by Parnell Hall
“I couldn’t get in, either,” Becky said. “It was rated R.”
Cora groaned. “I forget how young you people are. Did you know there used to be a band called the Beatles?”
“Very funny,” Brittany said. “I need a bodyguard. Are you going to do it or not?”
“Of course she’s going to do it,” Becky said. As Cora started to flare up she added, “At least she’s going to listen. Tell her what you had in mind.”
“Exactly what I said. I want you to stick with me until my husband gets home.”
“And then I’m done?” Cora said.
“That’s right.”
“Whether it’s six o’clock, eight o’clock, ten o’clock, whenever he gets home I’m done. You want me to stake out the house until then.”
“Stake out the house? You mean like in a car, or something?”
“Well, I’m not hiding in the bushes.”
“Of course not. I want you with me.”
“In the house?”
“Of course.”
“You want your husband to come home and find me in the house?”
“That’s the whole point. You see him, and he sees you. He’s not going to kill me when you’re a witness that he’s there. How’s he going to claim he came home and found me dead?”
“She has a point,” Becky said.
Cora scowled. “Just how are you going to explain the fact that I’m hanging out in your house waiting for him to get home? Just what in the world are you and I doing?”
Brittany smiled. “Solving crossword puzzles.”
Chapter
22
“Not going to happen!”
Becky put up her hand. “Cora—”
“Don’t ‘Cora’ me! There is no way I’m teaching this woman to solve crossword puzzles. I don’t care how much money she’s paying.”
“Why not?” Brittany said.
“You’re making a misassumption. Yes, I’m the Puzzle Lady. But you’re not hiring the Puzzle Lady. You’re hiring Cora Felton. You want to hire a bodyguard, you’ll get a bodyguard. But you’re not going to get one that does tricks.”
“I thought it was a good idea. I could tell him I got interested in crosswords.”
“And I just volunteered to come by your house and show you how to do them? I don’t think so.”
Brittany crinkled up her nose. “Then why would you be there?”
Cora practically ground her teeth at the arrogance of youth. Why in the world would Brittany ever be interested in an old biddy like her? She cast a cold eye in Brittany’s direction.
“Murder,” Cora said.
“Huh?”
“You’re interested in crime. You hear I’ve been involved in a few murder cases. You’re thinking of writing about it.”
“Writing?” Brittany made it sound like a foreign concept.
“Sorry. Lost my head. Not writing. But you’re interested in it. There’ve been an unusually large number of murders in this town. You’re curious. You’ve heard talk. I’m the best source of information. You’re plying me with tea and scones and pumping me for information.”
“Scones? I have to get scones?”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’m just giving you details because you’re trying to make it plausible for your husband. If we’re sitting in the living room when he comes home, I won’t be embarrassed answering his questions. I’m just trying to make it better for you.”
“I don’t know if I can get scones.”
“You weren’t going to feed me if we were doing crossword puzzles?”
“I hadn’t thought of it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m working through dinner; I’m gonna eat. And guess what? Becky’s sticking you with the bill.”
Brittany looked at Becky to see if that was true.
Becky nodded. “If Cora’s on the job, you gotta feed her. You don’t have to cook, but you do have to pay.”
“Country Kitchen works for me,” Cora said. “You don’t have to sit with me. Hang out in the bar if you like. He’s not going to kill you there.”
“So you expect me to take you out to dinner? What if he gets back from work and I’m not home?”
“Excellent. He can’t kill you if you aren’t there.”
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I am, too. I can’t help it if the situation’s funny.”
“Let’s not get off on a tangent,” Becky said. “Cora’s going to stick with you until your husband gets home. She’s going to make sure he knows she’s there. Then she’s done for the night. So what happens tomorrow?”
“Hank leaves for work at eight. I’m going to leave when he does. So he can’t turn around and double back. Where’s a good place to go at eight o’clock?”
“Cushman’s Bake Shop. You can get a scone.”
Brittany gave Cora a look. “You’re really hung up on scones.”
“I’m on a diet and they’re damn good. You wanna meet me for scones, there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s part of the job.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Hey, you’re young; you’re thin; you’re practically anorexic. You ever watch your weight?”
“Why?” Brittany turned to Becky. “She’s not taking this seriously.”
“Yes, she is. Cora, cut the crap. My client’s scared and she needs reassurance. Tell her it’s going to be all right.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes.”
“Hey,” Brittany said. “I want you there tonight when my husband gets home. Are you going to do it or not?”
Cora smiled. “Can’t wait.”
Chapter
23
Hank Wells walked into his living room and stopped dead.
Cora Felton and Brittany were seated on the couch drinking tea.
“Hi, honey,” Brittany said. She got up and kissed him on the cheek. “This is Cora Felton. I don’t know if you’ve officially met. You must know who she is. She’s a famous person in this town. Or anywhere else for that matter.”
Hank appeared to have taken leave of his senses. He blinked twice, murmured, “You’re the Puzzle Lady.”
Cora put down her tea, stood with a smile. “Please. I’m just Cora Felton. And you must be Hank. Brittany has told me so much about you.”
“She has?”
Cora waved her hand playfully. “Oh, nothing scandalous, I assure you. More’s the pity. I could use a little excitement in my life.”
Hank looked overwhelmed. Cora could understand his confusion. He’s being blackmailed and he’s contemplating murder. The last thing in the world he needs is to discover his wife has invited a stranger into the house.
“I was just telling Brittany about crime,” Cora said. “We seem to have a great deal of it in Bakerhaven. Murder in particular. Not a great thing for the chamber of commerce, is it? Not a big selling point. ‘Come to Bakerhaven; we kill off half the population.’ Brittany says you weren’t aware of it when you moved in.”
“Weren’t aware of what?” Hank said. His wits seemed to have left him.
“The crime rate, of course. Way above the norm. And it’s not as if we have a big-city police force. Just a chief and two officers. Put ’em on eight-hour shifts, they’d be working seven days a week. If you want around-the-clock protection, I mean.”
“I still don’t understand,” Hank said.
“Your wife’s been hearing stories. While you’re off at work. Town gossip. Of course, these things tend to be exaggerated. You don’t know what’s true. So she decided to go right to the source. Well, not right to the source. That would be Chief Harper. He’s not one to talk about his exploits. Not seemly for a police chief. But I don’t mind bragging a bit, if someone wants to listen. Brittany and I have been having a grand old time.” Cora smiled. “But you just got home. What is it, eight fifteen? I know, I know, rush-hour traffic’s a bitch. Well, let me get out of your way. It’s nice to meet you and all that, but you don’t need me on top of a long day.
Brittany, it’s been fun. Thanks for the tea. We’ll pick this up again. Trust me, we’ve only just scratched the surface.” She got to her feet. “Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.”
Cora stopped a moment outside the front door and assessed her performance. Not bad, she figured. The guy didn’t suspect a thing. Even if he did, it was all to the good, as long as it kept him from killing his wife. All in all, it hadn’t been that hard.
Of course tomorrow would be worse. Tomorrow Hank had to deal with the blackmailer. How were they going to tap-dance around that?
Cora made her way down the front path to the road. The Wellses lived in a modest two-story house on Oak Street on the outskirts of town. The driveway was just big enough for two cars, so Cora had parked in the road to leave Hank room to pull in. He’d come up the driveway and parked right next to his wife. The Wellses had his-and-her cars, a pair of identical Chevy Impalas. The license plates didn’t say his and hers or any other remotely cute saying one sometimes found on vanity plates, just numbers and letters like everybody else. All in all, they were just the typical suburban couple.
Except the husband wanted to kill the wife.
If that was in fact true. From what Cora had seen, it seemed entirely more likely the whole thing was in Brittany’s head.
Unless, of course, it wasn’t. Short of Hubby coming up with ten thousand bucks there was really no way to tell.
On the other hand, the thought that he might kept her up well into the night. When she finally did fall asleep, it was with the nagging suspicion that along about three in the morning Chief Harper would be waking her up with a phone call to tell her Brittany was dead.
Chapter
24
Cora reached out, groped on the nightstand, knocked the receiver off the phone. It clattered to the floor. Cora cursed, rolled over, felt around for the phone cord. She found it, reeled it in hand over hand, plastered the receiver to her face, and said, “Hello.” Realized it was upside down. Flipped it around and tried again.
A dial tone greeted her ear. Whoever they were, they’d hung up.
Except the phone was still ringing. It should have stopped when she knocked it to the floor. She hadn’t noticed while she was busy retrieving the phone, but now that the task was accomplished and the dial tone encountered it was painfully obvious.
The ringing wasn’t the phone; it was her new alarm clock. Cora had stopped at the mall on the way home and bought the clock to make sure she didn’t oversleep. Mission accomplished. The new clock was loud enough to wake the dead. It had faithfully discharged its function. Not that Cora felt particularly grateful.
Cora stumbled out of bed, padded her way into the bathroom, turned on the shower. In her drinking days, short of more liquor, it had been the only known cure for a hangover. It didn’t work, but it created the illusion one was trying. Cora stepped in, shrank back from the temperature. It was either too hot or too cold; she wasn’t sure. She adjusted the water, never to her satisfaction, and managed to take a shower.
Cora got dressed, raced out to Starbucks, and bought a coffee and a scone, the latter inferior in every way to the ones Mrs. Cushman trucked in from the Silver Moon Bakery in Manhattan and passed off as her own. Cora had agreed to meet Brittany at Cushman’s Bake Shop for just such a scone but had things to do first.
Her many marriages had taught her that just because a husband says he’s going to do something doesn’t mean he’s going to do it. Her many affairs had taught her just because a wife tells you her husband’s going to do something means even less. Brittany’s bland assurances that her husband was going to work wouldn’t have satisfied Cora even if the man hadn’t been contemplating murder.
Cora drove out to Oak Street to keep an eye on Hank’s house. She found a spot half-hidden by the snow-covered branches of a tree, which despite the name of the street was undoubtedly a pine. She killed the motor and the temperature immediately began to drop. She was glad for the coffee. Without it she’d have been an icicle by eight o’clock. It was still a quarter to. Cora prayed that Hank wouldn’t be late. Of course, it might take a while to kill his wife.
Hank was out the door by five to eight. He hopped in his car, backed out the drive. The sun reflecting off the ice and snow made it impossible to see in the car windows. It occurred to Cora it was a good thing she’d seen him get in, or she wouldn’t have known whether it was Hank or Brittany who was driving off. There was no question as to that. The only question was whether he had left his wife alive. If he hadn’t, nothing Cora was about to do would matter. If he had, there were a few things she wanted to know.
Cora pulled out, followed Hank through town to the highway, where he got on, heading for New York. She followed him a couple of exits just to make sure he wasn’t going to double back, before doubling back herself.
As she drove down Main Street, she could see a Chevy Impala parked in front of the library. So either Brittany was alive or her husband had driven six hundred miles an hour to get there first.
Cora went into the bakeshop to find Brittany very much alive and pissed as hell.
“You weren’t here,” Brittany said. “You were supposed to be here.”
“Here I am,” Cora said.
“You know how long I’ve been waiting?”
“Am I supposed to guess?”
“It’s not funny. How are you going to protect me if you’re not here?”
“But so many people are,” Cora said. “And you’re kind of making a scene in front of them. Did you get a scone? Yes, I can see you did. I’m going to get one, too, and we can take them outside.”
Cora bought herself a scone and a latte and guided Brittany outside. “Now what do you say we take your car out to your house?”
“What about your car?”
“If I’m parked in front of the house, your husband will know I’m there. If I’m not, he won’t.”
“That’s your brilliant plan?” Brittany said.
“Well, it beats doing nothing. The guy tries to kill you, I pop out, blow his head off.”
“How will you know if he’s trying to kill me?”
“Well, I’m not going to ask him. Guys in that position usually lie. ‘Kill her? Naw, I just popped in a for a quickie.’ What do I do then? Apologize and say ‘go for it’?”
“And what am I going to be doing during all this?” Brittany said.
“Actually, you don’t need to be there at all. Why don’t I drop you at the mall. You can go shopping, and I’ll do my best Big-Bad-Wolf-who-just-ate-Grandma impression.”
“You’re going to leave me alone in the mall?”
“Why not? He won’t know you’re there.”
“Unless he’s watching when you let me out.”
“You think I couldn’t spot him?”
“I don’t want to bet my life on it. Look, this is getting out of hand. I don’t want you to kill my husband. I just want you to keep him from killing me.”
“And the surest way to do that is to catch him in the act.”
“That doesn’t sound good to me. That sounds bad to me. That’s like using me for bait. I don’t wanna be bait. I wanna be protected, not put at risk. But I like your other idea.”
“What other idea?”
“The mall.”
“You’ll hang out at the mall and let me handle your husband?”
“What, leave me alone? No, that’s an awful idea. You gotta stick with me.”
Cora frowned. “So?”
“So. Whaddya say?” Brittany smiled. “Let’s go to the mall.”
Chapter
25
Becky was amused. “You spent the morning at the mall?”
“Yes, we did,” Brittany said brightly.
Cora said nothing, but from the look on her face, Becky figured she’d better change the subject. “Well, I hope you girls had fun. Let’s get down to business. The deadline for the blackmail is up this afternoon. Now where do we stand on that?”
“The blackmail’s of
f. I called Melvin last night,” Cora said.
That was the short version of the story. The long version was Melvin saw no reason not to collect the ten thousand dollars just because Cora had arbitrarily decided not to go through with the bluff. It had not been easy to dissuade him, and Cora wasn’t sure he wouldn’t go through with it. He’d given his word, but she knew what that was worth.
“How are you handling that?” Brittany said. “Blackmailer changed his mind? You don’t think that will make him suspicious?”
“Oh, pooh,” Cora said. “According to you, everything makes this guy suspicious. So what do you want now, you want me to blackmail him so he won’t be suspicious?”
“Of course not.”
“So that’s the situation. The deadline’s gonna pass; absolutely nothing’s gonna happen. Your husband will be nervous and irritable, particularly if he spent the day raising ten thousand dollars. However, given that situation and the state of uncertainty, you think he’s gonna try to kill you?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Well, I do. You can’t have me living at your house without—are you ready for it—making your husband suspicious. So, you’re at a crossroads. Your lawyer can explain your options. If I were you, I’d listen.”
Becky smiled. “No, you’re on a roll. You tell her, Cora.”
“Okay,” Cora said. “You can pretend nothing happened, and hope Hubby doesn’t kill you. Or you can confront the situation head-on. In any of a number of ways. Would you like to hear what they are? If the answer is no, I don’t see any reason for my further employment.”
“What ways?” Brittany said through clenched teeth.
Cora ticked them off on her fingers. “One, you ask to see the insurance policy. We can make up a plausible excuse why you need to if you decide to do it. Two, you confront your husband about his girlfriend. Again, we can come up with a reason why you suspect. Lipstick on a collar, the smell of perfume, just the fact he stays out late. But trust me, if you wanna go that way, I can get more specific. I’m an expert at this. Three, you’re concerned for your safety; you think someone means to harm you. You would think that would be harder to sell, but actually, it has the advantage of being true. Assuming it is. Which in itself will lend an air of authenticity. The man immediately feels guilty. Good God, how was he found out? Where did he slip up? What does she know? The fact you’re making it up will get lost in the shuffle.”
