by Parnell Hall
“I didn’t give them a reason. I just told them to stay.”
“And they did?”
“I’m a cop.”
“Come again?”
“I questioned them one at a time. When I finished with one, I asked for another. They’re out there wondering what comes next.”
“What comes next?”
“I have no idea. I was waiting for you to get back.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“Well, I was waiting for something. Actually, I’m waiting for everything. I’m waiting for the autopsy report. I’m waiting for the fingerprints to get processed.”
“What fingerprints?”
“The ones that are going to turn out to be Juliet or George Brooks.” Harper shook his head. “The big problem here is it’s too simple a crime. She saw the killer. The killer found out, thanks to Dennis and Rick Reed, and shut her up.”
The phone rang.
Harper scooped it up. “Chief Harper. . . . Hi, Barney, what you got? . . . I know she was killed with a razor. . . . The sole cause of death? Why wouldn’t it be? . . . Okay, you’re saying she was alive when her throat was cut. She wasn’t drugged, or knocked out, or manhandled that you can see. So when did she die?” Harper’s face hardened. “Give me that again. . . . You must be mistaken. . . . I don’t care what methods you used, I just want to know the time. . . . Well, that can’t be right.”
Harper slammed the phone down. “Damn!”
“What’s the problem?”
“She was killed between nine and ten.”
Chapter 39
Cora paced up and down the office. “I need a smoke.”
“Not in here.”
“You need my help.”
“Go outside.”
“If I go out there, those vultures will tear me apart.”
“Chew some gum.”
Cora fed a stick of Juicy Fruit into her mouth, continued to pace. “So, what does this mean?”
“In the first place, those alibis are no good.”
“They were no good anyway.”
“Yeah, but now even at face value they’re moot. We need to know where they were between nine and ten.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” Harper said. “That’s when the murder took place.”
“Yeah, but we just lost the motive. If the murder happened before the broadcast, the murder wasn’t triggered by the broadcast. So the idea it’s cause and effect is suspect.”
“But it’s linked to the Overmeyer murder.”
“That’s what’s suspect.”
“Well, what if it isn’t? Suppose the murder isn’t linked to the Overmeyer murder? What then?”
“You got a load of crap,” Cora said. “That’s the type of thing most likely to make me throw a book across the room. Two people who live next door to each other murdered within a week of each other, but they’re separate crimes? That happens in a book, you take the author out and shoot him. You wipe his hard drive and confiscate his mouse. The crimes must be related. One way or another, they must.”
“No argument here. So, what do we do next?”
“Find out where everyone was between nine and ten.”
“You just got through saying that won’t help.”
“Yeah, but it must. The crimes have to be related, so the suspects are those who prosper. Even without the TV interview.”
“And the TV interview is just a coincidence?”
Cora grimaced. “I hate that, too. But it’s the lesser of two evils. The TV interview being a coincidence isn’t nearly as bad as the murders being a coincidence.”
“You mean you’d let the writer live?”
“Just barely. It’s less egregious.”
“You and your words.”
“What?”
“Egregious.”
“Oh.” Cora hadn’t even noticed she’d used it. Living with Sherry was wearing off on her. That and her newfound expertise with sudoku. Without realizing it, Cora was relaxing into the role of the Puzzle Lady.
Chief Harper opened the door, and Harmon Overmeyer practically fell in.
“Listening at the keyhole?” Cora said.
Harmon flushed. “Not at all. I was just coming to find out when I could go.”
“It didn’t occur to you to ask earlier?”
Harmon stuck out his chin at Chief Harper. “Why is she answering me? You’re the sheriff. I’m talking to you.”
“I’m actually the chief of police.”
“I don’t care what you call yourself. The fact is you’re in charge. And she isn’t. She’s not even a policeman.”
Cora shrugged. “I keep failing the exam.”
“See? She’s mocking me. I don’t have to put up with that. You’re in charge. Can I leave?”
“You mean leave the police station or leave the jurisdiction?”
“I don’t want to leave town. I’m here to inherit the estate. I just don’t want to sit out there with those impostors.”
“How do you know they’re impostors?”
“How do I know anything? I’m his closest relative. You said so. Suddenly there’s a whole bunch closer? I don’t think so. They’re just scavengers circling the kill.”
Cora smiled. “You paint a lovely picture of the dear departed.”
Chief Harper cut off Harmon’s retort. “Children, please. You want to fight, do it on your own time. Right now I have some questions. Where were you last night from nine to ten?”
“Why?”
“It has some bearing on the murder.”
“She was killed between nine and ten?”
“I’m not saying that. But I’d like to know where you were.”
“You mean I’m a suspect?”
“The more you evade the question, the more you become one,” Cora said dryly. “He’s got a whole roomful of people to question. How about giving him a break?”
“What’s the question?”
“Where were you between nine and ten?”
“Last night? I don’t know. I was in a strange town. I didn’t know anyone. And I must say the bed-and-breakfast where I’m staying is no help.”
“Who’s that?” Cora asked.
“The Crowleys.”
“Oh.”
“What did you do?” Harper prompted.
“I can’t remember.”
“Were you in your room at the bed-and-breakfast?”
“Between nine and ten? That seems too early. I was probably just getting back from dinner.”
“Where did you eat?”
“Someplace out on the road. Looks like a log cabin.”
“Oh. The Country Kitchen?”
“That’s the place.”
“You were there until ten o’clock?”
“I have no idea how long I was there.”
“Did you eat alone?”
“I just got here. I don’t know anyone.”
“So you ate alone?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anyone who can corroborate the fact you were in the Country Kitchen?”
“The waitress might remember me.”
“Why, you stiff her on the tip?” Cora said.
Harmon shot her a look.
“How’d you pay for the meal?” Harper asked.
“Why?”
“If you used a credit card, there’ll be a record.”
“You’re really looking for proof I was in the Country Kitchen last night?”
“Of course he is,” Cora said irritably. “It’s a murder investigation. If you’re not involved, stop being such a horse’s ass and give him some help.”
“I paid with American Express. I may have the receipt.” He fished in his wallet. “Yes, here you go.”
Harper took the receipt. “According to this, you paid at nine-fifteen.”
“Let me see that.” Cora snatched the receipt out of Harper’s hands, checked the total. “I apologize for suggesting you stiffed the waitress. You gave her
a very generous eight percent.”
Harmon grabbed the receipt, stuffed it in his wallet. “So, when do you think there’s the slightest chance you’ll get to the bottom of this and we can settle the estate?”
“You want to speed things up, you might confess,” Cora told him.
Chief Harper marched Harmon out and came back with Bozo and Cruella, who split on where they were between nine and ten. Bozo thought they were at the B&B. Cruella thought they were in the mall.
“Most mall stores close at nine,” Cora pointed out.
“Not all of them. The Wal-Mart’s open later. In fact, that’s how I know it was between nine and ten. The other stores were closed.”
“That’s easy enough to verify,” Harper said.
“Verify? We had nothing to do with this. We weren’t even around. We just wanna go home.”
“You don’t care about the estate?” Cora said.
“We’ve seen the estate. Split six ways it hardly pays us bus fare.”
The Geezer had no alibi, either.
“Nine to ten? I thought it was eleven to twelve. Or is this something else?”
“No, it’s the same thing.”
The Geezer sucked something from between his teeth. “Then I can’t help you. I didn’t kill her between eleven and twelve, and I didn’t kill her between nine and ten neither.”
“You know where you were at the time?”
“At the time I did. You ask me then, I could have told you.”
Chief Harper’s headache was getting worse. “Do you remember where you were at the time?”
“Let’s see. This is last night. This is a couple of hours before you asked me before. That’s between nine and ten.” He cocked his head, furrowed his brow. “I was either at the motel or I wasn’t.”
“Where would you be if you weren’t at the motel?”
“You got me.”
“Where’d you have dinner?” Cora asked.
He had to think a minute. “Drive-through.” He jerked his thumb. “Back toward town.”
Cora figured by “town” he meant New York. “The McDonald’s?”
“Or the other one.”
“Burger King?”
“Whatever. Look, you wanna go ahead and solve this thing so I can get my inheritance?”
“That may take some time,” Harper told him.
“Is that right. Well, would the police department like to pick up my motel bill while I’m waitin’?”
“Sorry,” Harper said.
“I’ll bet you are.” Geezer cocked his head. “So, with all the excitement, I don’t suppose you done nothin’ ’bout finding the will?”
“No will has turned up yet.”
“Turned up. There’s a phrase. Kinda indicative of the whole investigation.”
Harper took a breath. “I assure you, the Overmeyer case is being thoroughly investigated.”
“You mean you searched the place and you can’t find a will.”
“We searched the place. We haven’t found a will. That doesn’t mean we’re done looking. It’s possible Overmeyer had a bank account or safe-deposit box. It’s possible he had a lawyer draw a will. The only attorney in town didn’t do it, but some other lawyer may come forward.”
“You better hope so,” Cora said. “If he died intestate, it’s going to be a mess.”
“What’ll happen?”
Cora shrugged. “Seeing as how none of you were particularly close relatives, I imagine a judge would proportion it equally. Of course, what that means is anybody’s guess. Do you count the couple as one heir or two? You’d think one, because the other married into it. But with relationships as tenuous as these, there’s always a married-into-it in the equation.”
“That’s all well and good. The point is whatever I got comin’, I want it.”
“No one’s trying to gyp you out of it,” Cora said. “On the other hand, if there’s no will, it may be months before it goes through probate.”
“Months?!” the Geezer erupted. “Well, that’s a fine howdy do! You expect me to wait months for what’s mine?”
“Why did you do that?” Harper said, closing the door on the Geezer.
“Just prodding him to see how much he cared. Apparently, it’s quite a bit.”
“Is that right about the probate taking months?”
“How should I know? I never killed a husband. Wanted to, never did. Always divorced them. So I’ve never been through probate. Now, alimony and property settlements, I’m a whiz.”
“Do me a favor,” Harper said.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t prod the next one.”
Next up was the Hooker, who looked as if she’d gotten caught in a police sting. Her makeup was more garish than usual, the lipstick smeared, the rouge blotchy, the mascara caked with tears.
“It’s not my fault,” she said, sniffling. “I had nothing to do with it, I don’t care about the money anymore, I just want to go home.”
“You don’t care about the money?” Cora said.
“No. I’d kiss it off right now if you’d let me leave.”
“That’s an unusual attitude,” Harper said. “Most heirs want to inherit.”
“Inherit what? A musty old cabin full of junk. No bank account. No liquid assets. Nothing to split. Now people are dying and you want to know where we were between nine and ten.”
Cora said, “That’s very interest—”
Chief Harper cut her off. “Yes, it is. Miss . . .” He nearly called her Hooker, fumbled with the paper to find her name.
Cora seized the opportunity to jump back in. “I got a question here, Chief.”
“I’m sure you do. I got a question of my own. Miss Barrington, I asked you about the time between eleven and twelve. How did you know I was interested in the time between nine and ten?”
Cora suppressed a groan.
“Are you kidding? Everyone’s talking about it. Isn’t that what you asked the others?”
Harper smiled ruefully.
“That’s the problem with leaving witnesses in the outer office,” Cora said. “You’re better off locking them up.”
The Hooker looked concerned.
“She’s joking,” Harper said. “So people are talking about it. What are they saying?”
“They’re saying you don’t seem to know any more about it than they do, but it must have taken place between nine and ten because that’s what you’re asking.”
“So,” Harper said. “Then you’ve had time to figure out where you were.”
“Yes. I was in my motel room wishing I’d never heard of this damn town.”
“How did you hear of it?” Cora put in.
“Huh?”
“How did you hear your dear— What was he to you?”
“Great-uncle.”
“How did you hear your dear great-uncle had gone to the land of probate?”
“Oh.”
“Hadn’t thought of that one?”
“I forget who told me. I got a phone call.”
“From a relative?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. If it was a relative, they’d be here. So who was it?”
“Just a friend. Who’d seen an obituary, or death notice, or something. Just called to see if I was related, and, of course, I am.”
“How’d you know?”
“Huh?”
“You obviously weren’t close. Did you even know you had a great-uncle? How’d you know he was a relative?”
“I looked it up on the Internet.”
Cora nodded. “Of course.”
Chapter 40
Cora came out of the police station and walked across the street to the Bakerhaven Town Library.
Edith Potter was at the front desk. The librarian had her hair done, the gray touched up with auburn highlights. Cora had to admit, she looked good. Cora never dyed her hair, at least not since she made a play for that amazingly rich oil man who liked them young. The hair had be
en insufficient, as Cora learned ruefully when the gentleman in question ultimately hooked up with a sweet young thing who probably still watched Sesame Street.
Cora and Edith exchanged the usual tut-tuts about the murders.
“Jimmy around?” Cora asked.
“Yes, he is. You need some help?”
“Would he mind?”
“He’d be delighted.”
Edith’s son Jimmy was back from community college, which was a big deal. Always a little slow, he had taken three years to complete the two-year program. As usual, he was puppy friendly, eager to help.
“You want me to look up things? I’m good at looking up things.”
“Good. I got a whole list. Herbert Overmeyer was murdered. And now Mrs. Brooks has been killed.”
Jimmy shook his head. “Very sad.”
“Yes, it is. And I’d like to find out more about it. I wonder if you could look on the Internet for me. Do you know how to Google?”
“Google? Sure, I can Google.”
“Okay. If you could Google Herbert Overmeyer and Juliet Brooks. See how many hits you get. In the last three days. Can you look up the last three days?”
“I can do that.”
“Here’s a list of names. If you find any of these people mentioned in the same article as Herbert Overmeyer or Juliet Brooks, let me know.”
Jimmy seemed disappointed. “Is that all?”
“No.” Cora lowered her voice. “See if it says anything about murder.”
“Gotcha!” Jimmy said.
Cora smiled as she watched Jimmy scurry off. He would surely find enough articles about the murders to keep him happy. But that wasn’t what she wanted. Any mention of the heirs, however slight, would be a godsend.
Cora sat at a computer, Googled “robbery murder Mobile Alabama 1954.” She got a thousand hits, none of them helpful. Most related to works of fiction. Some had “Mobile” and “murder.” Some had “Mobile” and “1954.” Some had “murder” and “1954.” Some had “robbery” with some of those three.
Adding the name “Overmeyer” did nothing. The man hadn’t been a suspect back then.
Cora plugged in the names of the witnesses who’d been shot, Claude Barnes and Mickey Dare, to no avail. None of the hits she got were promising. One suggested male enhancement techniques.
Jimmy came back crestfallen. He had gotten no hits Googling the list of names with Herbert Overmeyer or Juliet Brooks. He’d found all the recent Bakerhaven Gazette articles on the murders, but he must have realized they were things she already had.
