Arsenic and Old Puzzles (10 page)

“You know that.”

“When is the last time you did?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“I really can’t recall.”

“But you could if you wanted to?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have the run of the house?”

Alan said nothing.

“Do you have a key to the door?”

Alan frowned.

“I don’t think I like this.”

Chapter

20

Becky Baldwin looked
up from her desk. “Why Mr. Guilford. What brings you here?”

The young man shrugged ruefully and grimaced, as if confessing to something embarrassing. “I think I need a lawyer.”

Becky nodded judiciously. “When will you know for sure?”

Alan smiled. “I just had a long talk with Chief Harper.”

Becky raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“It was not of my own volition. The chief seemed to feel he could get a line on the murders by investigating my family history.”

“Really? Where would he get such an idea?”

“It’s that Puzzle Lady person. That Cora Felton. She seems to think she has an insight into crime. Like some storybook detective who sits back and says enigmatic things and has people running around chasing extraneous facts and then at the end of the book makes it all make sense.”

“You read a lot of detective fiction?”

“Enough. That nosey Miss Marple character, for instance. A lot like Cora Felton. Always one-up on the police.”

“You think Cora Felton’s one-up on the police?”

“I think she
thinks
she’s one-up on the police. Anyway, Chief Harper’s asking me all these questions about my marriage, which is really none of his business, particularly since the date isn’t set yet. And you know women. Arlene’s a little nervous about the fact the date isn’t set, even though she’s the one who balks at setting it. And if she’s having a hard time naming a date for me, it’s going to be ten times worse when it’s a police officer asking for it. Anyway, he got all pushy, and I said, ‘Do I need a lawyer?’ and he said, ‘You have the right to an attorney,’ yada, yada, so I told him I wanted to consult you.”

“And what does your fiancée think about that?”

“Why?”

“She didn’t appear too smitten with me out at your aunts’ house.”

“She wasn’t seeing you as an attorney.”

“No kidding. And just what does Arlene do?”

“Why?”

“It’s a typical lawyer question. We attorneys always ask it of prospective clients with significant others who hate us.”

Alan smiled. “Wow. That was a mouthful. Are you this good in court?”

“Better. I usually know what I’m fighting. Look, you come in here, want me to defend you from some unspecified charge of which you have not been accused. Fine, I need the money. But if you want me to do it, I need to know what I’m dealing with. If Chief Harper’s looking at you, he’s going to look at your fiancée, particularly since she lives next door. I’m not trying to pry into your personal life, but what’s she like?”

“Arlene’s an actress. You know what that means in New York City. A waitress. Her parents died and left her a little money, so she doesn’t have to do that anymore. They also left her the house. Which is how I got to know her. Which is funny. We’re both from New York City, but we met here.”

“What do you do, Mr. Guilford?”

“I freelance.”

“At what?”

“Whatever I can get. Computer work. Proofreading. Stuff like that.”

“You have an apartment in New York?”

“If you can call it that. I have a studio apartment the size of a broom closet. Don’t tell the aunts, but I’m giving it up.”

“Arlene’s got room?”

“Oh, sure. It’s a two-bedroom.”

“She inherit the apartment?”

“No, it’s a rental. There was a roommate, but she moved out. She was looking for another roommate, then she came into money and didn’t have to.”

“You’re moving in?”

“When we go back to New York. We’ve actually been here for a while.”

“You’re staying at Arlene’s house, but you don’t want your aunts to know?”

“I’m old enough to have a girlfriend, and my aunts are old enough to disapprove. They’re just so straight-laced. In that old house, and the way they dress. It’s like they’re straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. All prim and proper, with a body in the library. Poisoned. No trace of blood. A genteel sort of crime.”

“Just a casual mystery reader?”

“I do like Agatha Christie.”

Alan gave Becky the rundown of the family situation that he’d given Chief Harper. She didn’t let on she knew most of it.

“So,” Becky said. “You can’t remember the last time you stayed in your aunts’ house?”

“No, I can’t. It was probably a few months ago. That’s the best I can do.”

“You have a key to the front door.”

“I don’t have a key to the garden shed.”

“You’d know where it was kept. Look, Mr. Guilford—”

“Alan.”

“I have trouble calling men who are engaged to be married by their first name.”

“Even when there’s no date set? As your friend Cora said, with no date set you don’t have to think of it as an engagement.”

Becky smiled. “You should have been a lawyer.”

Chapter

21

Cora stuck her
head in the door of Becky’s office. “Hear you got a client.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Actually, I saw him leave. I’m assuming he hired you. If he just tried to hit on you, I would say it spoke poorly of his engagement.”

“There’s some question about that, too.”

“Oh?”

“He pointed out the date wasn’t set. Don’t worry, he gave you full credit for the idea.”

“He
was
trying to hit on you?”

“He was flirting. Men flirt.”

“But he hired you?”

“Yes, he did. I assume I have you to thank for that.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?”

“It seems Chief Harper picked him up and grilled him as a suspect. I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that?”

“I have very little influence with the police. I’m sure Harper wouldn’t arrest anyone on my say-so.”

“No, of course not. Anyway, I got a client, so I owe you one. Unless he turns out to be guilty.”

“Why, don’t guilty clients pay?”

“Yeah, they do. It just doesn’t look good on your record.”

“It does if you get them off.”

“That’s just cynical.”

“Oh, yeah? Look at Johnnie Cochran.”

“He’s dead.”

“Well, aside from that. Anyway, I wouldn’t sweat it. The chance of Alan being involved in this is practically negligible.”

“I’m sure that’s how you presented it to Chief Harper.”

“I don’t make the facts, I just report them. What the chief does is out of my hands. Anyway, aren’t retainers nonrefundable?”

“Damn right they are.”

“Then what have you got to worry about?”

Cora went down to the police station where Dan Finley was manning the desk.

“Hey, Dan, what’s up?”

“Not much. Still waiting on the lab report. I called over there, but they’re on lunch hour. Did you want to see the chief?”

“Is he in?”

“He went over to the Guilford house, to talk to the sisters. Don’t think it was anything special. Just got antsy waiting for the lab.”

“I know how he feels. If he comes in, give me a call.”

Cora came out the front door and nearly bumped into Arlene on her way in.

Arlene was furious. “You! At the police station. I might have known.”

Cora shrugged. “Why? Are you a psychic?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I give up,” Cora said. “What do I think I’m doing?”

“You accused my boyfriend of murder.”

“Oh, that.”

“You admit it?”

“
Accused
is such an ugly word. I don’t believe I’ve accused anyone of anything.”

“You told Chief Harper he’s a suspect.”

“That’s not an accusation, just a statement of fact. He
is
a suspect. So are you, for that matter. If I tell Chief Harper, are you going to say I accused you?”

“Very funny. Now he’s hired that Becky Baldwin. He thinks he needs protection.”

“Oh. There’s a Freudian slip. Nice double entendre.”

“What?”

“Not very quick on your feet, are you? Most angry women aren’t.”

“Why are you meddling in my affairs?”

“Your affairs? I thought you said I accused Alan.”

“I’m his fiancée.”

“There seems to be some question about that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s a matter of semantics.”

“What?”

“It means words are involved. Granted, not your strong suit. Which would be youth and beauty. Of which, you are not bad, by the way. Almost in Becky Baldwin’s league. Of course, she’s a lawyer, and you’re not. Which is understandable. You probably had trouble with the bar exam.”

“Oh, aren’t you the laugh riot,” Arlene said scathingly. “I guess that’s what happens to women when they lose their sex appeal. They develop ‘personality.’”

“That’s better. Now you sound halfway intelligent. I bet with a little work you could have a personality, too.”

Arlene offered a brief, pungent opinion of Cora’s suggestion.

“Tell me,” Cora said. “What do you see in Alan? Clearly, it’s not the Guilford estate. You already have money. And he has none. Is he really such a catch?”

“You’re rude and impertinent. And you’re meddling. In matters that don’t concern you. There have been a couple of accidental deaths, no big deal, but you’ve got to be the great and wonderful Puzzle Lady and drum up some conspiracy plot with Alan in the center of it just to make yourself seem important. And you’re all wet.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Alan couldn’t have poisoned those people. He was with me.”

Arlene pushed by her in the front door.

Cora watched her go.

So. Alan was with Arlene at the time of the murder. Which made no sense, since there
was
no time of the murder. Not if the wine was poisoned. The killer could have poisoned it at any time. But Arlene had been eager to make that point.

And now Arlene was complaining about her to the cops. Chief Harper wasn’t there, but Dan Finley would get an earful.

Cora didn’t care.

She had bigger fish to fry.

Chapter

22

Dr. Barney Nathan
came out of his office into the waiting room and stopped dead.

Cora Felton sat on the couch.

“What are you doing here?”

Cora shrugged. “I’m sick.”

“I’m not your doctor.”

“How do you know?”

“Excuse me?”

“You could very well be my doctor. I just never happen to be sick.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Actually, it is. My doctor is in the city. I’ve been with him for years, I see no reason to give him up. That’s why I’ve never come to you.”

“I thought it was because you didn’t trust my work.”

“Now, now, Barney. Just because I go after you in court doesn’t mean I don’t respect your work. If you make a mistake, I’m going to point it out. It’s no reflection of you. It’s a reflection on the state of medicine. The practice of which you know medically. If I disagree, that is usually based on
non
medical factors. Almost always, as I have no medical training. Anyway, I’m sick, you’re here, I’m not driving to New York for a cold remedy. Come on, doc, check me out.”

Before Barney Nathan could object, she pushed by him through the door.

Cora had never been in the doctor’s office before. It was cozier than she’d expected, with an oak desk, cedar file cabinets, and wooden bookshelves bowed with massive medical tomes. The chairs for the doctor and patient, large and upholstered, gave the feeling of a den. An oak sideboard, closed, had an ice bucket on top. It hadn’t occurred to her, but she wondered if the good doctor occasionally favored a nip.

“Say. Nice digs. This is where you sit the patient down, talk them out of being sick. Or deliver some momentous pronouncement—I’m sorry, ma’am, you have Monterey Fishman’s disease.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Yeah, but the patient doesn’t know that, and by the time they find out you’ve already Xeroxed their BlueCross BlueShield card and copied down their American Express card number.”

Dr. Nathan was not amused. “Miss Felton, if you’re not really sick, I’m rather busy.”

“Really? I was the only patient in the waiting room.”

“It’s my lunch break. I was trying to close up the office.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be brief.” Cora marched to a door on the side wall. “Is this the examining room?” She flung it open. “No, that’s the bathroom. Must be this one. Ah! There we go.”

It was a small examining room: stark, sterile, lit by fluorescent bulbs. A sink and cabinets along one wall. An examining table covered with paper on the other.

“Well,” Cora said, “shall I get undressed?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a killjoy. One of the joys of going to the doctor is you can take your clothes off in front of another man and it doesn’t count as cheating.”

Cora hopped up on the examining table. “I have a cold. I think it’s settled down in my chest.”

Dr. Nathan put on a stethoscope.

Cora unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, pulled it open wider than could possibly be necessary. “Here, doc. I hope it isn’t cold.”

Dr. Nathan ignored the open shirt, felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “Cool as a cucumber.”

“I never understood that expression. Just how cold are cucumbers, anyway. If you ask me—”

Dr. Nathan stuck a digital thermometer in her mouth.

Cora clamped her lips around it, favored him with an I-wasn’t-finished look.

“Let’s get your blood pressure here.”

He wrapped a cuff around her arm, took the bulb and pumped it up, released it and let the air out.

“Your blood pressure is a little high. For you, that’s probably your normal state.”

The digital thermometer beeped.

“Ninety-eight point six.”