You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled (8 page)

C
HIEF
H
ARPER FROWNED
at his coffee. It was late morning, the goodies from Cushman’s Bake Shop were long gone, and the chief was making do with a cup of sludge from the station pot. “Solve the case yet?” he inquired.

Cora Felton graced him with a look usually reserved for Amway salesmen. “No, I have not solved the case. Though I must say I probably put in as much work in three days as you did in a year.”

“That’s because I have other cases. I can’t concentrate on just one.”

“Yeah. Look, I got my dog in the car. What do you want?”

“You left your dog in the car?”

“I’m taking him for a haircut. Yesterday I took him for a shot. I swear, I should get a chauffeur’s license.”

“A shot?”

“Rabies. Distemper. I don’t know. Some yearly vaccine the vet thought up to make money. Now he needs a trim because poodles don’t shed, and there goes another sixty bucks.”

“I think there might be a local ordinance about leaving an animal unattended in a motor vehicle.”

“So bust me. Come on, Chief. You called me in here. If you just want a progress report, I haven’t got time.”

“I see you have time to get your name in the paper.” Harper pointed to the
Gazette,
open to the puzzle page. “Awfully nice of you, helping out the young woman.”

“There’s nothing nice about it. She tricked me into it.”

“Still, to go to all the trouble of making a puzzle.”

“You don’t make a puzzle, you construct it. Don’t you know anything?”

“When it comes to crossword puzzles, not much. Anyway, whatever you want to call it, you did it. And you did it all by yourself.”

A chill ran down Cora’s spine. “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. The puzzle you gave to the woman. It’s just like the ones in your column. You didn’t get paid for it, but, aside from that, it’s just like all the rest.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I have no idea. But it’s not copyright, or whatever it is, when you put a puzzle in the paper. Not that this puzzle’s not in the paper, but you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know what you mean. And I really don’t care.”

“Maybe not. But while we’re on the subject, can you
assure me you had no outside help in coming up with it?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

“So, if someone said you ripped off his puzzle, that person would be lying?”

“Would he ever. I’ve never ripped off anyone’s puzzle in my life.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Why, Chief? What’s this all about?”

“After the puzzle appeared in the paper I had a phone call. Some guy askin’ if you’d ever been charged with literary theft.”

“You mean plagiarism? What did you tell him?”

“I told him no, of course not. He asked me to make sure you wrote the puzzle in the paper.”

“So, what did you do?”

“Nothing. I’m not going to put any faith in an anonymous voice.”

“The guy didn’t give a name?”

“If he had, he wouldn’t be so anonymous.”

“But you asked me about it anyway.”

“Give me a break. I didn’t ask you to
ask
you. I asked you to
tell
you.”

“You called me in here,” Cora reminded him.

“Not for that. I got another case for you.”

Cora brightened immediately. “Really?”

“Yes, and it’s right up your alley. Chuck Dillinger, the husband of the woman you helped, lodged a complaint this morning that his office was broken into.”

“His office? In the city?”

“No, in his house.”

“He has an office in his house?”

“Not his office. His study.”

“His
study
was broken into?”

“You find that strange?”

“He locks his study?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Do
you
lock
your
study? I bet your study doesn’t even have a lock.”

“My study doesn’t even have a door.”

“There you are. The guy locks his study. Did you ask him why?”

“No.”

“What kind of a lock does he have on it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it.”

“Of course not. You just spoke to him on the phone. Tell me, Chief, do you do
all
your work over the phone? Do you ever leave your office?”

“Why should I? I’m the chief. I’ve got people to handle things for me.”

“Like who?”

“Like you. Wanna go see the wife? You got a relationship with her already. Why don’t you run out there, ask her what’s what.”

Cora looked pained. “Oh, come on. I’m trying to get away from the woman.”

“You’re looking for a crime. What’s wrong with breaking and entering?”

“Breaking what? The study door you’re not even sure the guy has?”

“There you are. That’s something you could find out for me.”

“Yeah, great. Tell me, Chief, what were you going to do about this if I hadn’t come in?”

“Probably wait to see if the guy called again. Then I’d know if he was serious.”

“I don’t know when
you’re
serious, Chief. Are you as lazy as you sound, or are you just pulling my leg?”

“A little of both. Actually, I sent Sam Brogan out there. He hasn’t reported in yet. That’s why I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Sam probably scared her to death,” Cora observed dryly. Bakerhaven’s crankiest officer had reduced interrogations to a Zen art that often reduced witnesses to tears.

“Sam’s a good boy. If he found anything, he’d have reported in.”

“He didn’t,” Cora said. “So, why do you want me to go out there and do it?”

“Because you’re just that much better than Sam.”

Cora scowled suspiciously. But Chief Harper kept a straight face.

Mi
M
i D
ILLINGER SEEMED
hassled. “What do you want?” she said, stopping Cora at the door.

Cora frowned. Mimi had the baby on one hip and a diaper over her shoulder; still, one would have expected a slightly warmer greeting for the savior who bailed her out with hubby. “I hear you had a break-in.”

“Who told you that?”

“Chief Harper.”

Mimi frowned. “Why is he telling everyone our business?”

“It’s not like he made a public announcement. I stopped by the station and he asked me to help him out.” Cora took a breath, said, “I sometimes help people out.”

Mimi, prompted, chimed in with belated thanks.

“Well, you certainly helped me,” she gushed. “Chuck took it so well. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You didn’t have to put it in the paper.”

“I suppose that was a bit impulsive. But once I sent the fax I didn’t know how to get it back. Is it a problem?”

Cora waved it away. “What’s done is done. But about this break-in . . .”

“Oh, it was nothing. The police were here.”

“Sam Brogan?”

“Yes.” Mimi frowned. “Is he always like that?”

“Yeah,” Cora said. “Anyway, Chief Harper would like to get the facts without the attitude.”

“Oh. Well, then, come in.”

It was, to Cora’s thinking, a rather grudging invitation. She followed Mimi into the living room of a modest two-story colonial. The decor was what Cora referred to as functional-modern. As opposed to what Cora referred to as ultramodern. Or silly.

Cora gazed wistfully at the portable bar. It was not that long since she’d given up drinking.

Mimi put the baby in a playpen in the corner. Darlene immediately began bawling.

“Was your husband here when Sam Brogan came?”

“No, he was at work.”

“So you had to deal with him?”

“Yes. And you’d think the man never saw a baby before. ‘Madam, could you keep that kid quiet!’ Can you believe it? He actually said that.”

Cora, who shared Sam’s sentiment, merely nodded. “So, when did this break-in occur?”

“Sometime last night.”

“Can you pin it down any?”

“Not really. We didn’t discover it until this morning.”

“Was anything taken?”

“No. But it’s the principle of the thing.”

“You mention that to Sam Brogan?”

“Yes. He wasn’t happy.”

“No, I don’t imagine he was. How did the thief get in?”

“The policeman said since nothing was taken, he’s technically not a thief.”

Cora snorted in disgust. “Yeah, I know.
But person-who-broke-in
is such a cumbersome phrase. How about
prowler?
How did the prowler break in?”

“Through the kitchen window.”

“Oh?”

“He smashed a pane of glass in the back door of the kitchen, reached in, and unlocked it.”

Cora frowned. “Hmm.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Chief Harper said the study was broken into. According to you, the kitchen was broken into.”

“It was. You can see for yourself.”

“Then why did your husband say it was the study?”

“Obviously the prowler broke in through the kitchen to get to the study.”

“Yeah, but nothing was taken. If nothing was taken, how do you know the prowler was even
in
the study?”

“I don’t know. Maybe things were messed up.”

“Is that what your husband said?”

“He called the police from work. I wasn’t there.”

“Well, what did he tell you?”

“Someone broke in.”

“You knew that from the glass on the floor. Did he tell
you
it was the study?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Can I look at the study?”

“Why?”

“To see if anything’s missing.”

“But you don’t know what was there.”

“What’s your point?”

Mimi looked at Cora in exasperation. She clearly didn’t want to show Cora the study, but it was hard to refuse someone who had done her such a big favor. “You can look, but don’t mess up Chuck’s things. He doesn’t like people messing with his things.”

“Did the prowler mess with his things?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s the fact that he might have.”

“Uh-huh. So where’s the study?”

Mimi led Cora to a room down the hall. The door was open. There was a keyhole in it.

“Chuck keep this locked?” Cora asked.

“No.”

The study was a small room dominated by a wooden desk and an office chair on wheels. It was an armed chair of the type you could tip back to put your feet up on the desk. Cora hated them. She seldom put her feet up on the desk, and the chair was wobbly.

There came a loud wail. It was either the baby objecting to the playpen, or someone strangling a cat. At any rate, the sound sent Mimi charging out of the room. Cora was glad. The woman had no useful information, and it was easier to toss the place without her.

Not that Cora knew where to look. Or what to look for. There’d been a break-in. Nothing had been taken. But the husband had specifically named the study. He
was either omniscient, a moron, or lying. If the latter— no, the last, sequence of three—oh, hell, she was starting to think like Sherry, what a depressing prospect. If Mimi’s husband was lying, if something was stolen, it was something he didn’t want to report. Now, what could that be?

Drugs immediately came to mind. The guy was a dope dealer, someone ripped off his stash, naturally he couldn’t tell the police. But he could report a break-in. Which might result in the police getting a line on his nemesis. Which would serve as a hell of a warning not to do anything of the kind again.

Okay, so where did the guy hide his drugs?

The bookcases seemed too easy, but Cora checked them anyway. There was nothing behind the books. Nothing in the file cabinets, unless pressed thin as wafers and slipped in the file folders. Nothing in the desk drawers. Nothing behind the desk drawers.

The kid was still howling, and Cora loved her now. She was a perfect distraction.

Okay, suppose nothing was stolen. Suppose something was just looked at.

The computer was on. And Cora had recently learned a little about computers.

Cora sat in the tippy armchair, wheeled it up to the desk. The keyboard was on the desktop, a little high for her liking. There was no mouse pad, the mouse sat on the ink blotter.

The blotter was slightly askew. The left front corner had been moved about a half inch to the right, creating a diagonal line in the dust on the desk.

Someone had moved the blotter. Why? Was there something under it?

Cora pushed the keyboard aside, raised the edge of
the blotter. Saw nothing. Of course, the monitor was holding most of the blotter down. Should she move it?

In the living room, Mimi was reasoning with her child, with little success. From what Cora could tell, they had a lot more to discuss.

Cora pushed the monitor back, raised the blotter.

There was nothing there.

Except. . .

Was that something in the upper right-hand corner? Where the edge of the monitor still held the blotter down?

She hadn’t moved the monitor far enough. She had to move it again.

Uh-oh!

Darlene was quiet. The child from hell screams for fifteen minutes, and now she’s quiet?

Damn!

Cora’s left hand snaked out from under the blotter, grabbed the top of the monitor, tipped it up. Beneath the blotter her left hand was no longer holding up, her right hand fumbled forward, touched something, gripped it between her fingers.

The monitor began to fall.

Cora leaped to her feet. The desk chair shot across the room, banged into a small bookcase.

Cora lunged across the desk. Her right hand flew from beneath the blotter, grabbing the monitor as it went over. She wrestled it back onto the desk with her right hand, knocking the keyboard and mouse to the floor with her flailing left.

The ensuing racket was slightly louder than a bus-boy dropping a tray of dishes, slightly less than an atomic blast.

The baby wailed again. Its surprised tremolo could only mean Mimi had snatched it from the playpen.

Cora only had a second to straighten up the den.

Fat chance.

The monitor was sideways. The keyboard and mouse were on the floor. The desk chair had knocked a glass, a vase, and a framed photograph off the bookcase. Miraculously, none of them were broken, merely strewn across the floor.

Footsteps hurried in the direction of the study. Cora had approximately half a second to make things right.

She flung herself to the floor. She did it so convincingly she banged her head on the leg of the desk.

Mimi burst into the room. “My God! What happened?”

Cora looked up ruefully, rubbed her aching head. “I fell. I went to sit on the chair, completely lost my balance. I’m afraid I messed up the desk. Oh, dear! And the bookcase! Did anything break?”

Mimi glanced around the room, then looked back at the prone woman on the floor with the impatient feigned tolerance the young reserved for annoying infirmities of the elderly, and Cora knew she was home free.