You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled (2 page)

The two officers seemed somewhat taken aback by the crowd on the lawn.

Cora pressed forward. “Hi, Chief. Hi, Dan. Good to see you.” She jerked her thumb at Dennis. “Unless you’re blocking this son of a bitch’s car. He was just leaving.”

Chief Harper didn’t crack a smile. In fact, he looked rather unhappy. “Cora Felton,” he began.

“My, my, how formal,” Cora said.

Chief Harper pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I have a warrant for your arrest.”

Dan Finley took out his handcuffs, snapped one around Cora’s wrist. “Sorry. Just doing my job. Cora Felton, you are under arrest for the murder of Benny Southstreet.”

Cora’s mouth fell open. “What!?”

“You have the right to remain silent. Should you give up the right to remain silent—”

Cora gave up the right to remain silent. Neighbors down the road could attest to the fact, as well as to the colorful metaphors and similes and malapropisms with which she congratulated the officers on their chosen profession, and suggested truly ingenious uses they might find for their warrant.

One week earlier.

“C
ONGRATULATIONS!
” Harvey Beerbaum was beaming. The portly cruciverbalist could not have been more pleased had he just won the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament.

Cora Felton, emerging from Cushman’s Bake Shop with a skim latte and a cranberry scone, stopped and frowned. “Congratulations on what?”

“The wedding, of course.”

Cora suppressed a smile. Harvey Beerbaum was a whiz with words, but amazingly gauche at social graces. “Sherry’s not my daughter, she’s my niece. I’m not sure I deserve congratulations.”

“Well, you deserve something. It’s a momentous occasion.”

“It’s not
my
occasion. Sherry’s the one getting married, not me.”

“That’s hardly my fault,” Harvey observed, then blushed furiously.

Cora figured that was probably true. While Harvey had never actually proposed marriage to her, in his tentative, roundabout, thoroughly exasperating manner, he had certainly indicated his eagerness to do so, given the slightest encouragement. Cora was fairly sure she’d never offered any. Particularly since she’d given up drinking.

Seeing his veiled hint had once again failed to get a rise out of Cora, Harvey ventured, “Have they set the date?”

“No, they haven’t.”

“Oh? How come?”

“He hasn’t asked her yet.”

Harvey blinked. “But. . .”

“But what?”

“I heard they were engaged.”

“Oh, they are. He just doesn’t know it yet. That’s not important. I’ve married men who didn’t know it till they reached the altar.”

Harvey looked positively scandalized.

Cora took a slurp of her latte.

“Ah, I’m keeping you from your coffee,” Harvey said.

“No, actually I’m keeping you from yours.”

Harvey’s eyes flicked toward the bakery. Cora could read his mind. Having failed once again to satisfy his heart, he was looking to satisfy his stomach. Harvey murmured his excuses, and went into the bakeshop.

Cora saluted his departure with her latte, and con-
gratulated herself on her powers of deception. In point of fact, Sherry and Aaron hadn’t set the date because Sherry was having last-minute jitters. That was no big deal. Cora had
always
had last-minute jitters when contemplating matrimony. There were so many points to consider. Was the gentleman one considered espousing even marginally better than the specimen one had just divested oneself of? Was the loss of alimony of the outgoing more than offset by the income of the incoming?

Cora smiled at the remembrance of the old turn of phrase, which had occurred to her in between some sequence of husbands or other in one of her more sober moments. The term
incoming,
neat enough in itself, also conjured up the image of a nuclear attack. Cora furrowed her brow, trying to recollect which of her husbands had deserved the comparison to an ICBM. Henry, surely, though he’d had other flaws. As had they all.

“Miss Felton.”

Roused from her musing, Cora looked up to find a woman with a stroller, one of the gaggle of young mothers who hung out in the bakeshop to swap stories of Junior’s latest whatever. Cora always regretted not having children. Not enough to
have
children, but still. She enjoyed the idea of someone else having children.

The mother in question had short-cut blond hair, a thin, attractively anemic-looking face, and anxious eyes of a greenish-blue variety.

The child in question was in that gray area between not-capable-of-taking-that-first-step and rushing-headlong-across-the-busy-street. It was dressed in a neutral tan playsuit, offering no useful clue as to its gender. Cora had trouble telling the difference, which
was one reason why she had always begged off babysitting. One of many reasons.

Cora was mentally loading up phrases like
your baby
in case the mother didn’t offer an appellation, or the name was equally androgynous, like
Pat
or
Shelly.
She was also wracking her brain for the least clue as to the woman’s identity. Cora had seen her many times. Surely, one of the other young moms had addressed her by name. If so, Cora couldn’t recall it.

Cora dug into her vast vat of knowledge for some mode of address that would not frighten the woman.

“Yes?”

That frightened her. “Oh, dear,” the woman said. “You have your coffee. I’m intruding.”

“Don’t be silly,” Cora said. “You have your coffee too. At least I’m not trying to push a stroller.”

The young mother had a Styrofoam coffee cup in one hand, a paper bag in the other. “Yes, but you’re not intruding on me. Oh, dear, I mean . . . I’m not sure what I mean.”

The bench outside Cushman’s window was unoccupied.

“Why don’t you sit down and tell me briefly what the trouble is?”

As if on cue, the baby began to bawl at the top of its lungs. The young mother looked mortified. “Oh, dear. Stop it, Darlene.”

Ah. There was a silver lining to the ear-piercing cloud. Darlene. Cora filed the information away. The baby was a girl. Either that, or destined for a rather rocky childhood.

The young woman balanced her coffee on the win-dowsill. Took a muffin out of the paper bag, tore off a
piece, and handed it to the screaming infant. “Here, Darlene. Have some nice blueberry muffin.”

Have some nice years of therapy,
Cora thought, when the spoiled brat grows up and life kicks her in the teeth.

Darlene batted the piece of muffin away, and did a wonderful impression of an untuned steam calliope.

“Nice kid,” Cora said.

Darlene’s mother flushed, held out a pacifier. Darlene looked like she might have hurled the thing in the street had her mother stuck it firmly in her mouth.

Cora bent down, said, “What seems to be the trouble?”

Darlene instantly stopped crying, and tried to snatch off Cora’s glasses.

“Not so fast, young lady.” Cora waggled her finger in front of the baby’s face, then smiled at the mother. “You were saying?”

The woman stared at her. “How did you do that?”

Cora shrugged. “She probably recognized me from TV.” At the woman’s expression, she added, “I’m kidding. Anyway, before she starts up again, what
do
you want?”

“It seems so stupid. . . .”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“All right. I have to talk to someone. I feel so terrible.”

“Why?”

“Deceiving my husband.”

Cora practically rubbed her hands together. This was more like it. Instead of feigning interest, she found herself feigning indifference. “Go on.”

“He’s such a good man. A good husband and father and provider.”

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. His name is Chuck. Chuck Dillinger. And I’m Mimi.”

“What does Chuck do?”

“He’s a lawyer. A malpractice attorney.”

“Chuck sues doctors.”

“No, he defends them.”

“Oh? Is that profitable?”

“Very.”

“There’s that many lousy doctors?”

“It’s not a case of bad doctors. It’s a case where, despite the best possible medical attention—”

Cora put up her hand. “Save it for the judge. The point is, Chuck has a lot of clients.”

“His firm does. They’re on a yearly retainer.”

“From a doctor?”

“No. An insurance company.”

“Figures.”

“Insurance companies get zapped with huge malpractice suits. If Chuck can win even one, he justifies his employment.”

“I take it he has no problem doing that.”

“Absolutely. Chuck’s very clever.”

“So he does well?”

“For the firm, sure. He’ll do a lot better when he makes partner.”

These details were fascinating, but not salacious. “You mentioned deceiving him,” Cora prompted.

“Yes. I feel so awful. . . .”

“Of course you do. Why don’t you tell me how it happened?” Cora tried not to sound too eager.

“Chuck works in the City. Commutes every day. I drop him off at the train station. Pick him up at night.”

“And the rest of the day you’re alone.”

“Yes. Except for Darlene.”

“I think I get the picture.”

“It just seems so bad. Him taking the train. And leaving me the car to get around. I didn’t mean to lie to him. But I was weak. I couldn’t bring myself to tell.”

“Why are you telling him now?”

“I have to. I have no choice.”

“I think I can help you.”

“You can?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll give it a shot.” Cora was all sympathetic encouragement. “It’s not the end of the world, you know. You’re young. You’re foolish. You made a mistake. You’d like to put it behind you and move on. Unfortunately, the young man in question is a jerk. He doesn’t want to let you go, and he’s blackmailing you. If you break it off, he’ll tell your husband. You’re terrified the whole thing will come out, but there’s no help for it. And if the secret’s going to break, the only chance to save your marriage is if you tell it first.”

The woman’s face twisted in revulsion. “That’s
terrible
!”

“Yes, it is. But it doesn’t have to end that way. I’ve had certain experience in these matters. If you’d like me to have a talk with the young gentleman, I’d be happy to do so.” Cora smiled. “He just might change his point of view.”

The young mother stooped down and tied the cap onto Darlene’s head, as if to keep the baby from hearing the sordid details of Mommy’s life. “That’s not what I want at all.”

“It’s not a question of what you want, it’s a question of what you can get away with. When your lover’s a creep—and, believe me, most of them are creeps—”

The woman shot to her feet. “Damn it!” she cried. “I am not having an affair!”

The Reverend Kimble, heading into the bakeshop, stopped in mid-stride and his mouth fell open. He cleared his throat in embarrassment and said, “Hello, Cora. Hello, Mimi.”

Mimi blushed furiously, and readjusted the baby’s hat.

“Hey, Rev,” Cora said. “You gonna be in later? I need to see you about a wedding.”

The reverend was now thoroughly flustered. “You’re getting married?”

“Not me. Sherry. Never mind, Rev. I’ll drop by the church. Go get your caffeine.”

The reverend went into the shop.

Cora wheeled on Mimi. “What do you mean you’re
not
having an affair?”

“I’m not. What a terrible thing to say! How am I ever going to face the reverend?”

“Oh, he’ll get over it.” Cora wasn’t
sure she
would. She wondered what the penalty was for killing a young mother. “So what the hell are you upset about?”

“The car.”

“What about the car?”

“I backed into a light pole. In the mall. One of the ones with cement around the bottom. I missed the tail-light, but I dented the fender. Squashed it, really. Had to be banged out. Repainted. You know how expensive that is? I’m still paying it off. Anyway, the dent was on the driver’s side. I angled the car in our driveway, so Chuck wouldn’t see it when I drove him to the station. Then I went straight to a garage. And you know how much they charged for just one little dent? If I told him right away it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the longer I wait the worse it gets. And now he’s gonna find out.”

“Why?” Cora demanded.

“The car’s due for inspection. Chuck always takes it in. The body shop did good work, but it’s not like it doesn’t show. The inspector will ask Chuck about the accident.”

“No, he won’t,” Cora said irritably. “All they care about is that you pass the emissions test, and pay an exorbitant price for a few irrelevant parts. They couldn’t care less about your damn dent.”

“No. I have to tell him.”

“Okay, so tell him. You don’t need me.”

“Yes, I do. It’s important. I want to make it special. Let Chuck know I care. You said you’d help me. And it would be so easy for you.”

Cora scowled. “What would be so easy for me?”

Mimi smiled. “To make a little crossword puzzle. Just for Chuck.”

D
AN
F
INLEY WAS
holding down the police station when Cora Felton came in. Apparently, it wasn’t that tough a job. The young officer was playing solitaire.

“Red seven on black eight,” Cora kibitzed.

“Hi, Miss Felton. What’s up?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Isn’t anybody killing anybody anymore?”

Dan grinned. “Not at the moment. Things are slow.”

“Where’s the chief?”

“In his office.”

“Working?”

“Most likely taking a nap. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

Cora stuck her head in Dale Harper’s private office, found the chief on the phone. She mouthed, “Sorry,” and started to close the door, but he waved her in.

Cora flopped into a chair, hoping the chief was involved in some high-level intrigue. He was writing on a legal pad, which looked promising.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh,” the chief said. “And a pint of sour cream.”

Cora figured that probably wasn’t life or death.

Harper hung up the phone. “So, whaddya want?”

“What makes you think I want something?”

“You’re not smoking.”

“Oh?”

“When I want something, you’re lighting up, looking around for an ashtray, telling me if you can’t smoke in here you’ll take it outside. When you want something, you’re polite.”

“Gee, Chief. Are you accusing me of being manipulative?”

“Heaven forbid.” Chief Harper leaned back in his chair, sipped his coffee. A crumpled muffin paper was on the desk. Most likely from a blueberry ginger, his latest muffin of choice. “So what do you need help with? Sherry’s wedding?”

“How come everybody knows about that? It hasn’t been announced yet.”

“This is a small town. If you have to learn something by reading the paper, it means you haven’t been paying attention.”

“That will be bad news for the groom. He kind of depends on people reading the paper.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I doubt if the
Gazette’s
circulation’s changed much in twenty years. So what’s up? This just a social call?”

“I’m bored. Nobody’s tried to kill anybody recently. Not that I wish anyone ill. Still, if someone had to die, it wouldn’t hurt if it was in your jurisdiction.”

“So you could solve it for me?”

“Not at all, Chief. But it would give me something to think about. Aside from this damn wedding.”

Chief Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Damn wedding? You’re not happy about the match?”

“Of course I’m happy about the match. They’re perfect for each other. If they’d get over their petty jealousies. Which is no sure thing. Aaron’s hung up on her ex-husband. Sherry keeps looking over her shoulder at Becky Baldwin.”

“Can you blame them?”

“Of course I blame them. They’re young. They’re in love. They should be oblivious to such things while caught in the throes of animal passion.” Cora found Chief Harper blushing furiously. “Or so I’m told.”

“Where are they going to live?”

“They haven’t worked that out yet.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Actually,
/
haven’t worked it out yet. Aaron’s moving in with Sherry. He practically has anyway. Which is not a problem, until it becomes official. As soon as it does, I’m the spinster aunt in the guest room.”

“I don’t think anyone would call you a spinster aunt.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The point is, I can’t see me staying there after they’re married. No one’s asked me to move out. I just don’t know where I’d go. My apartment’s sublet. I’d have to get it back. I’m not sure how hard it is to boot people in that situation. They’ve been there a couple of years. They think they got license. I don’t know how to evict them. I might have to marry a real estate lawyer.”

“I’m glad you can joke about it.”

“Who’s joking? I’ve married men for less. And a lawyer ought to have some money.” Cora dug in her floppy drawstring purse, pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“Yeah, but you’re not going to give me what I want. So what’s the difference?”

“You’re not making much sense.”

“No, I’m not. If I hadn’t given up drinking, I’d get drunk. If I hadn’t given up men . . . Well, never mind. I haven’t given up men. There’s just none on the horizon.” Cora sighed. “You know how desperate I am? I thought one of the women at the bakeshop was having an affair, and I offered to help her.”

“You offered to help her have an affair?”

“No. I offered to deal with the blackmailer.”

“You really shouldn’t be telling me this.”

“It’s all right. There’s no blackmailer. There’s no affair. She just ran into a tree.”

“What?”

“Not a tree. A pole.” Cora waggled her hand. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I said I’d help her before I knew what it was all about. Now I’m stuck with breaking it to her husband that she dented the car.”

“That doesn’t sound hard.”

“It’s a snooze, that’s what it is. Come on, Chief. Don’t you have something you need to know? I’d be happy to dig it out. I’m going stir-crazy.”

Chief Harper picked up the phone and pressed the intercom.

Dan Finley answered in the other room. “Yeah, Chief?”

“Dan, you got the file on the Wilbur case?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah. The Wilbur file. Could you bring that in here?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Thanks, Dan.” Chief Harper hung up the phone.

“What’s the Wilbur case?” Cora demanded.

“You wanna look into something, this is it.”

Dan Finley came in the door. “You sure you want the Wilbur case?”

“Don’t oversell it, Dan. Your skepticism is noted.”

“What’s the case?” Cora asked.

“Unsolved robbery. Been kicking around for a year now.”

“It’s still open?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The thing that keeps this case open, instead of sinking into the depths of the great unsolved, every month or two Mr. Wilbur comes in and refiles the complaint.”

“Can he do that?”

“I have no idea. But short of arresting him or throwing him out of my office, I don’t know how to stop him.”

“Who is he?”

“Antiques dealer. Has a shop just out of town. With the broken wagon wheel sign.”

“Oh, him. So what does he claim was stolen?”

“His chairs.”

“What chairs?”

“He bought some chairs at auction. Had ’em delivered to his shop.”

“And?”

“Someone stole ’em.”

“When?”

“If I knew that, I might be able to solve this crime.”

“He doesn’t know when the robbery took place?”

“He has a barn out back. He stores stuff not immediately for sale.”

“The chairs weren’t immediately for sale?”

“Stick with me here. No, they weren’t. They were rattan, wicker-back chairs. Needed refinishing. Wilbur intended to get ’em done, never got to it. Next time he looked for ’em, they were gone.”

“And that period of time would be?”

“Anybody’s guess. The best we can tell, the auction was in April, Wilbur filed his first complaint in May.”

“A month later?”

“Thirteen months later.”

Cora cocked her head. “I can’t see why you haven’t solved this case, Chief.”

Dan Finley’s smile was enormous. “You giving it to her? He’s due to come in any day now. Can I say we gave it to her?”

“You can say we consulted an expert. Not that it will matter.” Chief Harper picked up his coffee cup, smiled with satisfaction. “I imagine by then he and Cora will have become good friends.”