by Parnell Hall
“Arlene’s an actress. You know what that means in New York City. A waitress. Her parents died and left her a little money, so she doesn’t have to do that anymore. They also left her the house. Which is how I got to know her. Which is funny. We’re both from New York City, but we met here.”
“What do you do, Mr. Guilford?”
“I freelance.”
“At what?”
“Whatever I can get. Computer work. Proofreading. Stuff like that.”
“You have an apartment in New York?”
“If you can call it that. I have a studio apartment the size of a broom closet. Don’t tell the aunts, but I’m giving it up.”
“Arlene’s got room?”
“Oh, sure. It’s a two-bedroom.”
“She inherit the apartment?”
“No, it’s a rental. There was a roommate, but she moved out. She was looking for another roommate, then she came into money and didn’t have to.”
“You’re moving in?”
“When we go back to New York. We’ve actually been here for a while.”
“You’re staying at Arlene’s house, but you don’t want your aunts to know?”
“I’m old enough to have a girlfriend, and my aunts are old enough to disapprove. They’re just so straight-laced. In that old house, and the way they dress. It’s like they’re straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. All prim and proper, with a body in the library. Poisoned. No trace of blood. A genteel sort of crime.”
“Just a casual mystery reader?”
“I do like Agatha Christie.”
Alan gave Becky the rundown of the family situation that he’d given Chief Harper. She didn’t let on she knew most of it.
“So,” Becky said. “You can’t remember the last time you stayed in your aunts’ house?”
“No, I can’t. It was probably a few months ago. That’s the best I can do.”
“You have a key to the front door.”
“I don’t have a key to the garden shed.”
“You’d know where it was kept. Look, Mr. Guilford—”
“Alan.”
“I have trouble calling men who are engaged to be married by their first name.”
“Even when there’s no date set? As your friend Cora said, with no date set you don’t have to think of it as an engagement.”
Becky smiled. “You should have been a lawyer.”
Chapter
21
Cora stuck her head in the door of Becky’s office. “Hear you got a client.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Actually, I saw him leave. I’m assuming he hired you. If he just tried to hit on you, I would say it spoke poorly of his engagement.”
“There’s some question about that, too.”
“Oh?”
“He pointed out the date wasn’t set. Don’t worry, he gave you full credit for the idea.”
“He was trying to hit on you?”
“He was flirting. Men flirt.”
“But he hired you?”
“Yes, he did. I assume I have you to thank for that.”
“Why, whatever do you mean?”
“It seems Chief Harper picked him up and grilled him as a suspect. I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that?”
“I have very little influence with the police. I’m sure Harper wouldn’t arrest anyone on my say-so.”
“No, of course not. Anyway, I got a client, so I owe you one. Unless he turns out to be guilty.”
“Why, don’t guilty clients pay?”
“Yeah, they do. It just doesn’t look good on your record.”
“It does if you get them off.”
“That’s just cynical.”
“Oh, yeah? Look at Johnnie Cochran.”
“He’s dead.”
“Well, aside from that. Anyway, I wouldn’t sweat it. The chance of Alan being involved in this is practically negligible.”
“I’m sure that’s how you presented it to Chief Harper.”
“I don’t make the facts, I just report them. What the chief does is out of my hands. Anyway, aren’t retainers nonrefundable?”
“Damn right they are.”
“Then what have you got to worry about?”
Cora went down to the police station where Dan Finley was manning the desk.
“Hey, Dan, what’s up?”
“Not much. Still waiting on the lab report. I called over there, but they’re on lunch hour. Did you want to see the chief?”
“Is he in?”
“He went over to the Guilford house, to talk to the sisters. Don’t think it was anything special. Just got antsy waiting for the lab.”
“I know how he feels. If he comes in, give me a call.”
Cora came out the front door and nearly bumped into Arlene on her way in.
Arlene was furious. “You! At the police station. I might have known.”
Cora shrugged. “Why? Are you a psychic?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I give up,” Cora said. “What do I think I’m doing?”
“You accused my boyfriend of murder.”
“Oh, that.”
“You admit it?”
“Accused is such an ugly word. I don’t believe I’ve accused anyone of anything.”
“You told Chief Harper he’s a suspect.”
“That’s not an accusation, just a statement of fact. He is a suspect. So are you, for that matter. If I tell Chief Harper, are you going to say I accused you?”
“Very funny. Now he’s hired that Becky Baldwin. He thinks he needs protection.”
“Oh. There’s a Freudian slip. Nice double entendre.”
“What?”
“Not very quick on your feet, are you? Most angry women aren’t.”
“Why are you meddling in my affairs?”
“Your affairs? I thought you said I accused Alan.”
“I’m his fiancée.”
“There seems to be some question about that.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s a matter of semantics.”
“What?”
“It means words are involved. Granted, not your strong suit. Which would be youth and beauty. Of which, you are not bad, by the way. Almost in Becky Baldwin’s league. Of course, she’s a lawyer, and you’re not. Which is understandable. You probably had trouble with the bar exam.”
“Oh, aren’t you the laugh riot,” Arlene said scathingly. “I guess that’s what happens to women when they lose their sex appeal. They develop ‘personality.’”
“That’s better. Now you sound halfway intelligent. I bet with a little work you could have a personality, too.”
Arlene offered a brief, pungent opinion of Cora’s suggestion.
“Tell me,” Cora said. “What do you see in Alan? Clearly, it’s not the Guilford estate. You already have money. And he has none. Is he really such a catch?”
“You’re rude and impertinent. And you’re meddling. In matters that don’t concern you. There have been a couple of accidental deaths, no big deal, but you’ve got to be the great and wonderful Puzzle Lady and drum up some conspiracy plot with Alan in the center of it just to make yourself seem important. And you’re all wet.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Alan couldn’t have poisoned those people. He was with me.”
Arlene pushed by her in the front door.
Cora watched her go.
So. Alan was with Arlene at the time of the murder. Which made no sense, since there was no time of the murder. Not if the wine was poisoned. The killer could have poisoned it at any time. But Arlene had been eager to make that point.
And now Arlene was complaining about her to the cops. Chief Harper wasn’t there, but Dan Finley would get an earful.
Cora didn’t care.
She had bigger fish to fry.
Chapter
22
Dr. Barn
ey Nathan came out of his office into the waiting room and stopped dead.
Cora Felton sat on the couch.
“What are you doing here?”
Cora shrugged. “I’m sick.”
“I’m not your doctor.”
“How do you know?”
“Excuse me?”
“You could very well be my doctor. I just never happen to be sick.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Actually, it is. My doctor is in the city. I’ve been with him for years, I see no reason to give him up. That’s why I’ve never come to you.”
“I thought it was because you didn’t trust my work.”
“Now, now, Barney. Just because I go after you in court doesn’t mean I don’t respect your work. If you make a mistake, I’m going to point it out. It’s no reflection of you. It’s a reflection on the state of medicine. The practice of which you know medically. If I disagree, that is usually based on nonmedical factors. Almost always, as I have no medical training. Anyway, I’m sick, you’re here, I’m not driving to New York for a cold remedy. Come on, doc, check me out.”
Before Barney Nathan could object, she pushed by him through the door.
Cora had never been in the doctor’s office before. It was cozier than she’d expected, with an oak desk, cedar file cabinets, and wooden bookshelves bowed with massive medical tomes. The chairs for the doctor and patient, large and upholstered, gave the feeling of a den. An oak sideboard, closed, had an ice bucket on top. It hadn’t occurred to her, but she wondered if the good doctor occasionally favored a nip.
“Say. Nice digs. This is where you sit the patient down, talk them out of being sick. Or deliver some momentous pronouncement—I’m sorry, ma’am, you have Monterey Fishman’s disease.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Yeah, but the patient doesn’t know that, and by the time they find out you’ve already Xeroxed their BlueCross BlueShield card and copied down their American Express card number.”
Dr. Nathan was not amused. “Miss Felton, if you’re not really sick, I’m rather busy.”
“Really? I was the only patient in the waiting room.”
“It’s my lunch break. I was trying to close up the office.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be brief.” Cora marched to a door on the side wall. “Is this the examining room?” She flung it open. “No, that’s the bathroom. Must be this one. Ah! There we go.”
It was a small examining room: stark, sterile, lit by fluorescent bulbs. A sink and cabinets along one wall. An examining table covered with paper on the other.
“Well,” Cora said, “shall I get undressed?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be a killjoy. One of the joys of going to the doctor is you can take your clothes off in front of another man and it doesn’t count as cheating.”
Cora hopped up on the examining table. “I have a cold. I think it’s settled down in my chest.”
Dr. Nathan put on a stethoscope.
Cora unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, pulled it open wider than could possibly be necessary. “Here, doc. I hope it isn’t cold.”
Dr. Nathan ignored the open shirt, felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “Cool as a cucumber.”
“I never understood that expression. Just how cold are cucumbers, anyway. If you ask me—”
Dr. Nathan stuck a digital thermometer in her mouth.
Cora clamped her lips around it, favored him with an I-wasn’t-finished look.
“Let’s get your blood pressure here.”
He wrapped a cuff around her arm, took the bulb and pumped it up, released it and let the air out.
“Your blood pressure is a little high. For you, that’s probably your normal state.”
The digital thermometer beeped.
“Ninety-eight point six.”
“For me that’s high,” Cora said.
“Your heart rates a little accelerated.”
“My pulse is always high at the doctor’s. I’m afraid you might find something wrong.”
“Let’s check those lungs.” He slipped the stethoscope under her shirt.
“Why, doctor. We barely met.”
“Breathe in, please.”
Cora did so.
“And out.”
She exhaled.
He listened to the other side, then lowered the stethoscope. “You smoke, don’t you?”
“Why? What do you hear?”
“Nothing. Your lungs are fine.”
“Then why did you say that?”
“Just an observation. You’re lucky to have good lungs. You shouldn’t abuse them.” He looked at her closely. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Why are you here? As far as the case goes, I’m sure Chief Harper told you everything I know. There’s no reason for you to be here unless you’re working on some angle to trip me up on the stand.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“Oh, no? Becky Baldwin’s got a client, doesn’t she? The nephew. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but cut me a break, I’m not in the mood.”
“Yeah, I know,” Cora said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I understand you’re going through some hard times. Been there, done that. I know it’s hell. I’ve been there four of five times, so I know how you feel. The first one’s always the hardest. This is your first one, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be personal, but you’re not yourself lately, and I had to know why.
“First time I didn’t handle it well. Drank too much. Chased after men. Your basic, self-destructive behavior. Anyway, you start feeling self-destructive, give me a call; I’ll try to talk you down.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Of course not.” Cora buttoned up her blouse. “I’m just saying, if you do, you know who to call.”
Chapter
23
Cora got in her car and drove home. She went in the front door, was surprised to hear sounds coming from the living room. Her hand ventured into her drawstring purse, gripped the butt of her gun. She crept to the door of the living room, peered in.
Sherry was playing with Jennifer on the living room floor.
Sherry looked up, smiled. “Hi, Auntie Cora.”
“I thought you were a burglar.” Cora set her purse on the coffee table, flopped down on the couch.
“Say hi to Jennifer.”
“I’ll say hi to Jennifer. I don’t need any prompting. Hi, Jennifer. You having fun on the carpet?”
“It’s a little dirty. You might want to run the vacuum cleaner.”
“I certainly would have if I’d known you were going to be hanging out on the floor. What are you doing at this end of the house?”
“Jennifer has to get used to it. I don’t want my daughter growing up thinking this is the secret, forbidden place where wicked Aunt Cora lives.”
“Great,” Cora said. “You want to post a daily schedule so I’ll know which room to clean?”
“It won’t do much good when she’s a toddler. She’ll be everywhere.”
“How soon can I look forward to that?”
“Don’t be a killjoy. I thought you were impatient for her to walk.”
“I was impatient for her to walk out there. In the grass. Which doesn’t have to be vacuumed.”
“No, but the leaves could use a raking.”
“That sounds like a job for Daddy. If I were you, I’d ask him.”
“He’s at the paper. Writing about the murders. He’s trying to find an angle that doesn’t make you and Chief Harper look like total incompetents.”
“He can write about the chief all he wants. It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Except for the puzzles.”
“The puzzles don’t mean anything. They’re just a red herring to keep the chief from finding the real killer.”
“The real killer. You know who you sound like?”
“Rita
Hayworth.” Cora picked up her purse, pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Sherry waggled her finger. “Uh-uh. You can’t smoke around the baby.”
Cora’s eyes widened. “Oh. My. God. So that’s your evil plan. That’s why you’re so keen on bringing the baby into this part of the house. So I won’t be able to smoke.”
“Well, you wouldn’t want to set a bad example.”
“I don’t believe it. You had this kid to get me to stop smoking?”
“No. It’s just one of the fringe benefits.”
Cora shoved her cigarettes back in her purse.
On the coffee table were the folded pieces of paper Cora had dug out with her cigarettes.
Sherry picked them up. “What’s this?”
“The sudoku. And the crossword. Chief Harper made a copy for me. I told him I’d already seen it, but he gave it to me anyway.”
“Did you look it over?”
“I don’t have to. It’s the one you solved last night. Off the Internet. We know it doesn’t mean anything.”
Sherry unfolded the crossword, studied the puzzle. “This isn’t the puzzle I solved last night.”
“What?”
“It’s a different puzzle.”
“Hey, let me see that.”
“You watch Jennifer. I’ll check it out.”
Sherry hopped up, ran out of the room.
“Hey!” Cora said. “What, taking care of a baby is supposed to make me nervous? Like there’s something so tough about it. Well, Jennifer, you and Auntie Cora are going to get along just fine.”
Jennifer burst into tears.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.”
Cora hopped down off the couch, waggled a toy cat in Jennifer’s direction. “Look at the kitty. Isn’t she nice? Nice kitty, nice kitty.”
Jennifer was having none of it.
“Not a cat lover, huh?”
There came a scrabbling at the side door.
“Oh, come on,” Cora said. “How did Buddy get locked in the end?”
Cora knew immediately how the toy poodle had gotten locked in the end. Sherry had put him out there so the baby could play on the floor. On hearing Cora’s singsong baby voice, he’d gone nuts, and was desperate to get in.
Cora picked up Jennifer, threw her over one shoulder, struggled to her feet. She stumbled through the foyer to the breezeway that led to the addition, and managed to open the door before the little poodle tore it down.