You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled (23 page)

C
ORA
F
ELTON DROVE
down the driveway just as Dennis Pride turned in. She spun the wheel, hit the brake, and skidded sideways, blocking the drive.

Cora was out the door before her car even stopped moving. She descended on Dennis, leveled a finger, and suggested if he were to back up it would be better for all involved, though not exactly in those words.

Dennis hopped out of his car with his hands raised, just as if he’d been stopped for reckless driving and was eager to show the arresting officer that he was sober and unarmed.

“Don’t get out of your car,” Cora told him. “Get back in your car, turn around, drive off, and don’t stop until you run out of gas.”

“I didn’t come to see Sherry. I came to see you.”

“I don’t date married men.”

That tripped him up. Dennis couldn’t think of a single response that wouldn’t get him in trouble. It was almost comical. After an awkward pause, he opted to ignore the remark completely. “I followed him last night.”

“Who?”

“Chuck Dillinger. I followed him to see what he’d do.”

“What did he do?”

“Left the house, got in his car, and drove to the nearest gas station.”

“And got gas?” Cora said, lightly mocking him.

“Yeah, he got gas. But while he was filling up he went to the pay phone and made a call.”

Cora frowned. “From the pay phone?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t have a cell phone?”

“If he did, he didn’t use it. He went to the pay phone. It’s a gas station convenience store, with the phone on the outside wall.”

“On Elm Street?”

“I don’t know the names of the streets. At the traffic light.”

“That’s the one. So he made a call?”

“Yeah. I got close enough to hear. And I thought you should know.”

“Why?”

“It was a funny call. He said, ‘It’s me. We got trouble.’ Then he listened and said, ‘I have no idea.’ He listened again and said, ‘No, she hasn’t got a clue.’ He laughed and said, ‘Thank God she wrecked the car.’ ”

“Then what?”

“Then I think he saw me, because he said, ‘Gotta go,’ and hung up the phone.”

“What did he do then?”

“Paid for the gas and went home. I watched the house for a while, but he stayed put.”

“You drove all the way up from New York to tell me this?”

“I came by last night. With Brenda. There was no one here.”

“With Brenda?”

“Yeah.
She
thought it was important.”

“Okay, you told me. Now get the hell out of here.”

Dennis glared at her to show he couldn’t be pushed around, then did what she said.

Cora watched him drive off and frowned.

What Dennis told her was fascinating.

She wondered if it was true.

C
HIEF
H
ARPER PULLED
into the Four Seasons Motel parking lot, to find the young desk clerk in the baseball cap waiting for him outside.

“Where is she?” Harper demanded.

The kid jerked his thumb. “Out back.”

Harper followed him behind the motel office, where a large, green Dumpster stood. The lid was open, and there was a scrabbling inside as if the garbage was being picked over by an enormous rat.

Harper walked up, banged on the side.

Cora Felton’s head emerged from the Dumpster. Her hair was matted and stringy, and there was a banana peel on her shoulder. She was wearing her Wicked Witch of the West outfit. In New York City she could have passed for a bag lady.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harper growled.

Cora held up a Diet Pepsi can. “Would you believe collecting deposit bottles?”

“Cora.”

She smiled. “I
love
it when you use my first name. I wish I didn’t have to dress in garbage to get you to do it.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“No, it’s not. I phoned the police station three times this morning. You wouldn’t take my call.”

Harper stared at her. “You did this to get my attention?”

“Don’t be silly.” Cora chuckled. “That’s like that Carly Simon song. You know, you’re so vain you probably think this Dumpster’s about you.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Looking for evidence you missed.”

“Evidence I . . . missed!” Harper could barely get the words out. He wheeled on the desk clerk. “When was this thing dumped?”

“Yesterday.”

“See?” Harper said. “It’s been dumped since the murder.”

“That will make it harder,” Cora said complacently. She climbed out of the Dumpster, led him aside. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here, Chief.”

“Try not to touch me.”

“Sorry. I need help with the case. That’s why I called. I need your help.”

“I might be more inclined to give it if you hadn’t compared the prosecutor to a tree slug.”

“I’m sure I never did that.”

“I’m sure you did. From what I hear, it was one of your milder epithets.”

“You know what he accused me of?”

“Yeah. A lot of things you probably did. Considering you’re getting a pass on breaking and entering, I would think you’d be a little tolerant.”

“He thinks I faked my own shooting.”

“He’s going by the evidence.”

“The evidence is wrong.”

“Evidence is evidence. You wanna come up with another explanation for it, fine. But the facts are the facts.”

“It’s not my fault I was framed.”

“Well, it’s not my fault either. I didn’t shoot you with your own gun.”

“No, you didn’t. So you owe me a favor.”

Chief Harper frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“If you shot me with my gun, I’d be innocent, and I could prove it. The fact you didn’t leaves me in a bind.”

“That’s looney logic, even for you.”

“So I need a favor. Two, actually. Well, maybe three. But let’s start with two.”

“God save me.”

“Barney Nathan listens to you. You have a working relationship. You can call him, say, ‘What’s up, Doc?’ ”

“You want me to ask the medical examiner about the autopsy?”

“Well, it’s his job, isn’t it?”

“It’s not his job to make a case for the defense.”

“No, but you could ask him to check for contributing factors. I mean, it’s real nice you got the gunshot wound to the head from the gun with my fingerprints on it. But was there anything else? Like drugs, for instance.”

Chief Harper sighed. “I’ve seen the autopsy report. Drugs didn’t kill him. He was killed by a single shot to
the back of the head. At an angle from which he’d have to be a contortionist to have fired himself.”

“I know. But did he have any other problems?”

Chief Harper gave her a look. “I am not inclined to bother the medical examiner.”

Cora shrugged. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be. All right, you can do me the easy favor.”

“Easy
favor?” Harper looked at her suspiciously. “All this talk about the autopsy report was just a ploy to get me to do something else?”

“Don’t be silly, Chief. I
want
you to talk to the doctor.”

“Yeah? So what’s this ‘easy’ favor?”

“It really is easy, Chief. The type of thing you can do in your sleep.”

“Oh, yeah? What?”

“I need you to trace a call.”

S
HERRY
C
ARTER’S MOUTH
fell open. “My God, you’re a mess! Where have you been?”

“In a Dumpster.”

“That’s what you look like. Where were you really?”

“Don’t start with me.”

Sherry spun away from the computer, picked a piece of romaine lettuce out of Cora’s hair. “My God, you
were
in a Dumpster. What were you doing?”

“Going through the garbage.”

“What for?”

“To attract Chief Harper’s attention.”

“Just because he wouldn’t take your call?”

“No. But that’s what he thought. I was out at the crime scene, looking for evidence.”

“Find any?”

“None to find. The Dumpster was dumped yesterday.”

“So it was a waste of time.”

“No. The killer doesn’t know it was dumped.”

“You’re setting a trap?”

“God, I hope so.”

Buddy came skittering in the door, took one look at Cora, and skittered out again.

“Now, there’s a vote of confidence,” Cora said dryly.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“None at all,” Cora admitted. “I’m just trying to stir things up.”

“Why?”

Cora brushed cigarette ash off her outfit and frowned. She wasn’t smoking. “The killer made a big mistake, trying to frame me with my own gun. There are only a few ways that could have happened. Just like there are only a few ways Benny Southstreet could have been killed. You put it all together and it’s not a pretty picture.”

Sherry looked at Cora closely. “Are you saying you know who did it?”

“If I did, do you think I’d be crawling around in the garbage?”

“Good point.” Sherry’s eyes twinkled. “Well, while you were doing that, guess what I found.”

“What?”

“The Daniel Farnsworth Cane Company.”

“They make canes?”

“No, that’s just their name. I’m not sure why. Maybe they use cane in the manufacturing. Maybe one of the partners was named Cane.”

“What the hell is the Daniel Farnsworth Cane Company?” Cora said irritably.

Sherry smiled. “See? This is what you do to me all the time. See what it feels like?”

Cora characterized Sherry as a particular body part of limited intelligence.

“That’s no way to talk about the person who penetrated the records of the Daniel Farnsworth Cane Company.”

“I don’t give a damn about the Daniel What’s-it’s-name—Wait a minute. Does this company manufacture
chairs?”

“Only for the last hundred years. Give or take a decade. The point is, they’re still in business.”

“I take it back. You’re an absolute genius. You should have your brain bronzed. Or your mouse.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Philip T Crickstein. Bookkeeper for the Daniel Farnsworth Cane Company from 1935 to 1962. Mr. Crickstein kept such meticulous records that it is possible to trace purchases made over fifty years ago.”

“You’re way too pleased with yourself. What did you find?”

“I found the record of Wilbur purchasing the chairs.”

“He didn’t buy them from the manufacturer. He bought them at auction.”

“When?”

“Two years ago.”

Sherry smiled, shook her head. “Not quite. He bought them from the Daniel Farnsworth Cane Company on June 6, 1952.”

“What!?”

“That’s right. And he didn’t buy
four
chairs. He bought
eight.
”

“Eight?”

“Yeah. And that’s not the best part. He didn’t have them shipped to himself. He had them shipped to a private home in Mount Vernon, New York.”

“Please tell me you traced the address.”

“I did, but that’s where the trail gets cold. The records indicate a family named Austin lived there in the early ’50s. Where they went after that is anybody’s guess.”

“Find them.”

“That may take a while.”

“I haven’t got a while.” Cora pointed to the computer screen. “Go on-line and find them. I don’t care if you Google ’em or use MapQuest, or a computer dating service, just find them, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Please do.” Cora sighed grimly. “I gotta solve this damn case before I get framed for anything else.”