And a Puzzle to Die On (24 page)

Cora tried the doorknob.

It opened.

Cora kicked herself in the head for being so stupid. She consoled herself with the fact it was four in the morning, and she’d been given a sedative after someone dropped a body on her. Still, you try the door. After all, she’d tried every
other
door. Why not the front one?

Cora pushed it open, went in.

She was immediately jumped on by a yapping little dog, which set new decibel records as it darted in and out like a deranged hornet, clawing at her legs and snapping at her feet. Cora didn’t know whether to defend herself or pet it.

The dog wasn’t sure, either. He scooted halfway up the front stairs, bounded down again, shot through Cora’s legs, and whizzed into the living room.

That seemed like an invitation to her. Cora followed the poodle through the doorway.

The body of Valerie Thompkins lay sprawled in front of the coffee table. Valerie had somehow managed to sweep everything off the table and onto the floor. An ashtray was overturned, strewing cigarette butts on the white shag rug. A whiskey glass had fallen, leaving an amber stain. Magazines were strewn about, including
Cosmopolitan, People
, and the
TV Guide
.

Valerie lay on her back, with her head lolling crazily to one side. Blood had stopped flowing from the gaping gash in her neck. There was a fairly good pool of it soaking into the white carpet.

The minute Cora was in the room, the poodle barked even more insistently.
All right, I got you here, now do something about it. Make Mommie better
.

Cora knew there was no way in the world she could make Mommie better, and yet she felt for a pulse. Was not surprised to find none. The poodle skidded around the room in crazy circles, romping through the pool of blood, which he somehow had managed to avoid before. Little red paw prints appeared on the rug, tracing the path of the lunatic dog, as it attempted to coax its owner back to life.

Valerie Thompkins was wearing a white blouse and black slacks. There was nothing in her pockets. Nothing clenched in either hand. Cora felt sheepish for looking. Of course there was nothing in her hands. People didn’t die clutching clues. Or write messages in blood. Though there was certainly enough to do it. And—

Good lord!

Was she seeing things?

No, there was a smear of blood on Valerie’s right index finger.

Good lord!

Cora bent down, tried to peer under the coffee table. She couldn’t see a thing. Not from that angle.

Cursing, Cora lay down flat on the rug, trying to avoid the cigarette ash, the whiskey stain, and the blood. Wriggling on her back, she inched her way under the coffee table.

There, on the bottom of the table, not twelve inches from her nose, was scrawled the word bud, in what appeared to be blood.

Cora felt a cold chill.

She also felt foolish as hell.

Here she was, living out some childhood fantasy from a Nancy Drew novel. The killer’s name in blood? What next?

The poodle romped over her stomach. It didn’t weigh much, but the nails hurt.

Cora started, banged her head on the bottom of the table. She groaned, rubbed her forehead, knocked off her glasses. She fumbled for them, rammed them on again. Looked at the bottom of the table to make sure she hadn’t just imagined bud.

She hadn’t.

But she
had
smudged it.

The midline of the
B
was gone, smushing together the upper and lower loops.

At a casual glance, the message now read dud.

Cora wondered if it was an editorial comment.

Cora rolled her head away from her handiwork, squirmed out from underneath the coffee table, sat up, and took stock of the situation. She knew what she had to do. She had to call the cops, wait till they arrived,
apologize, and explain. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could do. At least she could straighten them out on when the bloody paw prints were made.

And how
BUD
became
DUD
.

And why she’d gone there in the first place.

And where she got the check.

Cora’d gotten about that far in her list as she wiped her fingerprints off the front doorknob and hurried to her car. She started the engine, pulled out with her lights off, just in case anyone was watching.

Cora drove out of town, stopped at a filling station. There was a pay phone next to the road. Cora dropped a quarter in, dialed 911. When the operator came on, she said, “There’s been a break-in at three twenty-five Hickory Road.”

“Who is this?”

“This is a good Samaritan, reporting a break-in. I think the owner may be in trouble. Get a car out there at once.”

“Can you confirm the identity of the owner of the house?”

Cora slammed down the phone, hopped in her car, and drove as if the devil were at her heels.

Sherry Carter moaned, “For Christ’s sake, what time is it?”

“Time to get up.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“Come on, come on,” Cora chided. “You gonna sleep all day?”

Sherry raised her head from the pillow, focused bleary eyes on the clock. She blinked, rubbed them, looked again. “Six
A.M.
?”

“Yeah, I was going to let you sleep till six in the evening, but you’d have missed the fun.”

“Aunt Cora—”

Cora’s face was hard. “Get up. Now. You got some explaining to do.”

“I do?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. Splash some water on your face and make some coffee.”

Sherry rolled out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom. She took time to brush her teeth, before joining Cora in the kitchen.

Sherry found her aunt staring at the coffeemaker as if it were some technological marvel that surpasseth human understanding. Cora had filled the pot with water, and was squinting at the coffeemaker sideways, looking for someplace to pour it. “Where the hell does this go?” she demanded.

“How many times have you seen me make coffee?”

“One too few.” Cora thrust the pot into Sherry’s hands. “And hurry up with it. I’m dead on my feet.”

“No kidding.”

Sherry poured the water into the coffeemaker, saw that Cora had taken the bag of ground coffee from the freezer, but had failed to find and wash the filter. Sherry swung it out now, dumped the coffee grounds, washed it in the sink. She measured out the coffee, swung the filter back into the machine, switched it on. She turned back to find her aunt sitting at the table smoking a cigarette.

Sherry put her hands on her hips. “All right. I did what you said. I rode back with Becky. And believe me, that was no treat. She used me for a punching bag most of the way. And what could I say in my defense? After all, we had broken into the damn office.”

“We got in with the key, Sherry.”

“Which you picked from the dead man’s pocket.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Well, then, tell me the point. Because I have a hard time recognizing it on two hours’ sleep.”

“I’ve had none.”

“Is that my fault?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“Cora. What have you done?”

“You know that office we broke into?”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Okay.” Cora took a drag on her cigarette, tried to blow a smoke ring. It looked like Picasso drew it.

The coffee burbled. Sherry yanked two cups out of the cupboard, grabbed the milk from the refrigerator, slopped in the coffee. “I think I’m going to need this. Here’s yours. Now, what did you do?”

“I went back in that office.”

“I thought they took your keys.”

“What’s your point?”

Sherry sighed. “All right. What did you find?”

Cora reached in her drawstring purse, flopped the check on the dining room table. “This.”

“You brought it home? Why didn’t you put it back?”

“I was afraid I’d fall off the desk.”

“Come again?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Better. So what are you gonna do? Give it to Chief Harper?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s dead.”

“Dead! What are you talking about? Who’s dead?”

“The woman who wrote the check.”

Cora told Sherry about finding the body of Valerie Thompkins.

“My God, Cora! And you didn’t call the police?”

“Sure I did. I just didn’t say it was me.”

“You reported a murder?”

“Good lord, no. How would I know that? I reported a break-in.”

“You didn’t give your name?”

“Of course not.”

“You made up a name?”

“No, I hung up the phone.”

“You called from the house?”

“Do I look stupid?”

“Well, you don’t look like a Mensa candidate. What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I washed it.”

“Why?”

“To get the blood out.”

“Blood?”

“The woman’s blood. From the secret message, naming her killer.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I were.”

Cora told Sherry about finding the message on the coffee table.

“You changed
Bud
to
Dud
?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“That’s about the worst thing you could have done.”

“I suppose I could have written
Chud
.”

“You didn’t tell the police any of this?”

“No. I just reported a break-in, and got the hell out of there. Actually, I got the hell out of there first. I called from a pay phone.”

“You think they believed you?”

“I hope so. I’m worried about the dog.”

“What dog?”

“The toy poodle. It’s yapping its head off. It’s very upset.”

“Cora, you have bigger problems right now than a poodle.”

“Yes, I do. That’s why I woke you up. Before I talk
to anyone. Before I figure out what I’m going to say to the chief. Or the Danbury cops, for that matter. There’s one thing I gotta know.”

“What’s that?”

“How much of this is your fault?”

Sherry’s mouth fell open. “Aunt Cora—”

“Don’t play innocent with me.” Cora’s eyes were hard. “How dumb do you think I am? A guy croaks, and whaddya do? Drive me to Danbury. Help me break into his office.”

“You had a key.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s your own argument.”

“Don’t change the subject. Why’d you drive me to Danbury?”

“I didn’t want you to go alone.”

“I
couldn’t
have gone alone. Dr. Feelgood’s shot hadn’t worn off yet. I was still woozy. I should have gone home to bed. Instead, you drove me to Danbury. Which is entirely out of character. You wanna tell me why?”

“Why do you think?”

“I don’t think, I know. I’ve been depressed lately. Ever since the wedding didn’t come off. Which is putting it mildly. Down in the doldrums. Whatever the
hell they are. So you decided to cheer me up. Decided a little detective work was just what the doctor ordered.”

“For Christ’s sake, Cora. What’s the difference why I gave you a ride? The fact is, I did, and now we have to deal with the result.”

“I’m not talking about you giving me a ride.”

“Then you’re in worse shape than I thought, because that’s exactly what you just said.”

“That was an
example
. Of what you’ve been up to.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean.” Cora took an angry drag on her cigarette. “Becky Baldwin’s gonna take a case without interviewing the client? She’s gonna send me out instead?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything. I’d have seen it before, if I wasn’t as depressed as you say. If I hadn’t wanted the work. Why did you do it?”

“Aunt Cora—”

“Why did you do it?”

Sherry took a breath. Sighed. “For your birthday.”

“What?”

“I wanted to do something nice for your birthday. Ah, hell. It was really Harvey Beerbaum’s fault.”

“Harvey?”

“He was doing everything wrong. Knocking himself out, giving you something you’d hate. I wanted to give you something you’d like.”

“So you went to Becky Baldwin?”

“It didn’t seem such a bad idea at the time.”

“You hired Becky Baldwin?”

“I didn’t hire her. I gave her money to hire you.”