by Parnell Hall
“Some sort of pry bar. Or a very large screwdriver.”
“Okay, let’s go inside.”
Cora came down off the back steps.
“We can go in this way.” Harper jerked a ring of keys out of his pocket.
“You have the key to town hall?”
“One of the perks of the job.”
They went inside, found themselves in a small back hallway. To the right was the town meeting hall. To the left were the town offices.
“Okay,” Cora said. “What’s there to steal?”
“Like I said, nothing.”
“There’s no money?”
“No.”
“What about my taxes?”
“Pays my salary.”
“And there’s nothing left over? I’m not the only one paying tax, you know.”
“You pay your taxes in cash?”
“I pay my taxes in blood.” Cora looked around. “Okay, so once he got inside, where did he go?”
“I have no idea.”
“No door was left open? Nothing was disturbed?”
“If there was, I’d have an idea.”
“Did you ask?”
Harper gave her a look.
Cora pushed open the door and found herself in the front of the town hall assembly. Cora had been in the front of the room before; she had just never come in the back door. An audience of chairs faced her. A lectern on the small stage to the right was where she had often held forth.
“You sure you publicized this meeting, Chief? Attendance is poor.”
“Anytime you’re through clowning around.”
“I assume nothing was taken from the meeting room. There is nothing in the meeting room, is there?”
“As long as the lectern’s still there.”
Cora closed the door, checked out the corridor. Four doors with frosted glass panels led off to the left. One said TOWN CLERK. One said TAX ASSESSOR. The other two were farther down the hall.
Cora pushed through the door marked TOWN CLERK. All four doors led to the same room. A woman with curly red hair and green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses sat at a desk. Cora wondered if she dyed her hair. The woman was not much younger than she was.
There was no nameplate on the woman’s desk, which was too bad. Cora recognized her from Cushman’s Bake Shop, but had no idea who she was.
“Excuse me, Mae,” Harper said, solving half the problem. “You got a minute?”
Mae put down her pen, folded her hands, straightened in her chair, and looked up at the chief. “Certainly,” she said. The woman had an air of pedantic efficiency about her. She managed to give the impression of being terribly put-upon while cooperating fully.
Cora wanted to kick her.
“The problem here,” Harper said, “is we can’t figure out what there is here to steal. Can you think of anything anyone would want?”
Mae put up her hand. “As I told you, I don’t keep anything valuable in the office.”
“I wondered if you’d thought of anything.”
“If I had, I would have told you.”
“Yes, of course,” Harper said. “There’s no money kept here?”
“That would be something of value.”
“There’s no personal items you might leave overnight?”
Mae explained as to a small child. “No. I don’t keep personal items in the office.”
“And the night of the break-in. You’re sure you didn’t leave anything out someone might have taken?”
Mae drew herself up even straighter. She could not have been more rigid had she had a metal rod in her backside, which Cora thought was entirely possible. “I assure you, none of this is my fault.”
Chief Harper put up his hands in a placating manner. “No one’s accusing you of anything.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Cora said.
Mae’s mouth dropped open.
“If anything’s missing, that would be the responsibility of the person in charge,” Cora said. “I would assume that’s you. Don’t worry. We can help you. When’s the last time you took inventory?”
“Inventory?”
“Yeah. Took out your files, checked that everything was logged accurately.”
“Everything is logged accurately.”
“Glad to hear it. When’s the last time you checked?”
Mae blinked.
“Don’t worry,” Cora said. “Most likely it’s not your fault, it’s the tax assessor.”
She blinked again.
“Well?”
“I’m the tax assessor.”
“Interesting. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about my property tax. I suppose it’s not the time. What sort of records do you keep that someone might want to have access to?”
“It’s a public office. Everyone has access to the records.”
“Well, that’s not exactly true, is it?” Cora said. “You don’t have people in here all day pawing through your files. Don’t they have to request the information and you go through your files?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, let’s take a look.”
“You’re not going through my files.”
“Why? Is anything wrong with your files?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You checked them all? You must have logged a lot of overtime. That’s a lot of files.”
“I already told Chief Harper.”
“Now you can tell me.”
“The questions are the same, no matter who asks them.”
“Then the answers should be the same. That will make it easy.”
“Chief Harper is the chief of police.”
“Yes, he is. Astute of you to notice.”
The argument might have continued, had Chief Harper not jumped in and managed to herd Cora out the door.
“Why’d you stop me, Chief? I had her on the ropes.”
“Yes, you did. And if my object had been to put the town clerk in her place, I would have let you continue. I was hoping to solve a crime.”
Cora started to flare up, but saw the chief’s eyes twinkling in amusement. She bit off her angry retort, sidespied up at him impishly.
“Spoilsport.”
Chapter
4
Cora came out of Cushman’s Bake Shop and bumped into Barney Nathan. As always, the little doctor was wearing his red bow tie. He was impeccably dressed, but his face was drawn, and he looked more harried than usual, even on those occasions when his medical competence was questioned on the witness stand.
“Hi, Barney.”
“Oh. Hi,” Barney said. He looked very uncomfortable.
“So, how you been?”
“I, eh…”
Cora smiled. “No good at this, are you, Barney?”
“Good at what?”
“Post-breakup confrontations. You haven’t had much practice.”
“You’re not making it easy.”
“Yes, I am. Have I tried to rip your face off? Have I burst into tears and made a public scene?”
Barney looked nervous at the thought. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“You’re speaking from your vast experience?”
“Cora.”
“How’s your wife?”
Barney took a breath. “I really must be going.”
“Yes. You have patients this morning.”
“Yes.”
“Amazing you got away.”
“I had a break in my schedule.”
“A break between patients? Wow. I’ve never heard that before. A doctor with a break between patients. Usually a doctor’s patients tend to fill the time allowed, even if there’s a cancellation. Don’t you double- or triple-book? Most doctors do. You sign in at the front desk and find out two other patients have signed in for the exact same time. So, you’re back with your wife. How much did you have to grovel?”
Barney looked hurt.
“Oh, don’t make those sad doe-eyes at me. Poor little boy wronged. Taken ad
vantage of by the wicked, scheming hussy.”
A woman on her way into Cushman’s Bake Shop turned her head.
“I thought you weren’t going to make a public display,” Barney said.
“You call this a public display? This is an amiable chat. Trust me, if I make a public display, you’ll know it. Just ask Melvin.”
“I’m not your ex-husband.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Marrying you would have voided my alimony. Plus making you a bigamist. Much better this way.”
“Well, I must get back.”
“When?”
“Huh?”
“When do you have to get back? You were on your way into Cushman’s Bake Shop. Aren’t you going to get your coffee?”
“Oh.”
Cora grinned. “You don’t have a break between patients, do you? You were checking out the bakery because you know I hang out there. You wanted to run into me. I think that’s sweet. But that’s one of those fantasies plays much better in your head. When it actually happens, you don’t know what to do. Relax. You’re not alone. Most men don’t. So, you going to get your coffee or not?”
Barney nodded stiffly, turned, and walked away.
Cora watched him go with mixed emotions. Damn the son of a bitch. It was hard enough dealing with an ex-lover who knew the ropes. But a babe in the wilderness was annoying, even if he was sweet.
Especially if he was sweet.
Chapter
5
Becky Baldwin piloted Cora’s red Toyota down the Saw Mill River Parkway toward New York.
“Got your gun?” Becky said.
Cora reached into her floppy drawstring purse and whipped out a revolver.
“Hey, don’t point that thing at me! I didn’t ask to see it, I just asked if you had it.”
“Relax,” Cora said. She snapped the cylinder open, gave it a spin. It was fully loaded, a bullet in every chamber. She knew it would be. Cora always cleaned and reloaded her gun after target practice. It was one of the things her ex-husband Melvin had taught her. Still, she dumped all the bullets out into her hand to make sure none were fired. Satisfied, she reloaded the cylinder, flipped it shut with an expert flick of the wrist.
“You think that reassures me, or are you just showing off?” Becky said.
“I’m just being careful. Isn’t that what you lawyers do, cross the t’s and dot the i’s wearing a belt and suspenders?”
“I never wear a belt and suspenders,” Becky said.
“Even in that faux-fireman outfit you wore for that calendar?”
“I understand,” Becky said. “You’re sniping at me to cover your fear of Alzheimer’s that makes you doubt your memory.”
“Yeah,” Cora said. “Like when Chief Harper told me about Stuart Tanner.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know? That makes me feel better. That was the killer we put away, first case I worked on. Guy’s been in so long, he came up for parole.”
“He’s getting paroled?”
“No, but he’s eligible. Which is depressing. It’s been so long, I barely remember him. It’s reassuring you don’t remember him either.”
“Actually, that was before I came back to town.”
“Are you sure?”
“You were here when I got here. Probating that old lady’s estate.”
“Oh, yeah.” Cora was vague on those events, but that was back in the days when she was drinking heavily, so her lack of memory was not necessarily due to age.
She did recall one detail. “Wasn’t that when you were riding around on the back of some young hooligan’s motorcycle?”
“He was a very nice young man.”
“He was a murder suspect.”
“He wasn’t guilty.”
“You didn’t know it at the time.”
Becky pouted. “Why are you lashing out at me?”
“I wasn’t lashing out. I was replying in kind.”
“Replying to what? I wasn’t attacking you.”
Cora shrugged. “Things haven’t been the same between us. Ever since Barney Nathan.”
Becky Baldwin’s eyes widened. “You did not steal Barney Nathan away from me. I was never involved with Barney Nathan.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
“Of course not,” Becky said sarcastically. “After you spread all those rumors about me.”
“What rumors? I said nothing but the unvarnished truth. Did Barney Nathan ask you out on a date?”
“That’s not the point.”
“How is that not the point? It’s not a lie to say he asked you out on a date if he asked you out on a date.”
“I didn’t go.”
“I never said you did.”
Becky took a breath. “Look. I’m an attorney. I could cross-examine you and pin you down, but I don’t want to. You know and I know you manipulated your statements in order to give the impression that I was having an affair with Barney Nathan.”
“Now you’re just being paranoid.”
“His wife slapped me.”
“See? That probably did more to fuel the rumors than anything I ever did.”
“She slapped me because you manipulated the truth about Barney and me.”
“How could I do that?”
“I don’t know how you did, but you did. I don’t know why you did, either. It’s like you get some wicked thrill out of messing with people.”
“You think I do that?”
“I know you do that.”
“Then why ask?”
Becky lapsed into silence. After a few minutes she said, “I don’t see why I have to drive.”
“You wanted to use my car.”
“For a long trip, it’s nicer than my car.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“If you want to use my car, you can drive. A cooperative effort. I provide the car, you provide the driver.”
Becky refrained from comment.
“What’s the guy’s name?” Cora asked.
“Charles Kessington.”
“Sir Charles Kessington?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Sounds like royalty, doesn’t it?”
“You think you’re protecting me from some English lord?”
“They can get frisky. Droit du seigneur and all that.”
“He’s not British. He’s American.”
“How do you know?”
“I talked to him.”
“You met him?”
“On the phone. I talked to him on the phone.”
“I’m not sure all Englishmen have an accent.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You’re just trying to humor me so I’ll forget what you did.”
“Oh, come on, Becky. After all I’ve done for you. You’re gonna harp on one little thing?”
“See? I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“I wondered how long it would take before you got to that.”
“Got to what?”
“All you’ve done for me.”
Cora had helped Becky out of a tricky situation involving blackmail that could have scuttled her law practice. It had not been easy. Several legal statutes had to be broken.
“Becky, we’re friends. What kind of a friendship is it if we can’t kid each other over men? You’re ridiculously young. You don’t know what it’s like for a woman of my age just to play in your ballpark.”
Becky got off the highway at Seventy-ninth Street, went through Central Park at Eighty-first.
“Where we going?” Cora said.
“Eighty-fifth and Madison.”
“Good. There’s meters on Madison.”
“How long are they for?”
“An hour.”
“That’s no good. I don’t know how long this is going to take. We’ll have to put it in a garage.”
“You don’t want a garage up here.”
“Why not?
”
“We want to park near the Theater District, so we can get the car after the show.”
Aaron had succeeded in getting them tickets to The Book of Mormon. Cora was looking forward to it.
“We’ll get another garage down there.”
“That’s going to be expensive.”
“So? The client’s paying for it.”
“I thought he wasn’t your client yet.”
“He’s gonna be. I need the work.”
Becky pulled into a garage on Eighty-fourth Street.
Cora’s mouth fell open at the prices. “My God, it would be cheaper just to leave it here and buy a new car.”
“Relax,” Becky told her. She took the ticket from the parking attendant and surrendered the car keys.
“How do you want to play this?” Cora said.
“What do you mean, ‘play this’? It’s perfectly straightforward. I’m here for a business meeting.”
“How are you going to explain an armed bodyguard?”
“I don’t have to explain anything. Who’s gonna ask me?”
“The doorman will ask who’s calling.”
“I’ll tell him ‘Becky Baldwin to see Mr. Kessington.’”
“He’s not going to ask my name?”
“Why would he?”
“Seems rather inefficient to me. Saying Becky Baldwin is there to see him will be entirely misleading.”
“I certainly hope so,” Becky said.
They went in the building, where a uniformed doorman sat behind a desk. “May I help you?” he said.
“Becky Baldwin to see Mr. Kessington.”
“One moment, please.” The doorman picked up a house phone, punched in a number. “A Miss Becky Baldwin to see you.” He hung up the phone, said, “Go right on up. Apartment P-Two.”
“P-Two?”
“That’s the penthouse.”
“Of course.”
Cora followed Becky into the elevator. Becky pushed P.“P-two,” Cora said.
“So?”
“There’s two penthouses. It’s not like he’s got the whole top floor.”
Becky gave her a look.
“I’m just saying. If you’re thinking of marrying the guy.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Well, if you were, he’s not as rich as you thought. Because there’s two penthouses.”
Actually, there were three. Becky and Cora emerged from the elevator to find a longer corridor than they might have expected, with three doors scattered around. Defying logic, P3 was directly in front of them, P1 was to the right, P2 was to the left.