You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled (10 page)

C
HUCK
D
ILLINGER’S OFFICE
was small. It also faced the interior court instead of the street. What good was an office on Madison Avenue if your office wasn’t
on
Madison Avenue? True, it was a Madison Avenue address, but it wasn’t
his
address, it was the partnership of Hendricks and Sloane, and he wasn’t Hendricks or Sloane, so he had a small office on the interior court.

Chuck Dillinger was a young associate, hoping to make partner. It wasn’t cheap raising a family, especially in Connecticut. Not in a house as nice as his, on the good side of town. Without help, he couldn’t make it. He’d have to move to upstate New York, or even New Jersey. Not the direction his life should be heading. Not the direction at all.

Chuck checked his appointment book. He had no client meetings today. Which left him with paperwork.

He hated paperwork. That was what his paralegal should be doing. Only Chuck didn’t have a paralegal. He relied on the switchboard girl, who didn’t type and didn’t file. Which left him typing and filing.

The phone rang. It was, of course, the switchboard. Either that or his wife. Only she had his direct line. Chuck was surprised to hear a man’s voice.

“Mr. Dillinger?”

“Yes.”

“This is Officer Brogan, Bakerhaven PD.”

“Oh?”

“I’m working on the break-in at your house.”

“Oh.” Chuck’s pulse raced. “Caught the guy?” he asked casually.

“ ’Fraid not. So little to go on. Just wanted to follow up. You said your study was broken into, is that correct?”

“I’m not sure it was broken into, since nothing was taken.”

“No, but you said so. Isn’t that right? Not that it was broken into, but the fact you reported it was?”

“I may have said something like that.”

“Why would you have thought such a thing?”

Chuck’s head was coming off. What the hell was this all about? “Officer, I don’t even remember saying such a thing, but if I did, uh, there’s nothing in the house worth stealing, so I would naturally think the study.”

“There’s things worth stealing in the study?”

“Well, my computer’s there. And some expensive cigars.”

“You thought someone broke in to steal your cigars?”

“No. Of course not. I have no idea why anyone
might break in. I have nothing worth taking. Nothing
was
taken. I assume the thief broke in, looked around, was disappointed, and left.”

“That sounds quite reasonable.”

“Good. I hope that clears things up, Officer.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why I called.”

“Oh?”

“There was something under the blotter of your desk. Which probably wouldn’t mean anything. Except with your claim someone broke into the study . . .”

“You found something under the blotter of my desk? You didn’t mention anything about that.”

“Neither did you.”

“What?”

“You didn’t mention keeping anything under the blotter of your desk.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What did you find?”

“The torn corner of a hundred-dollar bill.”

There was a silence on the phone. Sam Brogan continued, “Do you have any idea what that was doing there?”

After another brief silence, Chuck said, “Oh, is that all. You had me worried.”

“You know what the bill was doing there?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You wanna share that information?” Sam said dryly.

“I often keep a couple of hundreds under my blotter for emergencies. The corner must have torn off one of them.”

“So these were your hundred-dollar bills?”

“That’s right.”

“And you think the burglar took them?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I spent them.”

“Oh?”

“I ran out of cash and spent the bills. The corner must have torn off when I pulled them out.”

“Okay. So you’re saying what we’re dealing with is the corner of a genuine hundred-dollar bill, it’s your hundred-dollar bill, and it wasn’t stolen?”

“No. I’m sorry, Officer. If you’re looking for leads, I’m afraid it’s another dead end. But I certainly appreciate your taking the time and effort. Was there anything else?”

“No, that’ll do.”

Chuck hung up the phone. Son of a bitch! The cop would have to find a piece of a bill. He wondered if it was foolish to have claimed it was his, but what else could he do? His wife had bought the stage money explanation, but the cop was another story. Mimi would never check, but the cop might. When there wasn’t any movie money, there’d be hell to pay. No way to lie his way out of that.

Of course, there’d be hell to pay if the cop checked with his wife. But that would be easier to explain. The bills were his personal secret stash. His wife didn’t know about it. He couldn’t admit it to her. No way.

Wait a minute! Mimi hadn’t seen the corner of a hundred-dollar bill. She’d seen a whole stack of ’em. Five thousand dollars’ worth. How could he reconcile that?

Chuck was sweating profusely, and his office had air-conditioning, one of the few perks of the job. Good lord, how would he handle that?

Chuck hyperventilated, trying to calm himself. It
wasn’t so bad. Why would the cop bother to check with his wife? There was no reason to, and—

Icy terror gripped him.

What if he already had?

What if the cop knew Mimi’s story, and was just baiting him? What if the cop was merely waiting to spring the trap?

The phone rang.

Chuck stared at it in horror. Oh, my God! That was the cop calling back. “I checked with your wife. Would you like to reconsider the story about the hundred-dollar bills?”

Good God! Maybe he should duck into the men’s room, pretend he was out of his office. No, that would never do.

Chuck scooped up the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Dillinger?”

Chuck had never been so relieved to hear the receptionist’s voice. “Yes?”

“Someone to see you. A Mr. Dennis Pride.”

D
ENNIS
P
RIDE WAS
grinning like he’d just won the lottery. A cocky, insolent grin. He glanced around the office as if making an unflattering value judgment.

Chuck wanted to wipe the smug smile off his face. But what if he was a new junior partner? Younger morons were being wooed away from more and more firms these days. There was no way to know them all. He didn’t dare be overtly hostile.

The young man was wearing a suit and tie— granted, not the quality one would expect from a hotshot attorney; still, he could be someone’s eccentric nephew. There was no reason not to tread cautiously.

Chuck extended his hand. “Mr. Pride, I’m Chuck Dillinger. Come in, sit down. What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping we could help each other out.” Dennis shrugged. “Actually, I was hoping you could

help me
out. Anything that helps
you
would be entirely incidental.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Benny Southstreet.”

Chuck frowned. “Who?”

Dennis nodded approvingly. “That’s good. Very good. You’re either a terrific poker player or you’ve never heard of him.”

“I’ve never heard of him. Who’s Benny Southstreet?”

There was one comfortable client chair in the office. Dennis lolled back in it, crossed his legs. “I understand you had a break-in at your house.”

“Are you a cop?”

“Good lord, what an idea. Wait’ll the boys in the band hear that. I mean
band
as in rock group. This is my day job. I actually sing.”

Chuck just gawked.

Dennis chuckled. “That’s your cue to say, ‘You sing a funny tune,’ or something equally square and cliché.”

“Damn it, what about the break-in?”

“Ah, the man lives. I understand you were pretty upset, considering nothing was taken.”

“Well, nothing was.”

“Then why were you so upset?”

“How’d you like someone to break into your house?”

“I haven’t got a house. But I concede the point. Let’s talk about something else.”

“What?”

“Cora Felton.”

Chuck’s mouth fell open.

Dennis grinned. “That’s a pretty good barometer. I think we could safely say you’ve heard of Cora Felton and you haven’t heard of Benny Southstreet.”

“Of course I’ve heard of Cora Felton. She’s the Puzzle Lady.”

Dennis laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just that’s the only thing you’ve told me so far. That Cora Felton is the Puzzle Lady.”

“Well, everyone knows that.”

“Yes, they do. That’s why I find the information less than useful. I understand you’ve had particular reason to know about the Puzzle Lady.”

“I don’t know how that puzzle got in the paper.”

“Didn’t your wife put it there?”

“I suppose she did.”

“And you knew that, didn’t you? But you automatically lied. It’s like a reflex action with you. Is it because you’re a lawyer? Is that why you do it?”

“I’ve had enough of your insolence. What do you want?”

“Do you know Cora Felton searched your house?”

“What?”

“Your wife didn’t tell you that. I wonder what other things she hasn’t told you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing at all. That was just for fun. Cora Felton found something, stuck it in her purse. I don’t know what it was, but she told the cops about it.” Dennis was watching Chuck’s face. “Ah, I see that means something to you. You know what she found. What was it?”

“I have no idea.”

Dennis shook his head. “There you go again. The automatic lie. Just when we were having fun. This Benny Southstreet that you never heard of—you know who he is? He claims he wrote the puzzle Cora Felton gave your wife that got printed in the paper.”

“What?”

“That’s what he claims. Personally, I think he’s the guy who broke into your house. He knows where it is, he knows what it looks like. And he needs to find evidence to back his lawsuit.”

“Who is this guy?”

“Ah, now you’re interested. Can I assume something valuable was taken?”

Chuck clamped his lips in a tight line.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And Cora Felton found evidence of the theft. Did Benny drop something, I wonder, something that might have his fingerprints on it, something that would implicate him?” Dennis studied Chuck’s face. “No, that’s not it. And you
know
that’s not it. Now, how do you know that’s not it? Did the cops ask you about it? Aha! The cops
told
you about it. Asked you if you know what it is. Did you lie to them? I’ll bet you did. That would be your immediate reaction. Even if you didn’t have to. I wonder if you had to. Now, why would that be? Let’s see. Suppose it was drugs. That’s a biggie. Did Benny rip off your drugs? No, that doesn’t work. If the cops found evidence of drugs, you wouldn’t be here. No, it’s gotta be something embarrassing but not illegal. You have a porn site, by any chance? That Benny Southstreet found on your computer? Did Cora discover it and write down the URL?”

“Now you’re just wasting my time. Who the hell are you? What has any of this got to do with you?”

“Ah, the crux of the matter. I’m an interested party, and I’m not the police. If you lost something valuable, perhaps I can get it back. For a percentage, of course. Should we say half?”

“Are you a private eye?”

“Oh, my God. This gets better and better. First a cop, now a private eye. You’re missing the point. I’m the guy who can help you out. I’m the guy who can get back what was stolen.”

“What makes you think you can do that?”

“I’m in a wonderful bargaining position. I have nothing to hide. I haven’t done anything illegal. I can act on your behalf, and I can act on Mr. Southstreet’s behalf, and I can effect a reconciliation. And neither one of you will complain, because you don’t want to involve the police.

“Now then, let’s start again. What did Benny Southstreet take from your study that you would like to have back?”

M
R.
W
ILBUR RUBBED
a hole in the sludge on his dirty windowpane, and peered out to see who was knocking on his door. The man on the doorstep didn’t look like an antiques dealer. There was something way too cagy about him. Not that antiques dealers weren’t cagy. The most knowledgeable people in the world were antiques dealers. But this guy was different. This guy looked like he knew nothing about antiques, and couldn’t care less. There were a fair share of them in the business too. They had the look. Wilbur knew it well. The look of someone hoping to screw you out of one particular item.

Wilbur opened the door on a safety chain. “Yes?” he demanded.

Benny Southstreet put on his most ingratiating
smile, which didn’t fool Wilbur for a moment. “Are you open?”

“Depends what you want.”

“I want to see some antiques.”

“Name one.”

“Excuse me?”

“What antique do you want to see?”

“Just browsing.”

“I’m not open for browsing. You think what you want, come back.”

Wilbur slammed the door in his face.

Benny Southstreet stood on the front steps and assessed the situation. It was not the first time he had had a door slammed in his face, so he was not astounded by the occurrence. He mused for a moment how a man with so few people skills managed to stay in business. He assumed the guy owned the house and had next to no overhead.

Benny knocked on the door again. When it opened a crack, he said, “Rattan chairs.”

The door slammed shut.

Not the right magic words.

There came the sound of the chain being removed.

Ah. Open sesame, after all.

Wilbur opened the door, but still stood blocking the doorway. “What about the chairs?” he demanded.

“I’m interested in them. I’m wondering who else is.”

“You wanna buy some chairs?”

“I’m interested.”

“Would your interest be reflected in cash?”

“Are you asking if I want to pay for the information?”

“I’m asking if you want to pay for the chairs.”

“You got chairs for sale?”

“I might.”

“But you don’t right now?”

“Not at the moment.”

“That doesn’t sound promising. Maybe I should buy ’em on eBay.”

“You’ll get taken.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll pay too much for bad quality. Your furniture will fall apart.”

“You wouldn’t advise buying on eBay?”

“Only if you want to throw away your money.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Huh?”

“You’re bidding on chairs on eBay. I don’t know why you’re doing it, but you are.”

“How do you know that?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover. I just find it interesting that you’re bidding. And who you’re bidding against.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re bidding against Cora Felton. Did you know that?”

“What!?”

“Yeah. That’s gotta be a kick in the crotch. The famous Puzzle Lady muscling in on your business.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s my job to know. What I don’t know is what’s so all-fired important about these damn chairs. If I were you, I’d let her buy ’em. When a woman gets her mind set on something, it’s hard to stop her.”

Wilbur squinted at Benny suspiciously. “What’s this got to do with you?”

“The woman ripped me off. I’m wondering if she’s ripping anybody else off. If she is, I’d like to know it.”

“You say she’s the one bidding against me?”

“That’s right.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m staying in a motel outside of town. The Four Seasons. Unit 12. You find out why the Puzzle Lady’s bidding against you, you let me know.” Benny rubbed his chin. “Unless you know now. You know now, you can save yourself the trip. No reason we shouldn’t work together.”

“No reason we should,” Mr. Wilbur said, and slammed the door.