by Parnell Hall
The phone rang.
Cora scowled. The Knicks had just put on a twelve-point run to take a seven-point lead, not the time for an interruption. It occurred to Cora if she had a zapper and a DVR she could freeze the game right there and pick it up when the annoying phone call was over.
Cora reached for the nightstand, grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Cora, it’s Becky.”
“Not a good time, Becky.”
“What, is he there?”
“Who?”
“Crowley.”
“No,” Cora said a little more sharply than she intended.
“Sorry to bother you. I got work.”
“Good for you.”
“No, I got work for you.”
“So call me in the morning.”
“It can’t wait.”
“What?”
“Brittany Wells called. She wants you back.”
“What?”
“She’s scared. She wants protection.”
“You’re kidding.”
“She thinks she’s in danger. She’s afraid whoever killed her husband will try to kill her.”
“Why in the world would she think that?”
“Who knows why that woman thinks anything? Somehow she got it in her head that if her husband didn’t profit from the insurance policy, he didn’t accidently kill himself trying to kill her. So someone else must have killed him. So maybe she’s next.”
“She’s out of her mind.”
“That may well be. But that’s more logic than I would have given her credit for. Anyway, she wants you on the job. Starting now. Seeing as how she’s my only paying client at the moment, I’d rather not tell her to go to hell. So, whaddya say?”
Cora ground her teeth. She really didn’t want to do it. But she felt guilty about not telling Becky about the puzzle Chief Harper had “accidently” let her get a look at. It had been a tough call, just whose friendship she was going to abuse, whose loyalty she was going to violate.
Harper had put her in a hell of a position. To tell or not to tell. Not to tell had won out, largely because telling was irreparable. There was no way to untell. Whereas the decision not to tell could be reversed at any time. If the case ever went to trial and Brittany was in danger of being convicted, it would be another matter. The way things stood, there was no upside in delivering the message.
Except for the danger factor. Brittany was afraid her husband’s death hadn’t been an accident, that there was a killer. Her belief was based on her fear that there was a killer and he wasn’t her. The puzzle said that there was a killer and it wasn’t her. Since Cora was suppressing the fact that there was a basis for her apprehension, could she really ignore her cries for help?
On her new TV, the Heat had rallied, tied it up.
Cora sighed.
“Aw, hell.”
Chapter
46
Cora felt weird driving up to Brittany’s house. It occurred to her she could park in the driveway because she didn’t have to leave room for Hank’s car. The thought freaked her out enough she didn’t want to do it. She parked in the street as she had before and walked up the drive. As she did she had the creepy feeling she was being watched. She felt stupid. There was no one around, and no one was watching her, unless Brittany was peeking out the window. Even so, Cora slipped her hand into her drawstring purse and gripped her gun. Which make her feel more foolish.
Brittany met her at the door as if it were just another social occasion. “Hi, thanks for coming, why don’t you sit down in the living room, I’m just making coffee,” she said, and vanished into the kitchen.
Cora counted to ten, at the end of which she had talked herself out of turning around and walking out the door. Instead, she went in the living room and installed herself on the couch, and a few minutes later she and Brittany were having coffee together just as they had the time before.
It was strange being Brittany’s bodyguard again. It had been strange protecting her from her husband. Now that he was dead, it wasn’t just strange; it was eerie. Who was she protecting her from? Some unknown assassin of Brittany’s own making. A figment of her imagination.
Cora sat on the couch sipping coffee and wondering how one shot a figment.
“Silver bullets,” Cora murmured.
Brittany frowned. “What?”
“Sorry. My mind was wandering. It does that now and then.”
“I know you think this is silly.”
“Hey, kid, it’s your money.”
“Not yet,” Brittany said.
Cora raised her eyebrows. Had Brittany made a joke? No, the woman was dead serious. It wasn’t her money yet. Maybe she deserved a little more consideration as a suspect.
“Who are you afraid of?” Cora said.
“I don’t know. I don’t know who’s doing this. If I did, it wouldn’t be so scary.”
“Or it might be scarier,” Cora said.
“Huh?” Brittany said.
“You’re imagining someone scary. That’s your expectation. When you find out who it is, he may be worse than you imagined. That would be scarier.”
Brittany thought that over. Cora could practically see her mind working. If so, it was working very slowly. Eventually, it processed Cora’s remark and came to a conclusion. “You’re weird.”
“Yeah, but I make up for it by being a very good shot,” Cora said. “Now then, tell me, who are you having an affair with?”
Brittany’s mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon!”
“Well, your husband’s gone all day. You think he’s cheating on you. Naturally you’d want a little payback. So who’s the lucky guy?”
“I was not cheating on my husband,” Brittany said indignantly.
“Really? You were a good girl. Well, that certainly was a waste now, wasn’t it? Now that he’s dead.”
“Why are you being so rude?”
“Sorry,” Cora said. “Just trying to determine how much you want my services. If you weren’t really afraid of something, you’d have thrown me out of here by now.”
“This is not a game.”
“I know. Even so, there’s winners and losers. If you want to be a winner, you might try leveling with your lawyer.”
“You’re not my lawyer.”
“You want me to call her, get her over here? You can tell both of us.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Cora studied her face. “Yes, there is. Something about the death of your husband terrifies you. I don’t know what it is, so clearly you haven’t told us everything.”
“I don’t need a lecture.”
“You need something.”
“Not from you. What do you know? You ever have your husband killed on you?”
“Almost,” Cora said.
“Your husband was almost killed?”
“No, he was killed. He was almost my husband. He was killed before we got to the altar.”
“Oh.”
Brittany lapsed into silence.
“So, where am I going to sleep?” Cora said.
Brittany looked as if she hadn’t considered it. “Sleep?”
“You expect me to sit outside your bedroom door with a gun in my lap all night?”
“Of course not. There’s another room across the hall. I think there’s sheets on the bed.”
“You think?”
“I’m pretty sure. If there aren’t, we must have some.”
“Great.” Cora got up from the couch.
“You’re going to bed now?” Brittany said.
“Well, I’m not going to sit up yacking all night.”
“It’s early. Wanna watch some TV?”
“I don’t suppose you’re a Knicks fan,” Cora said.
“Huh?”
“Game’s probably over anyway.”
Brittany’s TV wasn’t as good as the one Cora just bought, but it had the advantage of having the remote in the same room. Cora picked it up, turned on the TV and fl
ipped through the channels. Law & Order was on—no surprise there, Law & Order was always on. Cora wondered if she could stand watching New York City cops, figured she’d better get used to it.
“This okay?” Cora said.
Brittany didn’t seem interested. “Whatever,” she said.
At eleven Cora switched over to The Daily Show. Jon Stewart was doing a particularly funny segment. Cora enjoyed it immensely, but she wished they didn’t have to bleep him. Brittany seemed preoccupied, didn’t react at all. Or to Stephen Colbert, or to David Letterman when Cora joined the show in progress at twelve. Brittany was wound up, distracted, and tense, was constantly jumping up, checking the door, checking the windows, pacing in and out of the room. It was enough to drive a normal person nuts. Cora was beginning to despair of ever going to bed.
Midway through the Craig Ferguson show Brittany’s eyelids began to seem a little heavy and her chin slumped forward on her chest.
The phone rang and she jumped a mile.
“Oh, my God! What’s that?”
“It’s the phone,” Cora said dryly. The explanation seemed somewhat unnecessary—the phone was still ringing. “Well, aren’t you going to answer it?”
Brittany backed away from the phone as if it were alive. “It’s him! I know it’s him!”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Who else would call this time of night?”
“I don’t know. You can find out by picking up the phone.”
Brittany steeled herself, reached out, grabbed the phone. “Hello?” she said tentatively. The expression on her face changed. She lowered the receiver from her ear, looked at Cora. “It’s for you.”
Chapter
47
“This is stupid,” Sam Brogan said.
For once Cora agreed with Bakerhaven’s crankiest police officer. He’d been sent to babysit Brittany Wells so Cora could leave her post.
“Let her make you some coffee, Sam. She likes to make coffee.”
Cora got in the car and drove out to 415 Fairview. She didn’t recognize the address, but she recognized the house. She’d been driving past it for years without knowing who lived there. It was painted pale yellow, which was why she remembered it. Most houses in Bakerhaven were white.
Dan Finley met her at the front door. He lowered his voice. “He’s in a very bad mood.”
“Figures,” Cora said.
“Dan!” Chief Harper yelled from inside.
Dan gave Cora an I-told-you-so look and ducked back through the door. Cora followed him in.
The house was small by any standards, the equivalent of a New York City studio apartment, and the living room was a bandbox. In the middle of the ceiling an old metal fan in a circular wire protective frame was twisted askew and nearly pulled out of its mounting.
A rope hung from the fan. It was a piece of clothesline. It hung straight, but the end looked as if it had been twisted.
Billy the Bug lay on his back under the rope. His face was purple, his tongue protruded from his mouth, and his eyes bulged out of his head.
Chief Harper knelt over the body. As Dan came in he stood up and said, “Good. Take your pictures so these guys can get him out of here.”
An EMS unit standing by with a gurney was talking to Dr. Nathan. Despite the hour, Barney wore a red bow tie, his standard crime scene attire. He had made a preliminary examination of the body and was just waiting for the EMS boys to cart it off to the morgue for him to autopsy.
Harper turned to Cora, said accusingly, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“How did you know it was him?”
“I didn’t know it was him. He seemed a likely suspect, but you talked me out of it.”
Harper scowled. “I didn’t talk you out of it. It was a stupid idea then, and it’s a stupid idea now. I don’t know how it happened to be true, but it defies the laws of logic. It’s one of those things that just aren’t fair.”
“I’m sure Billy would agree.”
“Don’t try to be funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
Harper held up a plastic evidence bag. “This was on the floor. You know what it is?”
“A TV zapper?”
“Not for our cable system.”
“Remote-control detonator?”
“More likely.”
“All set, Chief,” Dan said.
“You done with the pictures?”
“I’m done with the body. I still got the crime scene.”
“I know that. I meant the body. Okay, Barney, he’s all yours. Call me when you’re done.”
“Sure,” Barney said. “But I can tell you right now, you got no problem with the time.” He followed the gurney out.
“What did he mean by that?” Cora said.
Harper sighed. “Take a look.”
On one side of where the body had lain was a small desk with a computer. There was a straight-backed chair in front of it. The chair was facing away from the desk, not that far from the hanging rope.
Cora leaned around the chair, looked at the computer.
An e-mail program was on the screen. It was open to the sent-mail file. The last letter sent was on the screen. It was addressed to the Bakerhaven Police Department.
The letter read:
I never meant to kill anyone. I just wanted to see the fire.
I can’t live with this.
I’m pressing Send and stepping off the chair.
Chapter
48
Brittany was animated. More than animated, she was reborn. The timid, morose, paranoid idiot had been replaced by an exuberant, confident, decisive idiot, a type Cora knew well and immediately categorized as megabitch.
Brittany strode around Becky’s office as if it were a battleground and she were Henry V, heartening the troops. “See?” Brittany said. “Everyone thought I was crazy, but someone was after me. I was right and you were wrong. I was right all the time.”
“He wasn’t after you,” Cora said irritably.
“And you’ve got to get my money back,” she said, pointing a finger at Becky. “You’ve gotta go down to the courthouse and tell them I didn’t do it and I want my money back.”
“It’s not that easy,” Becky said.
“I didn’t do it! Now they know I didn’t do it, and they’ve got no right to say I did. They took all my money for that bail thing, and I’ve got nothing to live on, and that’s not right. So get it now, because there’s some things I need to buy.”
“I will petition the court in your behalf,” Becky said.
“‘Petition the court’? What the hell does that mean? Another hearing. I don’t want another hearing. I just want my money.”
“Of course you do,” Cora said. “And she’s going to get it for you. But she has to do it by legal means. Otherwise it’s known as stealing.”
“You think it’s funny? It’s not funny. How’d you feel if someone took all your money for something you didn’t do?”
It occurred to Cora that as the Puzzle Lady she was paid for something she didn’t do. “That would be rather ironic.”
Cora realized belatedly that Becky didn’t know her deception extended to the creative side of puzzles, but she doubted that even her astute legal mind would get the enigmatic in-joke.
Brittany rode right though Cora’s comment. “We get the money back, and we get them to say they made a mistake and I didn’t do it and they’re not going to put me on trial. Then we make the insurance company pay up. You tell them I didn’t do it and they have to give me the money.”
“I will petition the insurance company on your behalf.”
“‘Petition’? What is this petition? It’s my money. I want it. Tell them they have to pay it.”
“I will tell them,” Becky said. “But they will tell me they have to investigate the claim.”
“‘Investigate’? What do you mean, ‘investigate’?”
“Any claim of that size they’re going to invest
igate thoroughly before paying up.”
“Who is?”
“The insurance company.”
“You keep saying that. That’s not an answer. The insurance company isn’t a person. It’s a company. Who is going to investigate?”
“Insurance companies employ private investigators to check out large claims to see if there’s anything fraudulent about them.”
“Fraudulent?”
“For God’s sake, Becky,” Cora said irritably. “Put it in words of one syllable. Look, kid, they won’t pay up till they make sure you’re not faking. You know, like is a guy’s leg really broken or is he just pretending it is? They send out a private detective to snap some pictures of him playing tennis on that broken leg. See what I mean?’
Brittany looked baffled. “Tennis?”
“Bad example. Look. Your insurance policy is double indemnity. You understand that, right? The policy pays a million dollars if your husband dies, two million if his death is an accident.”
“And it was! So they owe two million.”
“Right. But they’re not going to take your word for it. They want to make sure it was an accident.”
“But it was. This guy didn’t mean to kill him; he just did.”
“Right,” Cora said. “Sort of. It would still be an accident even if he meant to kill him.”
“How can it be an accident if he did it on purpose?”
“As far as your husband’s concerned, it’s an accident. He didn’t know he was going to be murdered.”
“They still have to pay if he was murdered?”
“Unless you killed him.”
“Otherwise they have to pay?”
“Absolutely. They can’t get out of it by proving Billy really meant to kill him.”
“So if she can get the police to say I didn’t do it, then they have to pay.”
“There’s one other instance where they wouldn’t have to pay,” Becky said.
Brittany looked at her suspiciously. “Hey, whose side are you on?”
“She’s on your side,” Cora snapped. “You want her to tell you the truth, or you want her to tell you what you want to hear?”
“Hey!” Brittany stared her down. “I was talking to my lawyer!” She turned back to Becky. “Why wouldn’t they have to pay?”