by Parnell Hall
“I like it. That way I don’t have to talk to you like that. What were you thinking? Stashing the murder weapon in broad daylight. Letting yourself be seen doing it.”
“Wait a minute,” Melvin said. “Are you going to take that guy’s word over mine? And you’re not even taking his word. You’re taking her word for his word. It’s unsubstantiated third-party hearsay from an unreliable source.”
“You’re calling me unreliable?”
“I was married to you.”
“Not anymore.”
“I said ‘was.’ Look, some friend of the dead guy wants to smear me. He shows up at the police station and says he saw me put the knife in my car. That means he was there, in the motel parking lot, when the knife was planted. Granted, someone put the knife in my glove compartment, and it probably was then. Now, who was it more likely to be? Me, or a friend of the victim who’d like to see me take the fall? I’m no detective, but I’d sure as hell look closely at the statement of someone who just conveniently happened to be there. Doesn’t that sound fishy as hell?”
Cora frowned.
“See?” Melvin said. “Even you have doubts. And you’re the one accusing me. Don’t you smell a rat? You say this guy lives in my motel. Give me his name. Let’s see if his story holds up to enhanced interrogation.”
“Melvin, you stay away from the guy.”
“How can I stay away from the guy if he’s coming after me?”
“You avoid him,” Becky said. “You avoid him like the plague. You see him coming, you walk the other way. Your theory sounds logical. As long as you keep away from the guy, your theory will continue to sound logical. The minute you mash his head in, no one’s going to look at what you say impartially anymore. I might as well hand the prosecution a conviction on a silver platter.”
“How can I let it go?”
“No one’s letting it go. You want to hire me to run your defense, you let me run your defense. That means giving you the best possible chance to beat the rap.”
“Beat the rap? Did I really hire a lawyer who says things like ‘beat the rap’?”
“I don’t know why you inspire the thought,” Becky said dryly.
“So this guy saw me put the knife in the car. He must be the one who phoned in the tip.”
“He says he isn’t.”
“He says he isn’t? We know he lied about seeing me. Now he says he isn’t the one who made the call?”
“Chief Harper says he denied it.”
“And that didn’t make the chief skeptical?”
“Well, he told me about it. That must mean he has doubts.”
“Or it could mean he doesn’t,” Becky said. “You’re reading too much into this. The fact is we have doubts, whether they’re based on Chief Harper’s opinion, or whether he shares our opinion, or whether none of this means anything and the guy simply didn’t make the call. We don’t know. But the way to find out is not for you to beat it out of him. You got that?”
Melvin put up his hands. “Hey, you don’t have to beat it out of me. Just as long as you’re open to the suggestion and willing to act on it.”
“She’s willing to act on it, Melvin, if this ever comes to trial. We’re trying to see that it doesn’t. So this quote witness unquote is very good news. Because we don’t have a lot of leads, and here’s one throwing himself in our path just as pretty as you please. This guy knew you had run-ins with the decedent and he’s looking for someone to frame. At the very least he’s reasonable doubt. That’s all well and good. But I for one don’t think you killed the guy, and I’m not looking for reasonable doubt, I’m looking for proof. So you make damn sure I don’t trip all over myself doing it.”
“You think I’m innocent? That’s really sweet.”
Cora said something that not only could hardly be considered sweet but tended to indicate that the gentleman in question was a life-form barely evolved from the paramecium.
Chapter
36
Cora had steered clear of construction sites ever since she reached the age when workmen stopped whistling at her. She tried not to think about how long ago that was.
Jason Tripp was climbing around on a third-story scaffolding. It occurred to her how inappropriate his name was. At the moment he was walking on a plank not much wider than the plank he was carrying, a rather precarious position for a potential murder witness.
Cora didn’t know when the shift ended and didn’t want to call attention to herself by asking. On the other hand, she was just a stone’s throw from the mall, with its friendly neighborhood Starbucks.
Cora waylaid one of the workmen on his way to the Porta-Potty. “Hey, when’s your shift over?”
The look he gave her was priceless. He was clearly one of the workers from out of town, had no idea who Cora was, and thought she was hitting on him. That had to be a bit of a shock. The guy was barely old enough to vote. “Five thirty,” he said, and hurried on his way.
Cora hopped in her car, sped to Starbucks, and bought herself a venti Caramel Frappuccino. So what if one of her ex-husbands had been arrested for murder and was writing a tell-all about their life together that would probably end her career, she had a scrumptious frozen plastic glass of heaven. She drove back to the construction site and sat in her car, risking brain freeze until the shift was over.
Cora was afraid Jason Tripp would go out with his pals, the guy she’d asked when the shift ended would turn out to be one of them, and she’d have to avoid being spotted by either of them. But lo and behold, at five twenty-five a familiar-looking truck pulled into the lot and Peggy Dawson got out. Now there were three people she had to keep away from. She’d be lucky if Johnny didn’t show up and join the party. Or, worse, Melvin.
Neither happened. The shift ended and Peggy Dawson came flying across the lot and threw her arms around Jason Tripp’s neck. He hoisted her up and spun her around, which sort of emphasized how young she actually was. Cora wondered if he knew. Or cared. Whatever the case, the way she plastered herself against him and laid a big wet one on him indicated they were more than friends.
After a minute they climbed into the truck and took off, Peggy driving.
Cora hunkered down in her Toyota Camry and made sure they didn’t see her. After a minute she pulled out and followed.
Peggy drove straight to the motel. They went into unit eleven.
Cora was horribly conflicted. This was a potential jackpot, but not the one she wanted. Busting a prosecution witness for statutory rape might seem like a desperate ploy.
Cora wondered if there was anything significant about the fact it was the unit next to Melvin’s. Coincidence? Probably, but interesting nonetheless. Cora pulled into a space two units down. She hoped Peggy’s truck would block the motel manager’s view of her car.
Cora got out and made her way down the row.
Melvin’s window was still broken. Either he hadn’t noticed, or the motel hadn’t repaired it.
So what could she do now? She couldn’t smash Jason’s window, not with them in there, and she couldn’t wheedle the motel manager out of another key.
She was in luck. The curtain was open a crack. Not that she wanted to see them going at it, but if they were, she needed to know.
She eased up close, peered through the window.
As she expected, the two of them were on the bed. However, they were not having sex, or even making out, or whatever kids called it these days.
Jason had a glass pipe in one hand and a butane torch in the other. He was sucking on the pipe while heating the bowl with the torch.
Cora had been in and out of drugs too long ago to have ever smoked crack, but that was clearly what the two of them were doing. She wondered if that was instead of underage sex, or merely a prelude to it.
Whatever the case, it looked like they’d be at it for a while. If they ever left, Cora intended to search the room. But she didn’t intend to stand at the window until they did. The smart thing would be to get in her car, dr
ive out of the lot, and watch the motel from down the street.
On the other hand, Peggy’s truck was right there. Cora wondered if she’d locked it.
She hadn’t.
Cora opened the passenger door and tried the glove compartment. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. A bloody knife might be nice, but that seemed too much to hope for. Though, in this case, bloody knives seemed to pop up every time she turned around.
Not this time, though. Just a handful of papers. On inspection they proved to be the truck registration, insurance card, bill of sale, a couple of old road maps, and receipts for such things as a tune-up, a lube job, a windshield wiper, and a six-pack of beer. According to the registration, her brother Johnny owned the truck. Peggy seemed to be the one who drove it most of the time, but there were no personal items of hers.
It occurred to Cora that a knife didn’t have to be in the glove compartment just because the one planted in Melvin’s car was. She searched under the seat, came out with a handful of dirt. A further search found nothing more significant than that.
Cora closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. She hated to do it, because it exposed her to view from the manager’s office. She opened the door, reached in, groped under the seat. Encountered something hard. She pulled it out, aware of the fact she was leaving fingerprints on it.
It was a plastic windshield scraper that must have been there since the last winter. She groped further, found a quarter. Probably all the money she’d ever make on this case.
Cora shoved the scraper back under the seat and checked the dashboard. The truck had nearly a hundred thousand miles on it. She wondered what year it was. It would have been on the registration, but she hadn’t noticed. Was she getting careless, or just ignoring the irrelevant?
The answer was obvious. There was no way to know what was or wasn’t relevant; one simply took the details in.
Cora snorted angrily, looked around the cab of the truck. She was about to slam the door when she noticed a pocket in the side, right below the crank that wound the window up and down. More than likely it held maps, only the maps had been in the glove compartment. But that didn’t mean there weren’t more maps.
What was she thinking? This wasn’t debatable. No one was going to judge her on the advisability of searching the pocket in the door. She just had to do it. These were things that were automatic, required no thought whatsoever. And then Melvin gets in her head and suddenly nothing is automatic and everything requires thought. And then she’s standing there like a dummy when Peggy comes storming out and wants to know what she’s doing in her truck. Assuming the police hadn’t already showed up to demand the same answer.
Cora reached in the pocket in the door and encountered a folded paper. Most likely a map, and probably the one she used most, since it was the only thing in the pocket.
It wasn’t a map. There was nothing printed on it. It was just a sheet of white paper.
Cora unfolded it.
It was a crossword puzzle.
Chapter
37
“Tell me I’m not crazy.”
“You’re not crazy. Anything else?”
Cora glared at her niece. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m very agreeable. What’s the matter?”
“Peggy’s got another puzzle.”
“And she wants you to solve it?”
“She doesn’t know I have it.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“This is why you’re not helping. Stop asking complicated questions.”
“What’s so complicated?”
“Like that one. See, this is why you’re not helping.”
Sherry turned back to the computer. She was in the middle of composing the next Puzzle Lady column, and she didn’t want to be interrupted. The chance of Cora understanding that defied the laws of probability.
“Come on, help me out. Peggy Dawson has a puzzle. She has no right to have a puzzle. She can’t do puzzles. She comes to me when she has a puzzle. A mistake, but one most people make.”
“What’s your point?”
“Why does she have a puzzle? One was sent to her anonymously, that’s what started this whole fiasco. There’s no way on earth she should have a puzzle.”
“Couldn’t the person who sent her one send her another?”
“I can’t think why, but never mind that. Say she had one. She’d immediately want to know what the puzzle said. She was all excited with her theories about how the first puzzle had to do with the murder. She gets another puzzle, she’s going to think the same thing.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes.”
“Doesn’t that make sense?”
Sherry sighed, swiveled her desk chair away from the keyboard. “You wanna come down to earth and tell me what this is all about?”
Cora told Sherry about following Peggy and Jason to the motel and searching the truck.
Sherry’s interest picked up. “They were doing drugs?”
“Don’t get sidetracked. The point is the puzzle.”
“Aren’t drugs often a motive for crime?”
“Absolutely. I’ll keep it in mind. Get back to the puzzle.”
“Fine.” Sherry swung around and started typing in “Crossword Compiler.”
“Not that puzzle!” Cora said. “Damn it, you’re doing that deliberately.”
“No fun, is it? You know how often you do that to me?”
“No. Enlighten me,” Cora said sarcastically. “This isn’t funny, Sherry. Melvin’s done something really, really bad. I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t murder. Well, I do know what it is. He’s written this damn book, and I’ve got to do something about that, but getting arrested for murder has sort of pushed it onto the back burner. I’ve got to get him off the hook so I can get him back on the hook so I can apply some pressure and keep him from ruining both our lives. Is that important enough for you to take time off from your stupid Puzzle Lady column and help me out?”
“I was trying to, before you got distracted by drugs.”
“I didn’t get distracted by drugs. You got distracted by drugs. I mentioned them as part of the explanation you demanded before you were even willing to talk to me, and you went off on a tangent.”
“Talk about going off on a tangent.”
“I’m not going off on a tangent. I’m trying to get back to the crossword puzzle. Come on, you know me, Sherry. I’m focused on the crossword puzzle, and nothing is going to distract me until we deal with that.”
“You have my full attention.” Sherry spun around, folded her hands, presented a picture of complete contrition.
Cora paused for breath. She opened her mouth and suddenly frowned. “Where’s Jennifer?”
“Playing with Ricky.”
“Who’s Ricky?”
“A boy from school.”
“She’s out on a date?”
“A playdate.”
“I’ll bet it is.”
“They’re children.”
“So was I, and I knew the difference between boys and girls.”
“I’m proud of you. You want me to call Ricky’s mother and ask her if they’re playing doctor?”
“Make fun of me all you like. Ricky may seem cute now, but the next thing you know he’s in jail writing a tell-all.”
Sherry put up her hands. “Fine. I’m giving Peggy’s puzzle all the due consideration it deserves. Can I see it?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” Cora pulled the puzzle out of her drawstring purse and handed it over.
Sherry unfolded it and took a look. “Well, it’s not a copy of the puzzle you already gave me.”
“Don’t you think I’d have mentioned that?”
“Sure, if you noticed.”
“I’d have noticed.”
“I can only go by my experience.”
“I learn from experience. I looked at the puzzle.”
Sherry picked up a pencil and tore into the puzzle.
“Shhh.”
“You spend more time arguing with me than you do solving the puzzle. And I can’t even distract you when you’re working. You tell me to shut up, and your pencil never stops moving.”
“I swear, I’m going to brain you with it.”
“Oh, hit me over the head with a crossword puzzle. That must really hurt.”
“It will if I hit you with the puzzle on the computer. Here. Done. The crime is solved and we can go back to real life.”
Cora snatched the puzzle.
“IF NOTHING
IS A BOTHER
ADD ONE ARE
GO FARTHER.”
She looked up. “That makes no sense.”
“What a surprise,” Sherry said.
“No, it really makes no sense. I’m not saying in terms of murders or whatever, I’m just saying. It’s total nonsense.”
“I think you’ve described your whole career.”
“Damn it, Sherry. You make up these things. Is there any point to this one?”
“Not at first glance.”
“Well, glance again. After all I went through to get the damn thing, I’d like to know what it means.”
“All you went through? You searched one truck.”
“Sherry.”
“If the puzzle’s meaningless, that’s not my fault. I can stare at it all day, it’s going to say the same thing. As to what it means, that’s your department. Related to the crime, related to itself, related to reality. I can tell you this: In and of itself, it means absolutely nothing.”
“So why does Peggy Dawson have a meaningless crossword puzzle folded up in the door of her truck?”
“I don’t know, but as you pointed out, don’t you have more important things to deal with?”
“Not at the moment.”
“How about following the guy Peggy’s with to find out what he’s up to.”
“Turns out it’s drugs and teenage girls. Which is a real kick in the teeth.”
“Why?”
“Guy claims he saw Melvin come out of his motel room and put the knife in his car. If the guy’s working construction at the mall, what the hell’s he doing at the motel on his lunch break? You bring your lunch or go to a fast-food place at the mall. Turns out his story might hold up. Guy’s smoking crack, with a pipe and a torch, and all that. It’s not the same thing as smoking a joint, he’s gotta go back to the room to do it.”