by Parnell Hall
Cora got lucky. The parking spot she spotted half a block away was still there when the light changed, the Muni-Meter spit out the parking slip, and the pay phone on the corner actually worked.
Cora punched in the number. She was amazed she remembered it after so many months.
Two rings, and a gruff voice growled, “Crowley.”
“Wow. You always answer the phone like that, or are you expecting a call from a shyster?”
A pause. “Cora?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s been a while. What are you up to?”
“I’m in town.”
“Really? What brings you here?”
“Well, it’s not your charming demeanor. I got a job.”
“Doing what?”
“Tailing a cheating husband.”
“Like in the movies.”
“Do they do that in the movies?”
“They used to. I haven’t been lately.”
“Oh? Whaddya do for fun?”
“Catch bad guys.”
“I thought that’s what you did for work.”
“Maybe. I get confused.” There was a pause. “So your case. Anything I can help you with?”
“Wanna sit on stakeout?”
“Little out of my line. I mean more like running license plates and pulling rap sheets.”
“I’m not there yet.”
“Well, call me when you are.” Another pause. “I don’t suppose you got time to stop up now.”
“I gotta scout the stakeout.”
“Figured. You using your car?”
“Got to. The guy’s from Bakerhaven.”
“Yeah, but if he’s shackin’ up in town…”
“I don’t know that he is. He could be driving back to Bakerhaven, shackin’ up a mile from his house.”
“Yeah, but what if he’s not? You may have to follow him on foot.”
“I know. How are you at fixing parking tickets?”
“What, a homicide sergeant squaring a parking ticket? For the famous Puzzle Lady, no less. There’s one way to make Page Six of the New York Post.”
“I could show you another.”
“I bet you could.” His chuckle sounded a bit forced. “Look, I have to work. Call me if you need me.”
Cora hung up the phone with nerveless fingers. She had envisioned many ways the conversation might go, and this was not one of them. Well, it was, but it wasn’t on her Top Ten List. It was on her list of Outcomes So Odious as to Be Beneath Consideration.
It could not have been a colder conversation. After all they’d meant to each other. Well, after all he’d meant to her. What she’d meant to him was another matter altogether.
It had been a tempestuous relationship. Or as tempestuous as it could get with a middle-aged homicide sergeant who kept getting distracted by minor annoyances like crime. For one thing, Cora lived in Bakerhaven and Crowley lived in New York. Cora could drive in and see him every night, which, pleasant though that might be, did put her in a somewhat subservient position, not Cora’s usual posture. She considered ousting the people subletting her apartment and moving back to the City, but that meant leaving Sherry and the baby. Though the baby was hardly a baby anymore, Jennifer was getting cuter every day, and Cora didn’t want to miss it.
The other option, moving in with Crowley, had not been suggested. Even with Cora dropping subtle hints in that direction, such as, “Gee, it would be easier if I lived here,” Crowley was not rising to the bait, which helped put a damper on their ardor. Cora’s trips to the City became less frequent until they decided a long-distance relationship was just too stressful to maintain. It finally evolved into the “If you’re here in town give me a call, but don’t come all the way to see me” it was now.
Should she have called him in the intervening months? They’d agreed not to. They’d agreed to see each other when they were in town. And then the days had become weeks, weeks had become months, and the longer it was the harder it was to make the call. The call that had to be made from Manhattan couldn’t be made from Bakerhaven. She had no reason to go to Manhattan, except for him. The very thing they’d agreed they would not do. Drive that distance just to see each other. A necessary agreement so as not to feel guilty when they didn’t.
Whose idea had that been?
Had Crowley brushed her off?
Had Crowley moved on?
Was there someone else?
Should Cora be staking out the police station instead of the husband’s office?
Was she making it up? Was she thinking too hard? She’d just called a busy cop at work to tell him she was in town and didn’t have time to see him.
No. That’s not what she’d said. That was his idea. She’d only told him she didn’t know when she’d get off work. He could have said, “Call me when you do.” But he hadn’t. He’d been totally unwelcoming.
No, that wasn’t fair. He said do you have time to see me. But this afternoon. In the office. Before getting on the job. Not for a romantic interlude after.
Cora stomped back to her car, certain that despite her best efforts to adhere to the letter of the law, some avenging fury would have affixed a parking ticket to her windshield, courtesy of some concealed, camouflaged, or contradictory parking sign that in some way negated it being a legal space.
There wasn’t one. Cora was disappointed. She’d have loved something to be mad at besides Crowley.
What a total schmuck. Cora shook her head angrily. Well, what did she expect? Damn it to hell. She knew what men were. Why was she surprised?
Snap out of it. She had a job to do. Catching Brittany’s two-timing husband with that cheap little tramp. Assuming that was what he was up to.
Of course he was. How could he possibly be doing anything different?
Cora snorted. “Men!”
Chapter
9
Cora staked out Hank Wells’ office building at 4:30, figuring it would be just like the philandering son of a bitch to get off early. Brittany’s husband worked on Sixth Avenue and 50th Street, which created a bit of a problem. Meter maids of all sexes kept suggesting that Cora move her car. The ensuing discussions were counterproductive at best. The fact Cora was not arrested and booked was a minor miracle. Three times she was forced to drive off. One time she got away with driving from one side of the street to the other, but twice she was forced to circle the block, opening up the possibility that her quarry had escaped while she’d done so.
Cora was pissed. She couldn’t recall TV detectives having problems with meter maids. After the second time around the block she decided to hell with it, Becky had a client, and the next meter maid who asked her to move she’d just say no and let Blondie pay the ticket. It occurred to her the meter maid wouldn’t take no for an answer. What would happen then? Would it be the first time a meter maid ever called for backup? It was almost worth finding out. Cora found herself looking around, hoping for a meter maid.
Instead, Hank Wells came out the front door, large as life. Cora recognized him from the photo his loving wife had thought to bring to Becky’s office. Brittany hadn’t thought to bring the life insurance policy, which might have seemed relevant to the situation, since a lawyer could immediately tell if it was indeed the deadly double-jackpot policy worth killing for. But from her assessment of Becky’s client, Cora was surprised the woman had even found Becky’s office.
Hank looked just like his photograph, which figured, since it was a photo of him. He was trim and good-looking in a suit and tie, clean shaven, with wavy dark hair and flashing blue eyes. He was young, too young for her. Cora winced at the thought. Twenty in her mind’s eye, Cora had often dated younger men. Not that she had any thoughts of becoming the home-wrecking hussy Becky’s client had hired her to find; still the idea of washing him out as too young was unsettling at best. She wondered if it had anything to do with striking out with Crowley.
Because that’s how she saw it. She’d made an overture toward the man and been rebuff
ed. Was this the cause of the subsequent blue funk?
Hank Wells was coming right at her. Sixth Avenue being an uptown street, she’d parked just downtown from the building so she could see him when he came out. Unfortunately, he was walking downtown, which left her no way to follow in the car. As he went by, Cora slipped out of the front seat and slammed the door. Take that, meter maid. You may ticket me, but I won’t be there to move.
It was rush hour, and the avenue was filled with people getting off from work. Cora had no problem blending in with the crowd. Hank walked two blocks south and went into a Duane Reade. Cora resented it. In Manhattan there were Duane Reades every two blocks. Why couldn’t the guy have gone uptown and let her keep her car?
The drugstore had only one entrance, so Cora didn’t follow him in, just hung out on the corner and waited for him to reappear.
He was out five minutes later. His hands were empty. Evidently, he had bought something small. Most likely condoms, Cora figured.
Hank could have been helpful and walked back toward her car, but he didn’t. Instead he stepped out in the street and hailed a cab. That he got one in rush-hour traffic was a minor miracle, but he did.
Cora glanced around helplessly. There were lots of cabs coming up Sixth Avenue, but all were occupied. There was no cab with its lights on.
Halfway down the block a cab pulled up to the curb to discharge a passenger. Cora sprinted for it, brushing aside a gentleman with a briefcase who clearly had the same idea. She reached the cab, practically ripped the passenger who was attempting to pay out the back door, and hopped in.
“Follow that cab!” she said. She felt like she was in a forties noir movie. The TV monitor with a clip from the Jimmy Kimmel show broke the spell.
So did the turbaned driver, who turned around to ask, “Which cab?”
The man had a point. Hired cabs were passing them even as he spoke.
“Pass as many as you can,” Cora said. “I’ll tell you when I see him.”
The guy might not have looked like a NASCAR driver, but he drove like one. In four blocks Cora spotted the cab with Hank in it.
“That’s him. Drop back, but don’t lose him. Go where he goes.”
Hank’s cab went up Sixth to 59th Street, hung a left to Columbus Circle, continued uptown on Broadway, and pulled up on the corner of 84th.
Cora stopped her cab halfway down the block. She paid the meter, cursing the charge, and hopped out.
Hank was already walking east on 84th. Cora hurried to the corner, praying she hadn’t lost him in the few seconds he’d been out of sight. Not to worry. He was on the sidewalk, stepping right along.
Cora’s pulse quickened. It was a residential neighborhood on the Upper West Side. Fertile ground for a love nest. This could be pay dirt.
Or not.
Halfway down the block Hank fished his wallet out of his back pocket, pulled out a cardboard ticket stub, and walked into a parking garage.
Cora watched him drive off. She didn’t try to follow. Hank was most likely going home, and the idea of taking a metered cab to Bakerhaven was more than she could bear. Most cabbies would probably refuse anyway. The day was a washout. There was nothing to but go back downtown and see how many tickets were on her car.
None.
Her car had been towed.
Chapter
10
Brittany Wells was even younger than Cora had expected, and her expectations had been low. She was also furious, which, coupled with her age, gave the impression she was having a temper tantrum.
“You lost him?” Brittany said. She looked like someone had stolen her Barbie doll. “I didn’t want you to lose him.”
Cora bit her lip. Several responses flew to mind, such as, “Duh,” “Gee, I thought that’s what I was supposed to do,” or, “Thank you for telling me; now that I know I’ll do better.”
Before she could blurt out something withering, Becky jumped in. “Be reasonable. When your husband took a cab uptown, there was no way to know he was going for his car.”
“Why not? That’s where he parked it.”
“As it turned out. But there was no way to anticipate that.”
“But that’s where he always parks it.”
Cora was sufficiently stunned by that remark that Becky was able to intervene before her detective ripped her client limb from limb. “Excellent. If he always parks there, we can prepare for it. Cora, can you get a parking spot behind him on the same block?”
“Not on the street. I can get a garage closer to Broadway.”
“Would that work?”
“Sure. I’ll get my car first, be waiting when he comes out with his.” Cora shrugged. “Not that it will do any good.”
Brittany looked at her sharply. “What do you mean by that?”
“What time did your husband get home last night?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Humor me. What time was it?”
“He got home around seven.”
“There you are. What with rush-hour traffic and stopping at the drugstore, seven o’clock isn’t late. It certainly didn’t leave time for a romantic interlude. From this we can conclude if your husband’s fooling around, he’s doing it in the City. Once he gets his car, he goes home.”
“Just because he did it once—”
Cora put up her hand. “Sure, sure. I could be wrong. I believe my ex-husband Melvin could point to an occasion. He tried hard enough during the divorce proceedings. Now that I know, I will take the precaution of parking on the block where Hubby parks. But for my money, his sweetie’s in New York.”
“You think he has one?”
“If he has one,” Becky said.
“So, you bring the policy?” Cora said.
Brittany frowned. “Huh?”
“The insurance policy,” Becky said. “Cora, that’s my concern, not yours.”
“So concern yourself with it. What’s it say? Is there any point in going through this whole charade?”
“Charade?” Brittany said. “What do you mean, ‘charade’?”
“Oh,” Cora said. “Well, it’s a party game where I act something out and you try to guess what it is.”
Becky shot Cora a warning glance. “It’s not a charade. It’s precautionary surveillance. We hope it doesn’t mean anything, but if it does, we want to be prepared. So, let’s take a look at the policy and see if it really is worded the way you think. If it’s not, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, yeah? What if it’s not but my husband thinks it is?”
Cora shot Becky a look. That remark was sharper than either of them would have given Brittany credit for. Maybe she wasn’t so dumb.
“Good point,” Becky said. “But let’s take a look and see what the facts really are before we start speculating on how someone may have misinterpreted them.”
Brittany blinked twice. “Huh?”
On the other hand, maybe she was that dumb, Cora thought wryly. “The insurance policy. Let your lawyer take a gander at the double-indemnity clause.”
“Oh. I don’t have it.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t find it. I looked all over.”
“Your husband hid the insurance policy?”
“Oh, I don’t think he’d do that,” Brittany said. “I think he just put it away and I don’t know where.”
“So ask him where it is.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“He’d want to know why I wanted to know. I can’t tell him my lawyer’s trying to find out if he wants to kill me.”
“Does he know you hired a lawyer?”
“Of course not.”
“Tell him you want to look it over and see if you understand it.”
“Why?”
“So you can find out where he keeps it.”
Brittany gave Cora a look as if she were the moron. “No, what do I tell him when he asks me why I want to read it?”
/> Becky put up her hand to cut off Cora’s response. “I think we’re getting sidetracked here, Brittany. I need to see the policy. I don’t care how you get it, or what you tell your husband. I just want to see it.”
Brittany looked dubious. “Well, all right. I’ll try to bring it in tomorrow.” She got up to go.
“In that case,” Becky said, “do you want us to hold off on the surveillance?”
Brittany turned back in the doorway. “Huh?”
“Do you want to hold off until I look at the policy before we tail your husband? He didn’t go anywhere yesterday, and it may be there’s no need.”
Brittany shook her head. “He’s up to something. I’m sure of it.” She looked at Cora. “Don’t lose him this time and maybe you’ll find out.”
Cora watched her leave, turned to Becky. “She paid you yet?”
“Not nearly enough. Of course, I didn’t know there’d be a two-hundred-and-fifty-five-dollar towing charge on the expense account.”
“Does she know it yet?”
“I thought it would be more tactful to bring it up on a day you hadn’t lost her husband.”
“I laid that money out of pocket.”
“You afraid you won’t be reimbursed?”
“I know I will. I’d like the money to come out of her pocket, not yours.”
“The point is we’re still on the case. Now you know where to park you can give her husband a run for his money.”
“Right. I can rack up some mileage following him home.”
Becky cocked her head. “Didn’t go well with Crowley?”
“How do you know that?”
“Are you kidding? The woman wants to send you back to the City, you’re trying to talk your way out of it. If he were waiting for you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation; you’d already be gone.”
Cora started to flare up, sighed. “Yeah, it didn’t go well. I had to work and he had to work.”
“You had to work before and it never stopped you. Of course, you had the advantage of getting arrested.”
