You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled (13 page)

H
ARVEY
B
EERBAUM WAS
delighted. “You brought my chairs back!”

“Well, I felt responsible.”

“Yes, but.. .”

“But what?”

“How did you do it?”

“Trade secret, Harvey.”

“Yes, but if you found my chairs, you must know who took them.”

Cora put up her hands. “Now, let’s be very careful here, Harvey. Technically,
legally,
I don’t know who took them. I know who
had
them.”

“You’re splitting hairs.”

“That’s what the law does.”

“Yes, but just between you and me . . .”

“Just between you and me, we got your chairs back,

Harvey. Be glad you got ’em. That’s the best advice I can give you. That and lock your door.”

Cora drove by the motel, but nothing had changed. The Ford Taurus was in the spot between 12 and 13, but no car was in the spot between 11 and 12. That was too bad. Cora wasn’t sure what she wanted to say to Benny Southstreet, but she couldn’t wait to hear what Benny Southstreet had to say to her. Would he accuse her of taking his chairs? That would be interesting as all hell. Then he’d have to admit to having them in the first place. Cora was looking forward to it. Well, maybe later.

Cora got home to find Buddy tied up in the yard. Buddy wasn’t happy about it, and told her so in no uncertain terms. Cora unhooked the tiny poodle, and he scampered after her into the house.

Cora dumped some kibble in a bowl, added a spoonful of canned food, and mixed it around. She put the bowl on the floor, gave him fresh water, and went to check the answering machine.

Beep.

“This is Chief Harper. I’ve had a complaint of a break-in at Wilbur’s Antiques. Would you know anything about that?”

Oops.

Beep.

“Cora, it’s Harvey. Thank you for getting my chairs back. It’s all very well for you to say not to worry, but how can I? I had an intruder in my house. In the middle of the night. It is totally unsatisfactory not to know who that is. Please call and tell me.”

Beep.

“Sherry, it’s Bren. What’s going on? You’re not home, and Dennis isn’t home. Did you know he’s in town?

He claims he has to check in with his lawyer, but Becky won’t say whether he does or not. And, anyway, what difference does that make if he checks in and doesn’t leave. I’m worried, because you’ve got a wedding coming up, and I think that’s making him a little crazy. Has he called you? Have you seen him? Is that where you are now? Please let me know. This is getting serious. I’m afraid someone is going to get hurt.”

Oh, hell. Wait till Sherry heard that. Maybe she should delete it. Cora wondered if she knew how. Did this answering machine have a delete button? Or was the only way to erase it to record over it?

Beep.

“Sherry, what’s going on? I just heard Brenda’s message. Are you out with Dennis? I can’t believe you’re out with Dennis, I don’t care what the circumstances are. The guy is no good, and never has been. He doesn’t deserve whatever you’re giving him. … I don’t mean that like it sounded. But he doesn’t deserve to be heard. He’s had his chances. I don’t know where I’ll be, but call me on my cell phone. This is ridiculous.”

Beep.

“Aaron! What do you mean, picking up my messages? I’m not out with Dennis. I wouldn’t be out with Dennis. I can’t believe you would think such a thing. But that’s not the point. You’re picking up my messages and blaming me for them? Ah, hell. I tried your cell phone and it’s switched off. Which makes no sense since you asked me to call. So I left a message there, and I’m leaving a message here. If you pick up the message here, I’d like to know why you’re picking up my messages. Anyway, call me. You can
leave
a message.”

Beep.

“Sherry, how are you going out? I thought Cora had your car. Did someone give you a ride?”

Beep.

“I can’t believe you’re calling me. Your cell phone’s still off, and you’re still picking up my messages. Dennis—”

There was a long pause.

“Sorry, Aaron. You had me confused. Damn it, turn your damn phone on, will you?”

There it was. A veritable soap opera on the answering machine. Cora wanted no part of it. As far as she was concerned, if anyone else called, the answering machine could pick up again.

Cora left the young lovers to their own devices, and trudged down the hall to bed.

M
ARGE, THE CHAMBERMAID,
looked at the door to Unit 12 and frowned. There was no
DO NOT DISTURB

sign. But a car was parked in front of the unit. Actually,
two
cars were parked in front of the unit. One in the space straddling 12 and 13, and one in the space shared by 11 and 12. Either could be Mr. Southstreet’s car. On the other hand, it was equally possible neither car was. Due to the vagaries of the parking lot, the car between 11 and 12 could be for Unit 11, and the car between 12 and 13 could be for Unit 13, leaving no space at all for the car for Unit 12. Which sometimes happened. Usually, the guest in question would simply choose another space, but occasionally one got really ticked. Marge could remember an instance when the police had to be called, another when an irate guest had
to be comped a room. Thank goodness she hadn’t had to deal with them. Ralph had been driven nuts.

So, what to do about Unit 12? It was after ten o’clock. By rights the guest should be up and out. Of course, she could skip his room and move down the line, but what if the car meant someone was in Unit 13?

Marge frowned. She would have to intrude. The thing she liked least about her job. Waking people up. Disturbing them in the shower. Or at even more embarrassing times. Like when that old couple was having an affair. That old couple were in their early forties, but that seemed ancient to Marge.

Associating, perhaps, Marge glanced down the row to where her genuinely old employers were having an argument in front of the motel office. Marge hated it when they bickered. Moms always won, and Pops always took it out on Marge. Without even realizing.

So, there was no hope for it. Marge fished out her passkey, went to the door, and—

The door was open. Just a crack, but still.

Marge pushed it slightly farther open, called, “Housekeeping.”

No answer. No rustle of anyone turning over in bed. No sound of running water.

Marge pushed the door wider. “Housekeeping.”

The first thing she saw was the bed. It was just the way she’d left it when she made up the room yesterday.

That was odd. Benny Southstreet hadn’t come back. Well, less work for her.

Marge opened the door, stepped inside.

The chairs were gone.

This was not good. This was
really
not good. Not
after she’d let Cora Felton see they were there. Photograph them, even. And figure out how to unlock the door. No, that wasn’t fair—just surmise on her part. But somehow while they photographed the chairs the button on the door had been disengaged. Marge had made a point of locking it again when Cora was watching.

So the missing chairs could hardly be her fault. Because it would have to be someone with a key who took them. Which explained things. Benny Southstreet came back, took his chairs, and left. Forgetting to pull the door tight behind him. Perhaps because he had an armful of chairs. He had left, and someone had parked in his spot, and none of it was her fault.

Except for the briefcase on the desk. He might have taken his chairs, but he’d certainly left his briefcase. Not a bright move, under the circumstances, with the door left unlocked.

So, the guest might not have slept in the bed, but this was still an occupied room. Which needed to be made up. Let’s see . . . The glasses on the tray next to the ice bucket had the protective paper over the top. The bucket was dry. The wastebaskets were empty. Nothing had been touched.

Did he need any soap and towels?

Marge pushed open the bathroom door, stopped, and gasped.

There was a gun on the tile floor next to the bathtub. It was lying on a piece of paper.

A crossword puzzle.

The shower curtain was half-closed.

Marge grabbed it, yanked it open.

Benny Southstreet lay in the bathtub. He was fully
clothed. His tie was even tied. His hair was slightly mussed, but his eyes were wide open in a look of weary resignation. Aside from his prone position, he could have been waiting in line at OTB. He was clearly dead.

• 1 Grounds for a suit
  

• 5 “__ Frutti” (Little Richard song)
  

• 10 Erie Canal mule
  

• 13 African lilies
  

• 15 Reaction to, “Pick a cod, any
  

• cod”
  

• 16 “¿___ pasa?”
  

• 17 Start of a message
  

• 19 Beehive State athlete
  

• 20 Polo or Garr
  

• 21 It’s under foot
  

• 22 Feel poorly
  

• 23 Classic Ford model
  

• 26 Threatening sentence-ender
  

• 28 TV broadcast band
  

• 29 Message part 2
  

• 32 Synthesizer inventor
  

• 34 Gets bored with
  

• 35 Bio by Molly Ivins
  

• 37 Have a couple of eggs?
  

• 38 Xerox competitor
  

• 42 “I’m OK with it”
  

• 45 Iditarod race place
  

• 46 Message part 3
  

• 50 Links number
  

• 51 All told
  

• 52 Falls in New York
  

• 54 “___ whillikers!”
  

• 55 Till bills
  

• 58 Hoofbeat sound
  

• 59 Easy mark
  

• 60 End of message
  

• 64 Cobra kin
  

• 65 Bungled play
  

• 66 Streamlined
  

• 67 Fourth of July?
  

• 68 Oceans, in poetry
  

• 69 Connecticut campus
  

• 1 Mai ___
  

• 2 Long in the tooth
  

• 3 Is a fan
  

• 4 Basic belief
  

• 5 ___ Friday’s (restaurant chain)
  

• 6 Big coffee containers
  

• 7 Brouhaha
  

• 8 Makes fit
  

• 9 Lower-ranking
  

• 10 Violent gust of wind
  

• 11 Pediatric mental disorder
  

• 12 Actress Sobieski
  

• 14 Lamb, at large
  

• 18 North Dakota city
  

• 23 ___ the word
  

• 24 “Oops!”
  

• 25 Jury verdict
  

• 27 Small and lively
  

• 30 Garbage
  

• 31 “Yo, dude!”
  

• 33 Enthusiasm
  

• 36 Closed, as a sports jacket
  

• 39 Confess to less
  

• 40 “The Mod Squad” costar Epps
  

• 41 Juno, to Greeks
  

• 43 Mined over matter?
  

• 44 Cager Strickland or Dampier
  

• 46 Puzzle cutter-upper
  

• 47 On edge
  

• 48 Treeless tract
  

• 49 Some surrealistic paintings
  

• 53 “Holy smokes!”
  

• 56 “To be,” to Henri
  

• 57 “Cut it out!”
  

• 61 Surgery sites, briefly
  

• 62 Brooks of “Blazing Saddles”
  

• 63 Barely manage, with “out”