by Parnell Hall
“I do. Too much evidence. Gotta hold him.”
“But he didn’t do it.”
“ ’Course not.”
“You really think so?”
Cora shook her head again. “Not Dennis’s style. Type of guy likes to beat up women.”
“Cora . . .”
“Fact is, he didn’t do it.”
Cora threw her legs over the side of the bed.
“Aunt Cora! You can’t get up!”
“Says who?”
Cora struggled to her feet. Was surprised to find she was in her underclothes. “Where’s my gown?”
“In the washing machine.”
“The washing machine! Sherry, you don’t put a silk wedding gown in the washing machine.”
“Cora, remember what happened? You threw yourself on Raymond. You tried to revive him.”
“Did I?” Understanding, Cora groaned, “Raymond . . .”
“So the gown’s in the wash. I don’t know if it can be saved.”
“What difference does it make.” Cora slumped back on the bed. “Sherry, I’m dizzy.”
“Of course you are. The doctor gave you a shot.”
“I’ll sue the bastard for malpractice.”
“You needed it, Cora.”
“What time is it?”
“Ten thirty-five. You got barely an hour’s sleep.”
Cora lurched to her feet again. “What did Brenda say? To the police. What did she say to the cops?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t you hear?”
“I was looking after you.”
“I gotta get over there.”
“I can’t let you.”
“Why not?”
“You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”
“Says who?”
“The fact you’re going out in your bra and panties is a pretty good indication.”
Cora staggered to the closet, pulled down her Wicked Witch of the West dress. A loose, comfortable, tattered smock with cigarette burns and a liquor stain or two, it was Cora’s favorite casual knock-around-home wear.
“Cora! You can’t wear that outside.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a rag. You’ll look like a beggar woman.”
“What do I care?”
Cora spotted her drawstring purse on the night table. She snatched it up, fumbled in it, came out with her lighter and cigarettes. “I can smoke now,” she declared. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Now I can smoke.”
Cora tapped a cigarette out of the pack, stuck it between her lips, tried to light it. The flame wouldn’t touch the cigarette. Her hand wasn’t steady enough. “Help me, Sherry.”
“Help you smoke?”
Cora’s face hardened. “Do it myself.”
She managed to get the cigarette lit. She sucked in a greedy drag, squeezed her eyes shut, shuddered.
“There, that’s better. Come on, Sherry. Let’s go see the cops.”
“I’m not taking you anywhere in that condition.”
“Fine. Do it myself.”
“Aunt Cora, you can’t drive.”
“You are so negative today.”
Her car keys were in the fruit bowl on the maple cabinet near the door, where she and Sherry always left them for each other. Cora snatched them from the bowl, careened out the door.
“Damn it, Cora!” Sherry said. “You can’t drive!”
She sprinted after her, got there just as Cora slammed the car door in her face.
Sherry grabbed at the handle, but the doors automatically locked as Cora turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life.
“My God! Cora! Don’t do this!”
But Cora was already backing the car into a U-turn. She did a one-eighty, wound up on the front lawn.
“Oops,” Cora said.
She spun the wheel, swerved across the driveway and onto the lawn on the other side.
As Sherry watched in horror, Cora went speeding down the driveway in a series of S-turns, weaving from one side to the other. She reached the bottom, skidded the car into a turn.
“At least put your lights on!” Sherry yelled after her, as the automobile roared out of sight.
29
BECKY BALDWIN PUSHED HER WAY THROUGH THE THRONG OF curious spectators milling about outside the crime scene, and spotted Sam Brogan chatting with the neighbors in the dim light of the streetlamp. “Hey, Sam, where’s the chief?”
Sam Brogan was one of the few men in Bakerhaven Becky Baldwin’s wiles didn’t work on. “If he’s smart, he’s home in bed. That’s where I’d like to be.”
“Not your shift, eh, Sam?”
“I’ll say. This sort of stuff never happens on my shift.”
“So where’s the chief?”
“Most likely down at the station.”
“Didn’t see his car. Suppose he did go home to get some sleep?”
“Not likely. Called in ten minutes ago, told me to stick around.”
“How come?”
“ ’Cause it ain’t my shift. This always happens when it ain’t my shift.”
“Why’d he want you to stick around?” Becky asked again, with commendable patience.
“Didn’t say. First I’m going home after I talk to the neighbors, now I’m hangin’ here.”
Aaron Grant came pushing through the crowd. “Hi, Becky. Got any angle on this?”
“Don’t look at me. I’m not involved.”
“No client in the case?”
“No. And what client might that be?”
“I understand they took Dennis and Brenda in.”
“On what charge?”
“No charge. They just took ’em in.”
“They can’t do that.”
“Is that a fact?”
Becky grimaced. “Damn it, Aaron, you’re just needling me for quotes.”
“That’s my job.”
Razor, the Tune Freaks’ lead guitarist, strode up. He was followed by two lesser Freaks. “You the lawyer lady?” Razor asked.
Becky raised her eyebrows at the grubby young man who’d accosted her. He appeared to dwell within the neverland of grunge rock, attractive if his group was successful, a filthy bum if it wasn’t.
“Do I know you?” she asked.
“So you are her. I knew it. Just like Dennis said.”
“You’re friends of Dennis’s?”
Razor looked at Becky as if she’d just revealed herself to be a half-wit. “Lady, we’re the band.”
“Oh, that’s right. Dennis was in a band. And he described me to you?”
“He said the lawyer lady was the prettiest girl in town.” Razor shrugged the hair out of his eyes, favored her with a dimpled grin he doubtless thought endearing. “I see he was right.”
Becky cast a glance at Aaron, sharing her amusement at a guy who would flirt at a crime scene. “So, where is Dennis?” she asked mischievously.
“That’s what we want to know,” Razor replied. “I thought you’d know. You’re a lawyer.”
“I’m not his lawyer. Why don’t you ask the cop?”
Razor made a face. “Don’t get on with cops.”
“I can’t imagine why. Well, if I do see Dennis, I’ll tell him you’re looking. What’s your name?”
“Razor.”
Becky bit back a smile. “I’ll tell him.”
“I thought you were going to ask him if he was Gillette or Norelco,” Aaron said as Becky walked off toward her car.
“Actually, I was toying with asking him if he was a straight razor,” Becky confided.
“Oh, wicked,” Aaron said. “So where you going?”
“To find Dennis. To tell him his band’s looking for him. You want a ride?”
Aaron hesitated. “I might wanna leave before you.”
“Suit yourself.”
Becky climbed into her convertible, headed back toward town. Aaron, hopelessly conflicted, tagged along behind in his own car. He
was leaving a crime scene, but Chief Harper and the murder suspect weren’t there, so why stay?
Becky drove by the police station, but there was still no police car out front. She continued down Main Street and around the village green. The church was dark. So was the town hall. But there was a police car parked in front of the county courthouse. Becky pulled up behind it. Aaron pulled up behind her. They met on the pavement.
“Looks like you found the chief,” Aaron said.
“Yeah. Wonder what he’s doing here.”
A car pulled out of the back lot, drove on down the street.
“Isn’t that Judge Hobbs?” Becky said.
“Sure looked like it.”
The front door of the courthouse opened, and Chief Harper came out, folding up his cell phone as he went. He slipped it casually into his coat pocket, nodded to Aaron and Becky.
“What’s up, Chief?” Aaron asked him. “Is Dennis Pride under arrest for murder?”
Harper brushed the question away. “No one’s under arrest. We’re making inquiries.”
“Those inquiries include an arraignment?”
“Not likely,” Becky pointed out. “The suspect isn’t here.”
Chief Harper headed for his car.
Becky Baldwin blocked his way. “How about it, Chief. Where’s Dennis at?”
“Sorry. Can’t help you.”
“He has the right to an attorney.”
Chief Harper nodded. “He has the right to an attorney. You have no right to insist that the attorney be you.”
“You read him Miranda?”
“Of course he was read Miranda.”
“Then he is a suspect. I demand to see him at once.”
“When did he hire you?”
“Don’t be silly. He needs representation. You got a public defender hanging out at the police station?”
“Of course not.”
“So he is at the police station?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t. Thanks, Chief.”
Becky hopped in her car, drove on around the green, back down Main Street, and pulled up in front of the station. Aaron Grant and Chief Harper stuck right behind her.
Brenda and her parents burst out the door.
“You’re back,” Mrs. Wallenstein said to the chief. “It’s about time.”
“When are you going to let him go?” Brenda wailed. “He didn’t do anything. I swear it.”
Becky sized up the situation, said to Brenda, “You’re the bride-to-be?”
Brenda frowned. “I know you. You’re the lawyer. You’re here to help Dennis?”
“If I can. What would you like me to do?”
“Get Dennis out of here. He shouldn’t be in jail.”
“I see.” Becky raised her eyebrows. “I don’t wish to seem crude, but do you have any money?”
Brenda turned to her father. “Da-ad,” she implored.
Mr. Wallenstein spoke for the first time. “She has money.”
The simple statement carried weight. Becky smiled. She said, “It seems the bride wants to hire me, Chief.”
“To represent Dennis Pride?”
“That’s right.”
“Fine. He’s in a holding cell in back.”
“Gee, that wasn’t like pulling teeth, now, was it?” She trotted up the steps, went inside.
Brenda and her parents started to follow. Chief Harper intervened. “One minute, young lady. You can help me out here.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were with Dennis when he went in and found the body.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Mrs. Wallenstein snapped. “We’ve been over and over this. Yes, she was with Dennis when he went in and found the body. You don’t have to take her word for it. That Felton woman was there too.”
“If you don’t mind,” Chief Harper said, “I’d prefer to let your daughter tell me.”
“She already has,” Mrs. Wallenstein pointed out waspishly.
“Right,” Chief Harper agreed. He managed to place himself between Brenda and her mother, so that he could face the one and turn his back on the other. “And was that the first time Dennis had been inside that house?”
Brenda frowned. “First time?”
“Yes. Had Dennis ever been in there before?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Are you sure? Raymond was late, as I understand it. It would be only natural if Dennis ran over to see how he was coming along.”
“It may have been natural, but it’s not what he did.”
“So Dennis wasn’t over there shortly before you two found the body?”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Interesting,” Chief Harper said.
Becky Baldwin came out of the police station, mad as a wet hen. “Hey, the back room’s locked.”
“Of course it is,” Chief Harper told her. “We can’t have the prisoners escaping.”
“They’re in cells,” Becky said.
“Exactly. Otherwise they’d run away.”
“Damn it,” Becky fumed. “You sent me in to talk to Dennis. I can’t get near his cell because the back room is locked.”
“I don’t recall sending you in to talk to Dennis,” Chief Harper said pleasantly. “But you’re right about the back door. If you want to wait a moment, I’ll open it for you.”
A red Toyota screeched down the street with its headlights off. It fishtailed, clipped a stop sign, and hurtled toward the police station.
“Look out!” Harper yelled. He, Becky, Aaron, and Brenda and her parents scattered.
The car executed a breathtaking one-eighty and stopped on a dime.
Cora Felton erupted from the driver’s seat and leveled a finger at Chief Harper. “Don’t arrest that man!”
Harper stared at her. “Miss Felton, you’re supposed to be in bed.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” Cora wobbled, glared at the chief. “And you’re supposed to be solving this crime, but you’re not. Instead, you’re just making yourself look stupid.”
Brenda’s mother muttered, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle.”
“I heard that,” Cora said. She turned to Becky. “Are you his lawyer?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How come he’s still in jail?”
“I haven’t even spoken to him yet.”
“You’re keeping him from his attorney?” Cora accused Chief Harper. She jerked her thumb at Aaron. “And in front of a reporter too. Very bad decision. You taking note of this, Aaron?”
“There’s nothing to take note of,” Harper interposed. “Miss Baldwin has just identified herself as Mr. Pride’s attorney. And I was just taking her to her client. Right this way, Miss Baldwin.”
“That’s more like it,” Cora said, starting up the steps.
“Not you. Or the rest of you, either. Just her.”
“Harrumph,” Cora snorted. Though still woozy from the medication, she managed to convey more meaning with that single grunt than your average Julius Caesar could with “Et tu, Brute?”
“Cora, you shouldn’t be here,” Aaron told her.
“Oh, my God, another one! Aaron, try to look at the big picture here.”
“What big picture?”
Cora scowled. “How the hell should I know? I just got here, for chrissakes.”
Aaron’s cell phone rang. He jerked it out of his jacket, clicked it on. “Hello?”
“Aaron,” Sherry said. “Cora woke up and took off. I’m afraid she’ll wreck the car.”
“She came close, but she’s okay now. She’s down at the police station, telling Chief Harper his business.”
“Can you bring her home?”
“I doubt she’ll take kindly to the suggestion.”
“At least get her car keys before she kills someone.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Chief Harper came out the door. “Okay, gang. Show’s over. You can wait for Miss Baldwin if you wan
t, but you can’t go in.”
“We’re waiting,” Brenda declared with stubborn resolution.
“Fine. You do that.”
Harper started for his car.
“Where you going?” Cora demanded.
“Back to the crime scene.”
“Cora, why don’t you ride with the chief,” Aaron suggested.
Chief Harper’s mouth dropped open.
Cora frowned. “Oh?”
“Sherry needs the car back. If you wouldn’t mind riding with the chief—”
“Aaron—” Chief Harper began.
“Unless you’d rather have her follow you, Chief. You could use your siren to clear the way.”
“Why can’t she go with you?” Harper asked.
“I gotta run her car keys out to Sherry. Got the keys, Cora?”
Cora jerked her thumb. “In the car.”
“Great. Hope you didn’t lock the doors.”
Aaron retrieved the keys from the Toyota.
“Why don’t you take Cora home while you’re at it?”
“Good idea, Chief. Why don’t you suggest it to her?”
Chief Harper looked at Cora.
It occurred to him he’d rather wrestle an alligator.
Two alligators.
30
“SO, WHAT’S YOUR THEORY OF THE CASE, CHIEF?” CORA DEMANDED, as they drove back toward the crime scene.
“It’s too early to have a theory of the case.”
“Don’t give me that. You made an arrest.” Cora jerked her cigarettes out of her purse.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
Cora made a face. “In a police car?”
“In my police car. Put ’em away.”
“I will if you tell me your theory.”
Chief Harper sighed. “This is not exactly rocket science. The suspect was found kneeling over the victim with a knife in his hand.”
“I know. I found him.”
“And you’re still not convinced?”
“Of course not. There’s no way he did it.”
“How do you know?”
“How do I know my fanny’s round? Dennis couldn’t have killed Raymond. Raymond would have ground him up and spit him out like chewing tobacco.”
“I understand it’s personal—”
“You don’t understand a thing.” Cora snuffled. “Sure it’s personal, but it’s not just personal for me. It’s personal for Sherry.”
“She and her ex-husband were estranged.”
“That’s putting it mildly. A restraining order was in effect.”