by Parnell Hall
“He’s gonna claim that in court?”
“Never mind court. I’m talking plausibility. I hear his story, I dismiss it as crap. The more you ground it in reality, the more it sounds true. I’m not talking about a jury. I’m talking about me.”
“You’re worried for Melvin.”
“Oh, stop it. Everyone acts like there’s something between me and Melvin. The last thing between us was a restraining order. Damn it, Sherry, I don’t really feel like being kidded.”
“Hadn’t noticed.”
Chapter
38
“The prosecution’s key witness is a crackhead.”
“Huh?” Becky said.
“He gets high on crack and puts the move on teenage girls.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. It’s good news and bad news. The good news is he’s an unreliable witness. The bad news is he smokes crack so he had a reason to be at the motel when he said he was.”
Becky tossed off her scotch and signaled the bartender. “I’ll have another. Better make it a double.”
“Getting drunk won’t help.”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
“As a card-carrying alcoholic, I beg to differ. Where’s Melvin? I thought he’d be hitting on you.”
“I guess he has other fish to fry.”
“That’s not good.”
“Why not?”
“It just isn’t. You don’t need Melvin getting into more trouble.”
“You think he’s out with another woman?”
“That’s not what I was saying at all. Jesus. You and Sherry.”
“What?”
“I don’t have a thing for Melvin. Besides animosity and dread.”
“The start of any good relationship.”
“Becky.”
“So where do you think he is?”
“Alone sipping tea and reading the Bible. Why? I don’t care where he is as long as he stays out of trouble.”
“You should really keep tabs on him, get him to take you out to dinner.”
Cora suggested something Becky might have for dinner not apt to be featured on any restaurant menu.
“Nice talk.” Becky sipped her scotch.
“I didn’t tell you what I got.”
“What did you get?”
Cora handed over the puzzle.
Becky unfolded it. “What’s this?” She read the theme answer. “This makes no sense.”
“Thank you. It’s good to have one’s opinion validated.”
“You stole this from the cab of Peggy Dawson’s truck?”
“Actually from the cab of Johnny Dawson’s truck, according to the registration.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, and this is the most helpful clue I could come up with. The puzzle makes no sense. In itself, and in the fact she had it. Why would Peggy Dawson have a puzzle? She had one puzzle, and she gave it to me. Triumphantly, thinking it solved the crime. She gets another puzzle, and she couldn’t care less.”
“She must have got it awhile ago, before any of this happened.”
“Then why didn’t she want to know what that puzzle said? And how did she get it?”
“Maybe she didn’t get it. Maybe it was just folded up and stuck in the truck.”
“By whom?”
“Her brother. Didn’t you say it’s his truck?”
“His name’s on the registration. He doesn’t use it.”
“Uh huh.”
“Wanna drive out to the motel?”
“Why?”
“He’s your client. There’s nothing wrong with you driving out there.”
“He’s not there.”
“You don’t know that. He might very well be there. And we could see if Peggy’s truck was still there.”
“You think it is?”
“I don’t know. I never smoked crack. I don’t know how long it takes.”
“They might be doing something else. I believe you have experience in that department.”
Cora’s suggestions for what Becky might conceivably eat was rapidly evolving into a three-course meal.
Chapter
39
Cora stopped at the side of the road in sight of the motel. Peggy’s truck was gone.
“Looks like we’re too late,” Becky said.
“Yeah. Wanna see a crack pipe?”
“We are not breaking into that motel room.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m an attorney at law. Do you know what it would look like if I were caught breaking and entering the room of a prosecution witness?”
Cora shrugged. “You photograph well.”
“I’m not doing it, Cora, and neither are you. There’s nothing to gain and everything to lose.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Just the fact we’re doing it gives his story credibility. It’s probably the only thing that does. I can tie him in knots on why he went back to the motel. I can get him on the defensive and make it look like he’s lying. It’s a little easier to do if I haven’t been arrested for breaking into his room.”
“So don’t get caught.”
“I’m not going to get caught. I’m going to stay in the car, go back to town, and thank my lucky stars I was born with the sense not to do it.”
“That’s only because you don’t see an upside. If he had something you wanted, you’d be singing a different tune.”
“So would you. You’d be gung-ho to find that such and such that proves dear Melvin was pure as the driven snow.”
“And what the hell is that all about?” Cora said. “Who drives snow?”
“You’re the wordsmith. You tell me. But tell me while we’re driving.”
Cora started the car and pulled out.
She turned into the motel.
“What are you doing?”
“Turning around. You said you wanted to go back to town, didn’t you? Or did you want me to drive to New York?”
“Fine, turn around.”
“You got it.”
Cora drove down the row and parked in front of Melvin’s unit.
“What are you doing?” Becky demanded.
“Solving your problem.”
“You’re my problem. I want to go back to town.”
“No, you don’t. You just don’t want to get arrested breaking into Jason’s room. You’re not doing that. You’re calling on Melvin. Melvin’s not a prosecution witness. He’s your client. You’ve got every right to call on him.”
“Melvin’s not there.”
“Well, if you’re going to quibble.”
“I’m not breaking into Melvin’s room, either.”
“Relax. We’re not breaking and entering.”
“We’re not?”
“Absolutely not. Look. The window is already broken. In the interest of your client, it’s your duty as an attorney to make sure nothing is stolen.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“So think of something better. You’re the lawyer.” Cora reached in the broken window pane and unlocked the door. “Hey, look. It’s open.”
“Damn it, Cora—”
But Cora was already inside. Becky stood there for a moment in helpless frustration. A car pulled up to another unit and four young men in jeans and T-shirts got out, obviously workers from the construction site. At least Jason wasn’t among them. Still, Becky didn’t want to be caught standing there. Cursing Cora, she stepped inside.
“Wise decision,” Cora said.
“Strangling you would be a wise decision. Following you into a motel room is like playing Russian roulette.”
“Before you pull the trigger, you want to close the door?”
Becky glared at Cora and slammed it shut.
“You’re obviously new to confidential investigations, but, just as a hint, most private eyes favor not calling attention to themselves when attempting illegal entry.”
“Fine. I’ll be quiet as a mouse. You min
d telling me what you’re looking for?”
“An explanation for what’s going on. We’ve got a case that doesn’t make sense. I’d be happy for the slightest hint.”
“You think you’ll find it here?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve learned from bitter experience that taking Melvin at his word isn’t a great idea. The man has many faults, but at least he’s predictable. He has one other virtue.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s not the type of guy to run around with a briefcase. Unless he’s carrying it as a prop when he’s pretending to work.”
“You liked him once.”
“Liked doesn’t quite describe it.”
“What does?”
“I had a drinking problem.”
Cora flopped Melvin’s briefcase on the bed, snapped it open, and pulled out a pile of brochures.
“What’s that?” Becky said.
“Real estate listings.”
“So he really is working.”
“Selling property he doesn’t own is one of his specialties. He used to sell land in Florida.”
“That he didn’t own?”
“Of course not. It was a good gig while it lasted.”
“What happened?”
“People tried to take possession. It was all right as long as the houses were vacant. Unfortunately, he sold the same one to two people. They showed up at the same time.”
Cora riffled through the papers.
“Anything interesting?” Becky said.
“No file marked Bimbos. Maybe he’s slowing down.”
“They’re probably on his iPhone.”
Cora pulled out a folder marked Sales. It was bulging.
“He sold all that?” Becky said.
“I doubt it.”
Cora flipped it open. On the top were what appeared to be a couple of sales contracts. The rest consisted of bills, receipts, flyers, letters, and advertisements. There was even the occasional girlie pic.
“Once again Melvin does not disappoint,” Cora said. “What you see is not what you get.” She slipped the folder back in the briefcase, pulled out another. The folder marked Rentals was similar. So were the ones marked Pending and Closing.
“Ah, here it is,” Cora said.
“What’s that?”
“Melvin’s contract with the publisher.”
“Oh?”
“Here. Take a look.”
“Why?”
“I thought you could look it over.”
“What for?”
“A flaw, a loophole, an exception. Whatever the hell you lawyers call it when you don’t want something to be legally binding.”
“A publishing contract is legally binding.”
“Let’s not be hasty. This isn’t a work of fiction. Though, in Melvin’s case, it might as well be. He’s going to be stating things as fact. About me. Hell, it’s right in the title. Doesn’t that make a difference?”
“No.”
Cora made a face. “You’re a lawyer. You’re supposed to take your client’s position.”
“Oh, you’re my client?”
“In the copyright infringement suit.”
“What copyright infringement suit?”
“Are you kidding? I’m the Puzzle Lady. And he’s writing about me. If anybody’s gonna write about me it should be me.”
“You think all biographies are autobiographies?”
“Just read it, will you? While I give the room a once-over.”
Cora searched the room. She didn’t expect to find anything, Melvin hadn’t done it, the killer had planted the knife in his car. The killer wouldn’t have planted anything in his motel room. It was risky, and there was no need. Nonetheless, Cora made a show of searching the dresser. As she pulled the drawers open, she spied over her shoulder to make sure Becky was reading the contract. Becky was. Cora breathed a sigh of relief. If there was any way to stop Melvin from publishing the book, Becky would find it.
Cora pulled the bottom drawer open and her face froze.
Wadded up in a corner of the drawer was a bloody handkerchief. At least it appeared to be blood. It might have been some other red stain, but Cora didn’t think so.
Her head was whirling. She’d just gotten through convincing herself the killer wouldn’t have left anything in Melvin’s motel room, and now this.
Cora glanced over her shoulder again. Becky was still reading the contract.
Cora palmed the handkerchief and stuffed it deep into the bottom of her drawstring purse.
She closed the bottom drawer, stood up, and turned around.
Becky looked up from the contract. “Okay, I read it.”
Cora almost asked her what. She recovered in time to say, “And?” She said it as casually as possible, then panicked, realizing the contract was important and she wouldn’t be casual about it.
“You’re screwed.”
Cora exhaled. “Come on, Becky, what am I paying you for?”
“You’re not paying me.”
“Well, if you’re going to be a stickler about it. Wouldn’t it be a contingency fee, anyway?”
“Do you want to stop publication or collect damages for it?”
“Whatever works. Give me the contract.”
Cora took the contract, jammed it back in the briefcase. It caught on a file folder, one she hadn’t seen before. She pulled it out, stuck the contract in. The folder appeared to be empty. It was flat and unmarked. Cora flipped it open.
Inside was a single slip of paper. She picked it up and her mouth fell open. “Uh oh!”
“What?”
“Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Cora slammed the briefcase shut, stuck it on the floor where she’d found it. She grabbed the manila folder and hightailed it out the door.
Becky caught up just as Cora was starting the car. Becky jumped in, and Cora took off.
“What are you running away from?” Becky said.
“I’m not running away.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m suppressing evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“That.” Cora jerked her thumb at the folder.
Peggy picked it up. “What’s this?”
“It’s a receipt for something Melvin bought at Target.”
“What?”
“A hunting knife.”
Chapter
40
A couple of miles down the road, Cora slowed the car.
“There. No one’s following us. Let’s take the bypass nice and easy and come in from the other side of town.”
Becky’s world had collapsed. “Melvin’s guilty.”
“Not necessarily.”
“He had the murder weapon. It wasn’t planted on him. He bought it.”
“The receipt could have been planted on him.”
“You think it was?”
“No.”
“So you think he’s guilty.”
“Buying the knife looks bad.”
“Ya think?”
Cora shook her head. “Not the way you mean.”
“It means he did it.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Come on. He bought the murder weapon.”
“It’s worse than that.”
“How can it be worse than that?”
“Did you see the date on the receipt?”
“What about it?”
“It’s today.”
Becky blinked. “Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
“How does that make any sense?”
“The cops find a knife in his car. Melvin says oops and rushes out to Target and buys a knife so he can claim it’s the knife the police found. He keeps the sales receipt so he can prove the knife was bought after the murder.”
“The knife the police found isn’t the knife Melvin bought?”
“Of course not.”
“So where’s the knife Melvin bought?”
“At the bo
ttom of the deepest lake. One thing’s for sure, it won’t turn up. And if they try him for murder, Melvin’s gonna hand you that receipt and insist you introduce it into evidence and argue the knife the police found in his glove compartment is the knife he bought at Target after the crime.”
“But he bought it after the police found the knife in his car,” Becky protested.
Cora shook her head. “The sales slip is dated, but it doesn’t have the time of purchase on it. He bought it the same day. He’ll expect you to argue that he bought it before the knife was found in his car, and not after.”
“For which I could be disbarred,” Becky said.
“Nonsense. Lawyers argue things that aren’t true all the time.”
“Sure. They make them up. Which is perfectly within the law. It’s what lawyers do. Present a reasonable hypothesis other than guilt. What they don’t do is blatantly lie. They do not present false evidence and claim things they know for a fact are untrue.”
“Sure they do,” Cora said.
“I know they do. And if they’re caught, they can be disbarred. For suborning perjury and giving false evidence.”
“Relax. I just saved you from all that. I got the receipt. You won’t have to present it because Melvin doesn’t have it.”
“So I’m only guilty of suppressing evidence. Who could object to that?”
“You’re not suppressing evidence. I am.”
“I’m an accessory before and after the fact.”
“I beg to differ. Did you look closely at the receipt?”
“No.”
“Well don’t look now. You don’t know what it is. You only know what I told you. That’s hearsay. For all you know it’s a recipe for cheesecake. I wouldn’t give it a moment’s thought.”
Cora had looped all around and was coming into town. They passed the Country Kitchen.
“Oh, look, there’s Peggy’s truck.”
“Ah,” Becky said. “Another place you made an illegal search. You plan on visiting them all?”
“No, but that’s a great idea.”
“What?”
“How about we combine the two?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Put Melvin’s receipt in Peggy’s truck.”
