Not that she looked like you. I thought that from Matt’s reaction. But Matt knew it wasn’t you. He’d been there. He’d seen the body. And yet he reacted as if he’d lost the love of his life. Is it possible that Matt and Amanda Hoyt were having an affair?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Why is that absurd? She was a good-looking woman.”
“She was twice his age.”
Cora smiled as if the comment hadn’t gone through her like a knife. The witch, whose youth she’d envied, was twice Matt’s age. The realization she wasn’t, it was just an expression, didn’t make it any better. “I don’t think you can expect the prosecutor to accept a difference in ages as a bar to intimacy.”
“This is silly. I want to get home.”
“You probably don’t,” Becky said.
Jackie looked at her. “What?”
“There are reporters at the house. They’ll be staking out the place. They’ll want to ask you questions.”
“I don’t have to answer.”
“No, you don’t. But they’ll get footage of you going by and not answering questions. You know what they’ll play it over? A commentary speculating on where your husband is. All your going home will do is play up the fact Matt isn’t there. All the media’s got right now is speculation over the fact he’s checked into a hospital. Which is going to make them look pretty silly tomorrow when they’re forced to take it back.”
“It’s a very neat thing your lawyer has maneuvered for you,” Cora said. “She’s virtually done the impossible. Taken a publicity crisis, and manipulated it to your advantage. It’s much better to sit tight and let them speculate.”
“All right,” Jackie said. “But if I can’t go home, and I can’t stay here, where am I going to go?”
Cora smiled. “Be my guest.”
Chapter
45
Jennifer was delighted to have company. She was certain Jackie Greystone had come just to see her. Luckily, Jackie was charmed rather than annoyed, and was willing to tag along as Jennifer showed her the house.
“I know I should have called,” Cora said.
“It’s all right,” Sherry told her.
“It would have been awkward. She’d have seen I had to ask, and automatically said no.”
“I understand.”
“Aaron’s out chasing the story?”
“He called from the hospital.”
“Tell him to come home.”
“He can report that Jackie Greystone’s staying here?”
“No, but he’s better off here than there.”
“Do I want to know why?”
“Probably not.”
“So, what do the police have on the victim?” Sherry said.
“On the victim? Not on the crime?”
“If they had anything on the crime you’d have led with it. I’m assuming the ballistics report hasn’t come back?”
“If it has, they’re not telling us.”
“If the bullet was from Matt Greystone’s gun they’d be telling us. Of course, there’s two guns involved. Do the police know who was firing which?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t think they do.”
“Interesting.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Well, Jennifer and I went to the movies. My mind wanders during children’s movies.”
“What did you see?”
“I have no idea.”
“So you thought about guns.”
“And the victim,” Sherry said. “Have the police made any progress with the victim?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s interesting. First she’s the victim of a robbery. Now she’s the victim of a murder. She’s either very un
lucky or the crimes are connected.”
“Yeah,” Cora said, “and whaddya want to bet the connection is Matt Greystone? Since there was all that commotion about his file.”
“The witch didn’t have his file.”
“The witch didn’t produce his file. She produced the folder that could have held his file.”
“What I don’t understand,” Sherry said, “is why she had the files at her house to begin with.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep them at her office?”
“They were in her office.”
“Not her home office. Her office in the City. She has a business office on Sixth Avenue. Why wouldn’t her files be there?”
“The witch has an office on Sixth Avenue?”
“Sure.”
“Where did you hear this? Was it on the news?”
Sherry shook her head. “I don’t think they have it yet. I just Googled her, and that’s what I got.”
Cora’s mouth fell open. “She has an office in the City and no one knows about it?”
Chapter
46
“This is getting to be a bad habit,” Stephanie said.
“You love it and you know it,” Cora said as she leafed through Sergeant Crowley’s key ring.
The downstairs door of the witch’s office building was somewhat more formidable than that of Leon Bratz. It was taking too long for comfort. Cora had just managed to fit a key into the lock only to discover it wouldn’t turn, when a woman got off the elevator and headed for the door.
The lobby was small, the distance was short, and Cora was caught red-handed.
The woman held the door open for them and smiled. “Your key sticks, too? I have so much trouble with that door.”
“Some days you get lucky,” Cora said as they rode up in the elevator.
“And how,” Stephanie said. “Crowley would not have been amused bailing us out, particularly when he saw his keys.”
“He might not have seen them,” Cora said. “They’d have been in the envelope with all our possessions they took away before they put us in the holding cell.”
“What holding cell? You’ve been living in the sticks too long. They’d have thrown us in the drunk tank.”
“I hate it when that happens.”
“You’ve been there before?”
“Probably. When you’re drinking, who remembers?”
The witch’s office had a plain wooden door with no nameplate.
“You sure this is it?” Stephanie said.
“According to Sherry. I’d take her word on anything.”
“You trust yourself to translate it correctly?”
“I wrote it down.” Cora took out the keys, started on the lock. “Of course she’s just going by what she found on Google.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Relax. How mad could Crowley be?”
“If he caught us with his keys we might have to calm him down with a threesome.”
Cora dropped the keys on the floor. She stooped, picked them up. “Now you sound like Melvin.”
“He was your husband?”
“Not at the time.”
A key turned in the lock.
“See? Easy,” Cora said. “Now we just push it open and the alarm goes off.”
“Bite your tongue.”
There was no alarm. They went in, locked the door behind them, and switched on the lights.
The witch had a small waiting room with two chairs and a table with back-dated magazines.
The inner office had a desk with a computer, a swivel chair, a couple of client’s chairs, and a metal file cabinet.
“That’s not going to open,” Stephanie said.
Cora pulled a pry bar out of her drawstring purse. “I beg to differ.”
“You can’t pry that open.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll taint the investigation. The police will think the killer did it.”
“I doubt if that will make any difference in whether they solve the crime.”
“I see what you’re doing,” Stephanie said. “You want me to get caught, so Crowley will think I’m as bad as you.”
“Nonsense. No one’s as bad as me.”
“Let’s see what’s on the computer. Maybe we won’t have to open the file.”
“It’s probably password protected.”
It wasn’t.
Cora clicked the mouse and the computer roared to life. The screen was filled with icons, many of them helpfully labeled something meaningless in most societies.
Icons from the major programs were in a bar along the bottom.
“Ah, Quicken,” Cora said. “What are the odds?”
The odds were not good. Quicken was password protected, and the obvious passwords like “password,” “1234,” and the woman’s name failed to open it.
Cora opened the woman’s email and did a search for the name Greystone. She was relieved when it didn’t come up.
One icon had the day’s date. Cora clicked on it and a calendar appeared. “Here we go.”
Stephanie looked over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“It looks like her appointment book. There’s a calendar with appointments filled in. Tomorrow she had four of them. Eleven, twelve, two, and four. With names after them. Jameson, B. Maxwell, F. Carson, D. And Cohen, R. I guess those are clients.”
“They’re going to be disappointed,” Stephanie said. “Does it scroll back any?”
“I’ll bet it does.”
There came a sound from the outer office.
Cora closed the calendar, leapt up from the chair.
An old man came in with a set of keys and a gun. He didn’t seem comfortable with the gun, probably hadn’t pulled it in all his years on the job.
“Hands up!” he ordered. His voice cracked, and his hand shook.
Cora was sure he’d accidently shoot them.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “This is our fault. We should have informed you before we went in. But Amanda Hoyt is dead. She was murdered in the town where she lived, Bakerhaven, Connecticut. I’m from Bakerhaven. I’m the Puzzle Lady, and I often assist the police in matters of this type. If you’d be so good as to not aim that gun at me, I’m sure we could straighten all this out.”
The guard kept hold of his gun. Having finally had cause to draw it, he wasn’t about to put it away. “If the woman’s dead, no one’s got a right to be in here. Except the police.”
“You called the police.”
“Damn right I did. So let’s everybody hang on until the police get here and take charge. How’s that sound?”
Stephanie shot Cora a look.
“Couldn’t be better,” Cora said.
Chapter
47
Crowley could not have looked more embarrassed had he been bailing two hookers out of jail. He managed not to explode until he got Cora and Stephanie out to his car.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he thundered.
“I’m glad you asked that,” Cora said. “This is horribly confusing, and I’d love to run a few theories by you.”
“Tell me you didn’t get arrested just to run a few theories by me.”
“No, that was just a by-product.”
“Cora, I don’t think he appreciates your humor,” Stephanie said.
“And you,” Crowley said. “I mean, I expect this sort of thing out of her, but you used to have sense. At least for a peace/love hippie chick. I could count on you to act rationally. Then you meet Cora, and suddenly all that goes out the window.”
“Since you met Cora, you’ve been rational as ever.”
“I haven’t been arrested breaking into any offices.”
“It’s not that you haven’t broken into them. It’s because you’re a cop.”
“Don’t you want to know what we found?” Cora said.
“No, I don’t want to know what you found with your illegal search,” Crowley s
aid. “Whatever it is, it’s now tainted and can’t be used in court.”
“Court, schmort,” Cora said. “I’m not talking about evidence. I’m talking about leads. And don’t give me any fruit of the poisonous tree nonsense. I’m talking about private knowledge that can point a police officer in the right direction.”
After a pause Crowley said, “Which is?”
Victory. For Cora, after a lifetime of manipulating half a dozen or so husbands, it was nothing to write home about, still anything that took the heat off of Stephanie would be a help.
“When we were apprehended, I’d just found the woman’s appointment calendar.”
“Appointment calendar?”
“That’s right. With the names of the chumps she’d managed to hoodwink into seeing her.”
“Anyone interesting?”
“I don’t know,” Cora said. “I was about to look when Mike Hammer burst in with his gun drawn and arrested us.”
“And there’s your fruit of the poisonous tree,” Crowley said. “If we find the name of the killer in her files, we won’t be able to use it.”
“If you find the name of the killer in the files, I imagine there’ll be enough evidence against him or her you won’t need it.”
“Or her? Are you implying his wife did it?”
“Certainly not. I’m merely using a nonsexist designation to identify the killer so that female murderers won’t feel slighted.”
“Isn’t it murderesses?” Stephanie said.
“You’re not kidding me out of it,” Crowley said. “This is unacceptable and this has to stop. I’d really hate to think you were a bad influence on Stephanie.”
“Is that how we rank in your estimation?” Cora said. “She’s a good girl and I’m bad news?”
“Oh, no,” Crowley said. “You’re not making me the bad guy in all this. Let’s not forget how we got here. You got caught breaking and entering.”
“And you galloped in on your white horse and saved us,” Cora said. “Now, if we could discuss this without recriminations, we might get a little further. The woman had appointments. Wouldn’t it be interesting to find out if she was seeing anyone we know?”
“It certainly would,” Crowley said. “And I’m sure that is one of the things the police will look into.”
“You’re the police.”
“The police investigating the crime. I’m the New York police. I’m not investigating crimes in Connecticut.”
