And a Puzzle to Die On (15 page)

Cora gathered up her drawstring purse, and followed the doctor into his office.

Dr. Jenkins closed the door slightly harder than necessary, then turned to glare. “Miss Felton. My receptionist told you I was very busy and couldn’t see you.”

“Yes, she did.”

“Whereupon you raised your voice and said it was an emergency, you were afraid you might have SARS.”

“Actually, I feel much better now,” Cora said.

“I’m sure my other patients will be glad to hear it. I don’t know why you’re doing this to me, but would you please stop? This is not a game. This is my profession. Those people are my patients.”

“Yes, but they’re not your only patients, are they?”

“What do you mean?”

“You put in one day a week at the penitentiary.”

“Yes, I do. So what?”

“You didn’t mention it to me before.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” the doctor said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize we were discussing my general practice.”

“No, we were discussing Ricky Gleason’s automobile accident. I’m wondering if you were working at the penitentiary the day that happened.”

Dr. Jenkins was genuinely surprised. “What in the world has that got to do with anything?”

“I don’t know. It’s a long day. A long drive. Maybe you weren’t home yet when the call came in. Maybe you were late getting to the scene.”

“That has no bearing on the situation whatsoever.”

“Why?”

“The EMTs are often first on the scene.”

“Was that true in Ricky Gleason’s case?”

“I would imagine so.”

“Can’t you do a little better than that, Doctor? Jog your memory. Did you have no preconceived notions when you examined the body? Or did someone say, ‘The dead guy’s over there’?”

“As I recall, I was told on the phone it was a fatality. I fail to see what this has to do with me working at the prison.”

“I just wondered if it was the same day.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Could you check it for me, Doc? I’d really like to know.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Do you have the date of the accident?”

“Yes, I do. It was ten-thirty on the evening of August 12.”

Dr. Jenkins consulted his desk calendar, flipped back two months. Shook his head. “August 12 was a Tuesday. I’m at the prison Wednesday afternoons.”

“You ever swap a day?”

“No, I’m always there on Wednesday.”

“What if there’s an emergency?”

“It sometimes happens. I don’t think it did.”

“Could you make sure?”

Dr. Jenkins scowled, picked up the phone, pressed the intercom button. “Margie, could you check the appointment book for August 12? This past August. Did I keep my appointments on that day?” He listened, said, “Uh-huh. Thanks,” and hung up the phone. “I had seven appointments after lunch. One canceled, I kept the rest. I did not go near the prison.”

“Uh-huh. And what day are your parole hearings?”

Dr. Jenkins winced. Clearly he hadn’t seen the question coming. Though why it should bother him, Cora had no idea.

She pressed her advantage. “Is that on a particular day, or just when they call you?”

“What’s that got to do with anything? What’s any of this got to do with anything? Why am I even talking to you?”

“You’re trying to cure me of SARS.”

Dr. Jenkins took a breath. “Miss Felton—”

“I’m a pain in the fanny, Doc. And I don’t go away. Trust me, you’re much better off just having a little chat. Now, with regard to your parole hearings, is that a regular thing?”

“No. It meets whenever it’s called.”

“Is that often?”

“Not very. Brandon is a maximum-security prison. Prisoners aren’t paroled often.”

“But some of them have hearings.”

“Some do. But as parole is unlikely, there’s no particular urgency.” Dr. Jenkins made a face. “Don’t quote me on that. That wasn’t really what I meant to say.”

“Don’t sweat it, Doc. The older you get, the harder it is to be a liberal. You’ll find out. Anyway, have you had a parole hearing lately?”

“I would say it’s been a good six months.”

“Do you recall who you heard?”

“Good lord, no. Probably five to ten cases. Frankly, they all become a blur.”

“I’ll try not to quote you on that either, Doc. Would you happen to remember if Darryl Daigue was among them?”

“Darryl Daigue? The sex killer?”

“Actually, he didn’t have sex.”

“What?”

“He’s in for murder. The rape was dismissed.”

“Yes, I remember him. We were supposed to examine him, see if there was anything extraordinary that would lead to a reevaluation of his sentence. Of course, there wasn’t.”

“Uh-huh. Then his file would be stamped ‘Parole Denied’?”

“Of course.”

“Are any of the other inmates in Mr. Daigue’s position?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hopeless cases. Men without a chance of parole.”

“Of course. There always are.”

“I see,” Cora said.

Dr. Jenkins frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“Just trying to get the general picture. Now, you treated Darryl Daigue as his physician?”

“If you can call it that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a malingerer. Just trying to get drugs.”

“You give him any?”

“Just aspirin. I tell him it’s aspirin with codeine. He grumbles, but he goes away.”

“You give him any lately?”

“Last week. Why?”

“I wonder if he sold it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch. All right, look, Doc, I may have to talk to you. That’s my job. I don’t wanna terrorize your patients, but I don’t wanna be told to leave. I’ll try to make it as seldom and as quick and as painless as possible. But if I need to see you, let me in. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Cora and Dr. Jenkins shook hands.

Cora went out to the waiting room. A cute little blond number, not as young as she would have liked to think she was, but probably not as old as Cora cattily classified her, was at the reception desk. The woman clearly had money and liked to show it. Her simple, understated necklace glittered with small diamonds. Her matching earrings were flawless. Her hair gave the impression she never actually combed it herself, but stopped by the beauty parlor every morning for a tune-up.

The woman was giving the receptionist a hard time. Cora wasn’t surprised. In fact, Cora would have been surprised if she weren’t.

“I didn’t
ask
you what his schedule was like, I just told you to fit me in. Oh,
there
you are,” she said as the
doctor appeared in the doorway. “I was trying to impress upon your
girl
that you
must
give me a minute, but she
really
doesn’t get it.”

The woman flashed venomous eyes at the receptionist, and sailed past the doctor into his office.

Cora went out through the waiting room and was only slightly amused to see that the patients were still avoiding her couch. In fact, she barely noticed. Her mind was fixed on the features of the woman who’d just been at the reception desk.

The woman seemed very familiar. It occurred to Cora she was most likely the same woman who had been so pushy on Cora’s first visit to the doctor’s office. But Cora hadn’t seen that woman. Dr. Jenkins had talked to her on the phone.

Cora had seen the woman’s face before, but she couldn’t remember where. She was just getting into her car when it hit her.

The woman was in the picture of the parole board with Dr. Jenkins.

Chief Harper frowned as Cora walked in. “What is it now? You got another license plate for me to trace?”

“That’s right,” Cora said.

He looked dismayed. “I was kidding.”

“Many a true word is spoken in jest. I forget who said that. Or why. The guy was probably joking. Doesn’t matter. Here’s the plate. Can you run it down?”

“Cora, this is becoming a bad habit.”

“Not at all. This is a brand-new Mercedes. The woman lives in a ritzy part of town in a house big enough to have servants. Not that I think she does, just that she could.”

“Was this woman following you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Then it’s just like the other license-plate number you wanted traced. I take it you still haven’t found the car that was following you, which is why you’d like to trace another one that wasn’t?”

“That’s right, Chief. Can you do it?”

Harper shook his head. “I didn’t know what a bad precedent I was setting. I mean, when I think of the number of cars in this state that
aren’t
following you. You could easily bring me a new one every day. Hell, I bet I could spot a couple just by looking out the window.”

“I’m interested in this particular one, Chief.”

“You mind telling me why?”

“I’m not sure I’m up to the ridicule.”

“I’m not sure I’m up to tracing the plate.”

“She’s on the parole board that heard Darryl Daigue’s case.”

“Really? Then I bet you could get her name without my help.”

“I’d still like to know who registered the flashy car she’s driving.”

“Uh-huh. If I do this, you promise you won’t be in here with another plate tomorrow?”

“I can’t do that.”

“You what?” Harper said incredulously.

“What if I get a solid lead, something that screams for attention. You gonna let an innocent man rot in jail ’cause you forced me into some ridiculous promise? That would be one of the most gross travesties of justice in the history of law enforcement.”

“Can you promise not to bring me one as trivial as this?”

“I’d say that’s a given, Chief. Can you
imagine
one more trivial than this?” Cora grinned, and ducked out the door.

The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee from Cushman’s Bake Shop reminded Cora she’d missed lunch. A pastry would hit the spot.

Cora went into the bake shop, where Harvey Beerbaum had just been waited on.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the instigator himself. Tell me, Harvey, are you about done?”

Harvey Beerbaum was all wide-eyed innocence. “Why, Cora, whatever do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean—Good afternoon, Mrs. Cushman; I’ll have a coffee and a cranberry scone—You know exactly what I mean, Harvey. You happen to have a strange idea of confetti. Do-it-yourself birthday cards from some of the brighter lights in the crossword-puzzle community.”

“Oh, really,” Harvey said, all innocence. “I take it you have a birthday coming up?”

Cora took her coffee to the condiment counter, dumped in milk and sugar. “You gotta work on your innocent act, Harvey. You’d make a bad thief.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just how many more puzzle cards can I count on?”

“How many have you received?”

“Two.”

“Well, that hardly seems like a sufficient quantity. If, as you suspect, this was organized in some way, you would most certainly anticipate more than two.”

“Yes,” Cora said. “The question was, how
many
more than two?”

“That really depends on who chooses to play. If you send out invitations to a party, you don’t expect everyone to come.”

Cora’s eyes narrowed. “A party?”

“Just an example.” Harvey took the top off his coffee, added more milk. It was nearly white.

“Have a little coffee with your milk,” Cora told him.

“Oh, dear, it is rather light, isn’t it?” Harvey snapped the top back on, took a sip. “Who were your cards from?”

“Nancy Salomon and Manny Nosowsky.” Knowing she’d be asked, Cora had been careful to memorize the names.

“Pretty impressive people.”

“Yeah,” Cora said. “Well, guess what? Nancy gave you up.”

Harvey frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Fifty-three Across:
Constructor sending best wishes to the birthday gal
. Answer:
Harvey
.”

“Oh.”

“And Manny just happened to know I like
Star Wars
. Where do you suppose he heard that?”

“I might have mentioned something to a couple of constructors.”

“How many, Harvey?”

“I don’t know. Half a dozen, maybe. Which doesn’t mean they’re all going to play. As you said yourself.”

“I see.”

“Happy birthday, Cora.”

“It’s not my birthday yet.”

“No, of course not. Silly of me. But I couldn’t ask them
on
your birthday. Then you’d never get them in time. So, better early than late, right?”

“Better for who?”

Cora stomped out of Cushman’s Bake Shop and back to the police station.

Chief Harper looked up from his desk in weary resignation. “Back so soon? Please tell me you’re here for the license plate, you haven’t come up with something else.”

“Well, actually …”

Harper’s face fell. “Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, I am. You trace the plate?”

“Yes, I did. It’s the woman’s car, all right. At least I assume it’s her car. It’s registered to a woman.”

“You didn’t check that out?” As he looked up sharply, she added, “That was another joke, Chief. I’m grateful for the information you’re giving me. I’ll vet it myself.”

“Well, for starters, the address on the registration is the same one you gave me, so the car belongs to the house.”