And a Puzzle to Die On (22 page)

Cora was surprised to find she had her hand in her purse. She was even more surprised to find she was holding her gun. Her husband Melvin had trained her well. Too bad he was such a son of a bitch.

Cora pulled her empty hand out of her purse.

The security guard peered around the side of the cop. “That’s them. Never seen them before. Good thing I called.”

“All right, lady, who are you?” the young cop demanded.

“I’m Cora Felton, this is my niece, Sherry Carter.”

“You got any ID?”

“Yeah. You wanna see it?”

“Yes, I do.”

Cora suppressed a smile that the young cop was making her dig into the same purse he just made her take her hand out of. She actually had to push her gun aside to get to her wallet.

“Here’s my driver’s license, Officer. Examine it if you like, but don’t look at the picture. It’s really bad.”

There was no disputing that. Cora’s eyes were closed, and her mouth was twisted in a criminal sneer. The woman on Cora’s driver’s license did not look like someone who sold breakfast cereal to children. She looked like someone on
America’s Most Wanted
.

The young cop seemed to put her in that category. “What are you doing here?” he snarled.

Cora could not have smiled more sweetly had the young officer been her son. “Well, that’s just the point. We were looking for evidence of employment.”

He frowned. “Huh?”

“And so far we can’t find any, which is rather annoying.”

“They don’t work here,” the security guard prompted anxiously. “They got no right to be here.”

“Is that so?” the cop said. “You don’t work here?”

“Well, that’s a matter of semantics,” Cora said judiciously. “We were actually doing some work when you—arrived.”

“How’d you get in?”

“I have a key.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“From Mr. Burnside.”

“Mr. Burnside gave you a key?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The cop scowled. “Lady, I don’t like the way you answer questions. Good thing you called, Chuck. There’s something not kosher here.” He wheeled on Sherry. “What’s
your
name?”

“Sherry Carter.”

“You got ID?”

Sherry passed over her driver’s license.

The cop examined it, frowned. “This says Sherry Pride.”

“That’s my married name.”

“You don’t use it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m divorced.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Helping my aunt.”

“This lady’s your aunt?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you work here?”

“Same as she does.”

The young cop frowned. “That’s no answer. Do you know Mr. Burnside?”

“No, I don’t.”

“He didn’t give you a key?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“You see him give your aunt a key?”

“No, I didn’t.”

The cop wheeled back on Cora. “Looks like you’re on the hook for this one.”

An older cop came in the door. His hair was mussed, his shirt was unbuttoned, and only half tucked in. He had clearly been woken from a sound sleep, and wasn’t thrilled about it.

His mouth fell open when he saw Cora.

He groaned.

“I might have known!”

The cop was Sergeant Walpole.

Becky Baldwin looked like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her makeup was perfect. Every hair was in place. Her tan outfit was miraculously un-wrinkled. Looking at her, one could never guess it was two
A.M.

One would have known it from Sergeant Walpole. He’d had a cup of coffee—three cups, in fact—but he could have done with a shower, shave, and about twelve hours’ sleep. Even so, Becky looked so good, he could barely bring himself to be rude to her.

“Miss Baldwin, I appreciate the fact you drove all the way from Bakerhaven to visit these two, and I’m glad you all had a little chat, but the fact is, the judge ain’t coming in till the morning, so there’s nothing you can do.”

Becky smiled like the cop had just complimented her on her perfume. “Well, that’s certainly an interesting starting point for our discussion. Why don’t we see what we can do about that?”

“There’s nothing we
can
do. That’s the point I’m
trying to impress upon you. We don’t have night court here in Danbury. You’re unlucky enough to get locked up at two in the morning, you’re gonna stay in a holding cell till the judge gets here at ten.”

“That’s why it would be most advantageous for all concerned if my clients were not locked up.”

“I’m sure it would. Unfortunately, your clients were apprehended rifling a dead man’s office.”

“I seriously doubt that, Sergeant.” Becky turned to Cora and Sherry, seated at the table in the interrogation room. “Do you think these ladies look capable of rifling anything? I find the idea absurd.”

“I saw them myself.”

“Rifling the office?”

“In the office.”

“Rifling it?”

“No. After they’d been stopped by the security guard.”

“The security guard caught them
rifling
the office?”

“Well …”

“Wasn’t his original impression that they were
working
in the office? Wasn’t his only concern that he had never seen them before? And if he
had
seen them before, wouldn’t he have been completely reassured that they
were
working in the office?”

“I can’t vouch for what the security guard
thought
.”

Becky smiled. “Oh, but you are. You just told me these women were caught rifling the office. You also told me it was the security guard who caught them rifling. Now, are you not vouching for what the security guard thought when you characterize their activity as rifling?”

Sergeant Walpole rubbed his forehead. “Come again?”

“So, surely we can clear this matter up.”

“I doubt it. I hate to rain on your parade, Miss Baldwin, but I don’t care what you wanna call it. These two were discovered in the office of Mr. Burnside, where they had no right to be, after midnight. They pretended they were working, though they do not work there. They claim Burnside gave them a key, though that statement is suspect, since Burnside is dead. You have any problems with that assessment of the situation?”

“I don’t think it’s true.”

Sergeant Walpole scowled.

“Don’t take offense. I’m sure
you
think it’s true. You just happen to be mistaken.”

“And you’d like to point out the error of my ways?”

“No, don’t take it like that. We’re just having a nice chat. The fact it’s two in the morning has nothing to do with it.”

“I’ll say.”

“You say my clients were in the office where they had no right to be. However, they had a key to that office. If they were given a key to the office, they had every right to be there.”

“Now you’re claiming the dead guy gave them a key?”

“Not at all. I’m merely dissecting your statement. That’s the first part that’s incorrect. Then you say they pretended they were working. I would think that would be a very hard thing to do. I don’t know how one could pretend to work. I would think you would have to work at it. But then you wouldn’t be pretending, would you?”

“You know what I mean. They pretended they were working for Mr. Burnside.”

Becky’s perfect eyebrows arched. “Oh? That’s another matter entirely. They pretended they were working for Mr. Burnside? I didn’t know the security guard made that claim. Let’s get him in here. See if he recalls them mentioning anything about working for Mr. Burnside.”

“You’re twisting my words,” Sergeant Walpole yelped.

“On the contrary, Sergeant. I’m doing my best to take your words literally. So let’s push on. Next, you say my clients claimed Burnside gave them the key. I’m sure you’ll find they made no such claim. Here’s my understanding—and correct me if I’m wrong—the security guard asked Miss Felton where she got the key, and she replied that she got it from Mr. Burnside. But she never said he gave it to her.”

“If he didn’t give it to her, she got it illegally.”

“May I quote you on that?”

“It’s gotta be one or the other.”

“Don’t be absurd. There’s lots of legal ways she could have obtained it.”

“Name one.”

“He could have sold it to her.”

“Yeah, sure,” Walpole scoffed.

“He could have assigned it to her when he employed her.”

“Isn’t assigning it to her the same as giving it to her?”

“You really want to discuss semantics at two in the morning?”

“No. Are you claiming he employed her?”

“Not at all. We were talking hypothetically.”

“It’s two
A.M.
I don’t wanna talk hypothetically.”

“Neither do I. I would very much like to go home. I would like to take these two women with me.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why? What are they charged with?”

“They’re not charged with anything yet. They haven’t been arraigned.”

“What charge did you arrest them on?”

“Breaking and entering.”

“They didn’t break and enter. They had a key.”

“Which they obtained illegally.”

“Says who? The security guard? What does
he
know? I can’t wait to cross-examine him on how he knew where they got that key.”

“Let’s not start that again!”

“So what are you going to charge them with? It’s clearly not breaking and entering. It’s not robbery. There was no attempt to take anything. What else is there? Oh, yes. The security guard’s extraordinary claim that they
pretended
they were working. If that
were
true, what would the charge be? Impersonating a file clerk? I didn’t know that was illegal in Connecticut.”

“The charge is breaking and entering. If they want to advance the defense that they had a key, that’s their business.”

“And if they want to sue you for false arrest, that’s mine. Come on, Sergeant, be a sport. If you can find me two less likely flight risks than Sherry and Cora, I’ll buy you dinner. You wanna arraign ’em tomorrow morning, fine, I’ll see they show up. But don’t hold them overnight in the drunk tank like a pair of hookers. Send them home with me. If you do that, I’ll promise not to sue you for false arrest, even if the judge kicks the charge.”

Sergeant Walpole bit his lip, considered.

At the interrogation table, Cora surreptitiously
nudged Sherry in the ribs. “He’s gonna go for it,” she whispered.

“Looks like it,” Sherry whispered back.

“If he does, I want you to do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Ride home with Becky.”

Cora made more figure eights than an Olympic-hopeful skater. No one seemed to be following her. Still, she wanted to be sure. She made one more loop and pulled into a back alley two blocks away from Burnside’s office.

Cora knew the best way to be unobtrusive was to walk along the street perfectly normally as if nothing had happened. Unfortunately, there was no way to walk along the street normally three hours before dawn. Cora skulked in the shadows, kept her eye out for cars.

There was no police car by the office, at least none in sight. Cora scoped it out from the alley across the street. If there was a cop around, she wouldn’t know he was there till she tried the door.

Cora could imagine the look on Sergeant Walpole’s face if she was hauled into the police station again.

It was almost worth getting arrested just for that.

Cora smiled, crossed the street.

A car came around the corner. Headlights raked the storefronts next to the office building.

Cora ducked back into the shadows. A no-brainer decision. If the cop saw her, she was dead meat. It wouldn’t matter if he saw her hiding, or crossing the street. There was no talking her way out of this one. Not if the cop knew her, and had seen her sent on her way.

Cora crouched in the doorway of a newsstand as the headlights flashed on by.

It was teenagers out joyriding.

Hell, Cora thought. Why weren’t the cops busting them? The kids were probably drunk. What could the police be thinking of?

Cora hurried across the street, hoping against hope the cops hadn’t locked the front door.