by Parnell Hall
“Like the cocaine?”
“Yeah, like the cocaine. Where the hell did that come from?”
“You didn’t put it there?”
“No, I didn’t put it there,” Dennis snapped irritably. “My God, I’m in a lot of trouble if I can’t make you believe me.”
“Then where did it come from?”
“I told you someone went through my suitcase. That’s why we moved.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Before we moved, why would someone be framing you for killing Raymond? I mean, we weren’t living near Raymond. No one knew we were going to give him a ride to the church.”
“Exactly,” Dennis said. “Which is why my head is coming off, and why I need to think.” He smiled his most winning, most endearing smile. “Just give me a little time, a little time to think this out.”
Brenda hesitated slightly. “You won’t drink?”
His smile became frosty. “No, I won’t drink. You ought to know that by now.”
“Yeah, but all this pressure . . .”
“Doesn’t make me wanna take a drink. Just makes me wanna take a drive. I just need a little space. A little space.”
Brenda stared at his rock-hard, handsome profile. She heaved a sigh. “Of course.”
Without another word, Brenda got out of the car and went into the bed-and-breakfast.
The minute she was inside, Dennis threw the car into gear and pulled out. He turned right at the corner, headed back toward town. Halfway there he took a side road that curved around through some farmland, and over a covered bridge. He turned right at the general store, and headed up into the hills.
The houses were fewer and farther between, then stopped altogether. The road was overhung by oak and maple trees. Soon he was in the deep woods. A stream sparkled alongside the road.
Dennis pulled the car off onto the shoulder. He cut the engine, got out, and walked around to the back. He popped the trunk and raised the lid.
The trunk was empty. Dennis reached in and lifted the bottom panel to get at the spare tire. He unscrewed the catch, lifted the tire out of the well.
Dennis leaned in, and grabbed the manila envelope that had been wedged into the well beneath the spare tire. He pulled the envelope out, undid the catch, and slid out the contents.
The top page read:
Dennis riffled through the pages. They were copies of the cryptograms, as well as master sheets of the substituted letters.
Dennis shoved the pages back in the envelope, fastened the catch. Then he stepped to the side of the road, and sailed the envelope down to the creek below.
It caught on a branch, hung there like a huge Christmas tree ornament, in plain sight from the road.
Cursing, Dennis plunged into the woods. He tromped down the hill until he was right underneath the branch. He leaped up, tried to bat the envelope free, but it was just out of reach. He glanced around, scanned the ground, came up with a stick. He hefted it up and batted the envelope out of the tree.
Dennis pounced on the envelope. He lined up a clear spot among the trees, and hurled it again.
This time it flew like a frisbee all the way to the brook. He watched with satisfaction as it drifted downstream.
Dennis climbed back up the hill to his car.
Officer Sam Brogan stood there waiting for him.
35
BECKY BALDWIN WAS INCREDULOUS. “WHAT ARE YOU, A moron?”
“Hey, give me a break,” Dennis said.
“A break? How much of a break do you need? You’re charged with murder. I get you out on bail, and you get yourself arrested again.”
“It’s not my fault. Someone is trying to frame me. Can’t you see that? Someone is setting me up!”
“Well, that’s no reason to go ahead and help them,” Becky said sarcastically. “Don’t you see? The puzzles aren’t that bad. It’s getting rid of them that hangs you.”
“Damn it.”
“Are those your puzzles?”
“Of course not. Someone planted them in my car.”
“Wasn’t your car locked?”
“It’s the country. You don’t lock your car in the country.”
“Even a city boy like you?”
He shrugged. “It’s a rental car.”
“So you left it unlocked?”
“I didn’t.”
“You mean Brenda did?”
“Hey, let’s not attack Brenda. I was in jail. She was upset. Would she really be thinking about things like that?”
“Uh-huh,” Becky said. “So you didn’t find these puzzles until after you got out of jail.”
“No, of course not.”
“How did you come to find them?”
“I looked the car over.”
“Why?”
“Someone was framing me. They planted cocaine. I wanted to see if they planted anything else.”
“So you searched your car?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
Dennis scowled. “What?”
“When did you search your car? You got out of jail. Brenda picked you up in the car. Did you do it then? Did you search the car in front of her? Was she there when you found the puzzles? Can she back you up?”
Dennis shook his head. “No, that’s the trouble. She didn’t know I found them.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t tell her. She was so upset, I just couldn’t bear to.”
“So when you searched the car, Brenda wasn’t there?”
“That’s right.”
“When was that?”
“Later. When I went out.”
“Where did you go?”
“To see Cora. To tell her how sorry I was, and tell her I had nothing to do with this mess.”
“She buy that?”
Dennis looked at Becky sharply. He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, buy it? It’s the truth.”
“Of course it is. When you talked to Cora, assured her you had nothing to do with Raymond’s death—did you know about the puzzles then?”
Dennis’s eyes flicked. He considered.
“It’s a yes or no question,” Becky said dryly.
“Yes, I knew about them then. On my way to Cora’s I stopped and searched the car.”
“And found the puzzles?”
“That’s right.”
“In the trunk underneath the spare tire?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You had to unscrew the spare tire to get them?”
“Yes, I did.”
“When you found them, what did you do?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to get out to Cora’s.”
“So you put them back in your trunk?”
“Yes.”
“Under the spare tire?”
“That’s right.”
“And screwed it down?”
“Well, I didn’t want anyone to find them.”
“So you went to Cora’s?”
“Yes.”
“And you got rid of the puzzles on the way back?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Brenda was with me.”
“Oh? I thought you left her at the bed-and-breakfast.”
“I did. She hired a car service and came out.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Who knows why women do things.”
“Who, indeed,” Becky said. “So you drove Brenda home, got rid of her, and went out to ditch the evidence?”
“Sounds bad, doesn’t it?”
“And earlier you got rid of her, and went out and found the evidence.”
Dennis said nothing.
There came a knock on the interrogation room door, and Dan Finley stuck his head in. The young officer was apologetic. “I realize this is irregular, but Cora Felton is out front. She wants to talk to you. And the prisoner.”
Becky frowned. “She wants to talk to my client?”
“I t
old you it was irregular.”
Dennis looked concerned. “She can’t do that, can she?”
Becky sized Dennis up. “She can if I say so. Send her in, Dan.”
Dan Finley ushered Cora Felton into the room, and ducked out, closing the door behind him.
Dennis was the picture of consternation. “Now, look, it wasn’t me. I’m being set up.”
Cora sat down next to Becky. “Tell me about it.”
Dennis looked shocked. “Tell? What’s to tell? Someone’s framing me, and they’re doing a damn good job.”
“Yeah. Like sneaking the puzzles into your car. How do you suppose they did that?”
“How the hell should I know? I was in jail. Anyone could have done it.”
“You didn’t send the puzzles to Raymond?”
“Of course I didn’t send the puzzles. I didn’t even know the guy. How many times do I have to say it?”
Cora studied his face impassively. “I’d like to believe you. The strike against you is, the puzzles are so easy to construct even a schnook like you could have done it.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, but that’s a fact. If they were regular crossword puzzles I could eliminate you right now. But these cryptograms look bad. They were something you could have done. They were in your car. See what I mean?”
Dennis turned to Becky. “Do I have to talk to her? Get her out of here!”
“I’m afraid you’re upsetting my client,” Becky told Cora.
“I don’t think I’m upsetting him,” Cora said serenely, in her best Miss Marple mode. “I think the facts are. Look, kid. If someone is setting you up, the question is, who? Who would want to frame you for murder?”
“Nobody. Everybody likes me.”
“Yeah, right,” Cora said dryly. “Try again. Who has reasons not to like you?” She added with just a touch of malice, “I mean specific reasons.”
“I don’t know. I suppose Sherry bears a grudge.”
“Sherry’s not framing you for murder. Anyone else?”
“That newspaper reporter she’s going out with.”
“You think Aaron might be framing you?”
“Why not?”
“Fine,” Cora said without enthusiasm. “Can you think of anyone else?”
“I don’t know anyone else. Remember? I’m not from around here.”
“What about Brenda?”
“Are you nuts? Brenda adores me.”
“And you adore her. Till death do you part. And neither of you has any doubts. You don’t have any doubts, do you, Dennis?”
“What are you trying to do?”
“Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you. All right, what about the band?”
“What?”
“The band members. They know you. Any of them want to do you in?”
“What, are you whack? They’re the band. They’re my guys.”
“But you walked out on them, didn’t you? And you were their lead singer. Don’t you think that might have pissed them off?”
Dennis shook his head. “Boy, are you off base. The guys aren’t mad at me. Hell, they want me back.”
Chief Harper pushed his way through the door.
“Hey!” Becky said. “I’m in conference with my client.”
“In the presence of a third party?” Chief Harper observed. “That’s not a privileged communication.”
Becky bristled. “You mean you listened in?”
“Why? You say anything interesting?” Harper shrugged. “Sorry to interrupt, but I got news, and it ain’t good.”
“What’s that, Chief?” Cora asked.
“We got a lab report back on the cocaine. And it is cocaine. There’s always the chance it’s just a bag of milk sugar, but, no, this is the real deal.”
“That’s no surprise, Chief.”
Harper scowled. “Maybe not. But we found the fingerprints of two people on the bag. One of them’s Dennis here. The other’s Raymond Harstein.”
36
SHERRY CARTER WASN’T BUYING IT. “OF COURSE HIS FINGERPRINTS are on the bag. He’s being framed. It was planted on him, so when he found it, he’d handle it.”
“He didn’t find it,” Cora pointed out. “The police did.”
“So? Dennis found it, left it there. The police found it later.”
“And just when did he find it?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Sherry, I’m not attacking you here.”
“You’re attacking Dennis.”
“I’m not. I’m laying out the facts.”
“No, you’re interpreting the facts to implicate him.”
“Raymond’s fingerprints are also on that bag.”
“So? The killer stole it from Raymond, planted it on Dennis.”
“How?”
“What do you mean, how? The killer stuck it in his suitcase.”
“Without being seen?”
“Dennis and Brenda weren’t there at the time.”
“I’m not sure that works. In terms of the autopsy report. We don’t have the time of death yet. But what if it was when Dennis and Brenda were home?”
“It clearly wasn’t.”
“Even so, Sherry. It’s a bed-and-breakfast. You can’t just walk in and out. The owner would see.”
“Oh, yeah? I bet I could walk in and out of any bed-and-breakfast in town you’d care to name.”
“Sherry, don’t do this!”
“Do what?”
“Don’t get involved. Dennis is bad news. You know it. I know it. You don’t want to get involved with him again.”
“I’m not getting involved with him!”
“Don’t get worked up.”
“I’m not getting worked up!” Sherry took a breath, said more quietly, “I’m not getting worked up. But you’re annoying me, Cora. Telling me things I already know. As well as ignoring facts.”
“Oh? Just what facts am I ignoring?”
“Dennis complained about people going through his things way before this happened. It’s the reason he changed B&Bs, if you’ll recall.”
“So?”
“So what if the killer planted it then?”
“That was way before the crime.”
“It was way before the crime was committed. We don’t know when the crime was planned.”
Cora took her niece by the hands. “Sherry. I don’t think Dennis bumped off Raymond. I think he’s innocent. As far as him being framed goes, I can’t tell if he’s being framed, or if he’s just so stupid he’s framing himself.”
“Dennis is not stupid.”
“Well, he’s not a candidate for Mensa. Throwing away those puzzles was a pretty dumb move.”
“He was scared, for goodness’ sakes. He’d just spent the night in jail. Then he finds the puzzles in his car.”
“And how did he happen to find them?”
“What do you mean?”
“He gets out of jail and says, ‘I think I’ll look under my spare tire just in case somebody’s trying to plant something on me’?”
“Now you’re saying he sent the puzzles?”
“No. I’m just saying his story of how he found them needs to be given a little scrutiny.”
“Scrutinize it, then. Cora, the puzzles are like the cocaine. It doesn’t matter if someone planted them on Dennis before the murder or after.”
“You mean he found them before the murder and just didn’t bother to tell anybody?”
“I know that’s bad, but it’s a lot different than if he sent them. He wouldn’t have sent them, Cora. You know he wouldn’t.”
Cora said nothing.
Sherry said irritably, “Don’t you know he wouldn’t?”
Cora grimaced. “Well, let me put it this way: I’m trying damn hard to prove he wouldn’t.”
37
THE LIVING ROOM OF JACK AND DAFFODIL DIRKSON’S HOME was just as Cora Felton had envisioned it, with tie-dyed pillows on the couch, woven tapestries on the walls, and t
he faint aroma of marijuana in the air. The only anachronistic touch was the array of hearts and diamonds and clubs and spades on a green glowing monitor screen that Cora could see through the bead curtain to the study. She recognized the game as Free Cell, a variation of solitaire she sometimes played on Sherry’s computer. Cora could imagine the Dirksons getting stoned out of their minds and staring at the screen for hours, trying to figure out which card to move.
Cora Felton wasn’t happy with the Dirksons. And it wasn’t just that they looked like an aging Sonny and Cher. Cora remembered the ’60s quite fondly, had once worn flowers in her hair. No, what bothered her was the lack of harmony in the dynamic. An expert interrogator, Cora recognized it instantly. Daffodil Dirkson clearly had something to tell. Jack Dirkson clearly didn’t want her to tell it.
Cora seemed to recall this from Chief Harper’s interrogation of the Dirksons, but at the time she’d been woozy from Dr. Nathan’s sedative, so it was only a vague recollection. Indeed, Cora was not even entirely sure their name was Dirkson.
“You’re certain he went in twice?” Cora asked now. “Once alone, and once when he found the body?”
“That’s right.” Daffodil Dirkson’s cornflower-blue eyes were wide. She had her hair in braids, and wore a “Fight AIDS” T-shirt, blue jeans, and purple Converse sneakers. She looked like a schoolgirl being brave and answering difficult questions.
“No, it’s not,” her husband said irritably. “What’s with the found-the-body bit? I thought he offed the guy.”
“He’s innocent until proven guilty,” Cora said. “I’m not going to go around saying he killed Raymond and leave myself wide open to a slander suit.”
“See, Daffy,” Jack Dirkson told his wife. “ She’s protecting herself. She’s not going to say anything.”
Cora hadn’t remembered Mrs. Dirkson’s nickname was Daffy. It made her momentarily lose her train of thought. When she recovered, she said, “There’s a difference between making unfounded accusations and telling what you know.”
Jack looked like processing the phrase unfounded accusations might short-circuit his memory banks. “Whoa! Heavy!”
“We told the police what we know,” Daffy said. “Why are you asking again?”
“New evidence keeps popping up.”
“Against him?”