And a Puzzle to Die On (21 page)

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

“Could we have this discussion while you’re driving? I’d like to hit Danbury before dawn.”

Sherry sighed and put the car in gear. “You know, if you could just apply the same mental agility to crossword puzzles.”

“God forbid!”

Still bickering, Sherry and Cora drove into Danbury. They stopped at the first pay phone and Cora called Information. “Can you give me the number for the Peter Burnside Detective Agency?”

“You mean Burnside Private Investigators?”

“That’s right.”

Information gave Cora the number.

“Is that on Hudson Street?” Cora asked.

“No. Three sixteen Main.”

“Thanks.”

Cora got back in the car. “It’s three sixteen Main Street.”

“You know where that is?”

“Sure. Right across from three fifteen. Come on. Can Main Street be hard to find?”

It wasn’t. Ten minutes later Sherry pulled up in front of a four-story office building in the middle of the block. The street was dead. There were no bars or restaurants, no residential buildings. Only stores and offices, all closed for the night.

There were no parked cars, so theirs stood out. A cruising police car slowed to take a look.

“Cora,” Sherry warned.

“Got it.” Cora switched on the overhead light, fished a map out of the glove compartment.

The cop pulled alongside, rolled his window down. “You ladies need any help?”

Cora managed to knock her glasses sideways peering over the map. “We’re looking for Route 7 South.”

The officer nodded, pointed. “Go down here, left at the light. Three blocks up you’ll see a sign.”

“Thanks.”

“What do we do now?” Sherry asked Cora out of the side of her mouth.

“I fold the map, and see if he drives off.”

He didn’t. The cop waited patiently while Cora folded the map, stuck it in the glove compartment, and turned off the overhead light.

“I’m afraid he’s a gentleman. Okay, follow his directions. Left at the light, and see if he leaves us be.”

The officer followed right along behind.

“Looks like we’re taking 7 South,” Cora said.

Sherry turned onto the highway.

“Good,” Cora said. “He went on by.”

“Can we go home now?”

“Silly girl. Take the next exit and loop around back.”

Sherry got off Route 7, drove a few blocks until they hit Main. “From this direction we’ll be right out front.”

“If we get there at all,” Cora said. “Here comes the cop.”

“Uh-oh. What do I do now, roll down the window and ask him for Route 8? I doubt if that’s gonna fly.”

“Shut up and let me think.”

The police car drove on by.

“It’s not him!” Sherry said.

“Yeah. We’re lucky this town’s big enough to have two cops on duty. Even so, it’s giving me the willies. Whaddya say we park down a side street?”

“Sure. Why not make this look as suspicious as possible?”

“Hey, we’re breaking and entering. I wouldn’t worry about
looking
suspicious.”

Sherry drove by the office building, pulled the car into the next side street.

“Remember,” Cora said as they got out. “We just walk up to the place as if we had every right to be there.”

“Despite the fact it’s midnight,” Sherry said dryly.

“Is it midnight?”

“Five after.”

“That’s a relief. I hate getting arrested on my birthday.”

The front door of the building had a lock, but it wasn’t engaged. Cora pushed the door right open.

“Look at that, Sherry. I really must speak to these people about their security.”

“Yeah, when they visit us in jail.”

“No one’s going to jail. Let’s see now. Where’s the directory? Ah, right next to the elevator, of course. Here we are. Burnside Private Investigators. Room two-oh-four. See if the elevator works. If it doesn’t, it’s just one flight.”

Cora pushed the button. The elevator door slid open. “Well, that’s easy.”

“Yeah. You think it’s a trap?”

“No, I think it’s just easy.”

The elevator rumbled up to two. A door at the far end of a corridor had
BURNSIDE PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS
stenciled on the frosted-glass window.

“Think this door’s unlocked?” Sherry said.

“If it is, this guy’s too dumb to live.” At Sherry’s look, Cora added, “Sorry, but that’s a fact.”

The door was locked.

“Now what?” Sherry said. “You wanna try the fire escape or break the frosted glass?”

“Tough choice.” Cora fished in her drawstring purse, came out with her gun.

“I was kidding!” Sherry exclaimed.

“Relax. I’m not going to shoot my way in.” Cora fumbled deeper in her purse, came out with a ring of keys. “Let’s see if one of these works.”

“You’ve got burglar’s keys?”

“Of course not. There’s only, what, six keys here. What are the odds one would fit?”

The third one did. The lock clicked back, and Cora swung the door open. “Shall we?”

“Aunt Cora! Where’d you get those keys?”

Cora smiled, her bright-eyed, trademark, Puzzle Lady smile. “Like it? I do. It was worth driving all the way here just to see your expression.”

“Damn it, where’d you get them?”

“A good magician never reveals trade secrets.”

“You’re not a magician. You’re about to be a dead aunt.”

“That’s a nasty image. Like something stepped on at a picnic.” Cora grabbed Sherry by the arm, jerked her into the office, kicked the door shut, and switched on the light.

“Hey, someone will see.”

“So? We’re secretaries working late. If it never happened, why would they leave the outer door open?”

“Don’t change the subject. Where did you get those keys?”

“Oh, these?” Cora held them up, smiled. “When Harvey fainted, he knocked me down on the corpse. I’d already recognized the guy.”

“You picked a dead man’s pocket?”

“I thought his keys might come in handy. I simply jammed them in my purse.”

“You weren’t really knocked out?”

“More like freaked out. Can you imagine having Harvey Beerbaum fall on you?”

Cora headed for the file cabinet, jerked open the top drawer.

“What are we looking for?” Sherry asked her.

“I’m looking for a file on the Blaine broad.”

“Broad?”

“When you’ve broken into a private dick’s office after midnight, the skirt he’s tailing is a broad. Don’t you read books? All right. Here we go. Ida Blaine. No file. Right. The husband’s paying the bills, and he’s got a different name. Okay, Quentin Hawes.” Cora slammed the drawer, pulled out a lower one. “Here we go. Damn! No file for him, either.”

“Maybe he just hired him.”

“There still should be a file. Maybe it’s on his desk.”

The desk was a rickety metal affair with a pencil drawer, and two deeper drawers. It supported a telephone, and a metal in/out box. The out-box was empty. The in-box was full with what appeared to be bills.

The desk chair was the type with arms and wheels. Cora sat in it, spun it around, jerked the right top drawer open. Found nothing more interesting than a
pint of rye. How cliché, Cora thought. And how inviting. It was a great temptation to have a drink on the dead man. There was something poetic about it. Of course, Sherry would absolutely freak. Cora told herself that was why she was passing it up.

Cora closed the top drawer, opened the bottom.

Ah, this was more like it. A rectangular account book. Cora reached in, pulled it out, saw immediately that it was not an account book, but a checkbook. A hard-bound ledger with three checks down each page.

Cora flipped the stubs over. To her astonishment, there was nothing written on them.

“There’s no check records,” Cora said irritably. She glanced up to see Sherry sitting at a small computer desk in the corner. “What are you doing?”

“Checking his business letters. Maybe he wrote his client.”

“Good thinking. Say, would that have his bank records too?”

“Sure, he’s got Quicken.”

“Can you check his last deposit?”

“Not without a password.”

“Damn. Can’t you get in some other way? Isn’t there a back door?”

“Oh, now you’re a computer geek? Talking about back doors? Hang on, let me try something.”

“What?”

“He’s got a lot of notepads open. Let me check ’em.” Sherry clicked on one. “Well, here’s the combination to his safe.”

“What safe?”

“Damned if I know. But it’s ‘L-24, R-48, L-15.’ Sure there’s not a safe somewhere?”

“Go ahead. I’ll look.”

Sherry clicked on another icon. “Here’s a license-plate number. ‘PUB 1403-NY.’ “She tried another. “Here we go. ‘Passwords. Q = CASH.’ Bet you a nickle that’s Quicken.”

“No takers. Give it a try.”

Sherry opened Quicken. When asked for the password, she typed in
cash
. “Ta-da!” she said, as the program opened. “Would you prefer checking or savings?”

“Start with checking.”

Sherry moved the mouse.

There was a knock on the door.

Sherry sucked in her breath, glanced at Cora. “What do we do now?” she whispered.

Cora put her finger to her lips.

The knock was repeated, louder this time.

“Cora!” Sherry mouthed.

Cora kept her finger raised insistently.

The door clicked open.

“Hello? Anybody here?”

A head peered around the corner of the door. The man spotted them, walked into sight. He was a paunchy security guard, most likely a retired cop.

Cora took one look, trilled, “Oh, thank goodness, it’s you! We were so scared. We didn’t know what to expect this time of night.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “You work here?”

“We’re working now. Is that a problem? It’s never been a problem before.”

“I’ve never
seen
you before.”

“I’ve never seen you, either. Are you new?”

“No, I’m not. How did you get in?”

“I got the keys from Mr. Burnside.” Cora frowned. “He didn’t say there’d be a problem.”

“No problem. Just making sure. That’s my job.”

“Well, it’s reassuring to know you’re out there. We’ll feel a lot safer going home.”

The guard stared at her, rubbed his chin. After an agonizing few moments, he said, “Good night,” and went out, closing the door behind him.

Sherry’s eyes were expressive. She mouthed, “Let’s get out of here!”

Cora smiled, said out loud, “Let’s go over those files, shall we?”

Sherry glanced at the door, sighed. “Sure thing.” She called up the page. “Let’s see. These are all checks. Rent. Utilities. Telephone. Cell phone.” She looked up at Cora. “How did you miss stealing that?”

“Go on, go on,” Cora told her.

“Car payments.”

“Huh. Poor man didn’t own his car outright. Now he never will.”

“Ah. Here we are. Five-hundred-dollar deposit a couple of weeks ago. And that is the last deposit since … Let me see. Five-hundred-dollar deposit the month before that.”

“Anything that isn’t regular?”

“I’m looking. But I don’t see anything.”

“That’s strange. If the guy hired Burnside to tail his wife, there ought to be a record of it.”

“Well, if so, he didn’t put it in checking.”

“Try savings.”

The savings account showed little activity and a balance of less than fifteen hundred dollars.

“Any other accounts?”

“That’s it.”

“I wonder where his safe is.”

“Aunt Cora.”

“Well, we’ve got the combination.”

Cora glanced around the office. It was a dreary affair. The off-white walls were dirty and unadorned, with the exception of a calendar and a bulletin board. The calendar was on the month of July. Either Burnside was too lazy to change it, or he happened to like the scantily clad model depicted on it.

The bulletin board, hung on a wire, was about three-by-four feet and contained mostly business cards and the jack of diamonds, which, Cora recalled, was a hard card to play. The majority of business cards appeared to be for takeout food. There were a couple of letters, one about parking space, another about lease renewal. Evidently, Burnside had been killed in the nick of time. His rent was about to go up three hundred bucks a month.

Cora pulled the bulletin board away from the wall, peered behind it. Her expectations were low. It was way too obvious a place for a wall safe.

Cora blinked in amazement. Recessed in the wall was a round metal door with a combination lock.

“Sherry!” Cora hissed.

Sherry didn’t answer. She was busy at the computer.

Cora couldn’t reach the safe. She glanced around the office. Leaning against the far wall was a folding chair.

Cora started for the chair.

The door flew open and a cop with a gun burst in.

“All right, hold it right there!”

Cora stopped in mid-stride. She gawked at the officer, then grinned at the absurdity of it all. “You’re telling me to
freeze
?”

The young cop sported a crew cut, a beer belly, and a steely gaze. He probably hadn’t smiled since his last doughnut. “I’m telling you to hold it right there. Take
your hand out of your purse, slow, so I can see it. You at the computer, keep your hands on the keyboard, that will be just fine. And you take your hand out of your purse real slowly.”