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  “I don’t know. I’ve never delivered blackmail money.”

  “Is it in a briefcase?”

  “No.”

  “How come?”

  “Maybe a half a million. This is a piddling ten thousand.” Becky opened her desk drawer, took out a manila envelope that had been folded and taped into a small, rectangular package.

  Cora frowned. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s ten thousand dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  “In small, unmarked bills?”

  “It’s in ten packets of twenties. Fifty to a packet.”

  “Are you sure? If this is a gag it could be paper cut in the size of twenty dollar bills.”

  “No, it’s real.”

  “Mind if I verify that?”

  “Only if you’re taking the case.”

  “What?”

  “If you’re not, it’s none of your business. I’m sure my client wouldn’t want me showing it to an outsider.”

  “Well, I’m not taking the case unless you can prove it’s money.”

  “I can prove it’s money.”

  “Go ahead and prove it.”

  “Not till you take the case.”

  Cora scowled. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

  Becky smiled. “No, but it’s an added perk.”

  “Show me the money.”

  “Take the case.”

  “Show me the money first.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” Becky said. “All right, I’ll show you the money first. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If it’s ten thousand dollars, you’ll take the case.”

  “That’s the same thing,” Cora protested.

  “I can tell you six reasons why it isn’t.”

  “I’m sure you could. All right,” Cora said. “How about this? I’ll agree to take the case on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” Becky said.

  “That there’s ten thousand dollars in that package.”

  “How’s that different from what I said,” Becky wanted to know.

  “It’s entirely different.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I said it.”

  Chapter

  4

  The abandoned service station was a mile and a half out of town on the southwest corner of North Street and Maple. Cora drove by from every conceivable direction. She saw nothing. Not that she expected to. Still, it occurred to her the blackmailer might be keeping an eye on the station. In which case her driving by so much might be pissing him off. Cora certainly hoped so. She wasn’t the least bit happy with the situation, and wanted the blackmailer to feel so, too.

  Cora checked her watch. Five minutes to twelve. Would the blackmailer mind if she was early? You wouldn’t think so. But some blackmailers were pretty persnickety. At least the ones in the books she read. Granted, they were fiction. Even so, if Cora was going to do the job, she wanted to do it right. And it wasn’t just a sense of pride. She didn’t want the blackmailer, Becky, or the mysterious client pointing the finger at her.

  Not to mention the police.

  Cora shivered at the thought. And was instantly angry. She’d often played fast and loose with the police. But always on her own terms. That was why it didn’t bother her. She was always in charge. But here she was, playing by someone else’s rules in a game she knew nothing about.

  What bothered her most was that she’d let Becky talk her into it. That was not the type of relationship she wanted to have with the young attorney. Cora had worked with Becky before, but Cora had always been in charge, always called the shots. It was never the other way around. And it was important to keep it that way, if they were going to be working together.

  Cora frowned. Was that what was happening? With Sherry slipping into the role of wife and mother, was Becky emerging as the heir apparent, the coconspirator, confidant, and aider and abettor? She’d certainly slipped into that role when Sherry was in Kenya on her honeymoon. And with Sherry in the hospital—

  Hospital.

  She should call the hospital. Cora wished for once she had a cell phone. Not only couldn’t she call the hospital, but no one could reach her if something was wrong. Not that anything would be wrong. But still …

  Aw, hell.

  Twelve o’clock.

  Cora needed a cigarette.

  The hell she did. It’s twelve o’clock. High noon. Quit stalling. Just do it.

  Cora pulled into the station, drove by the pumps. They were locked. Had been for years, ever since the station closed. It struck Cora as funny. Two large, heavy-duty padlocks protecting the empty pumps. If they were indeed empty. Or was there still gasoline down there? And if there was, would it be possible to tap it? With fuel prices so high, you wouldn’t think it would be.…

  Cora shook her head angrily. She couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was leaping with lightning speed from one topic to another. Anything other than the task.

  Cora drove on by the front of the station, the plate-glass windows boarded up with chain-mail gates, and around to the side where the air hose was. She wondered if that still worked. Her tires did seem a little flat and—

  In the far corner, nestled up against the side of the station, was the Dumpster. Cora had wondered why it was still there. The gas pumps and the air hose were fixtures, but a Dumpster could be picked up and carted away. It was easy to see why no one wanted it. The metal was so badly rusted it was hard to tell it had once been green. The seams were cracked and there were holes in the sides.

  A hell of a place to leave a blackmail payment.

  Cora walked up to the Dumpster. It was about shoulder height, and had a metal cover. There was a hole for a padlock, but of course there was none. Too bad. If there had been, she could have scrubbed the mission and it wouldn’t have been her fault.

  Cora raised the lid.

  She dropped it with a clang they must have heard all the way to Bakerhaven.

  There was a dead body in the Dumpster.

  Chapter

  5

  Cora steeled herself, raised the lid again.

  The man was about thirty-five to forty. He had brown hair and blue eyes. He was not a bad looking man. Cora would have considered him marriage material except for the bullet in his head.

  The man had been shot in the temple. It was recent enough that blood was still flowing. It dripped down, staining the white shirt that he wore with his gray suit and blue tie. He was lying on his back staring up at the sky. Or the lid of the Dumpster when it was closed.

  The corner of a folded piece of paper was protruding from inside the front of his jacket, making a little white triangle on his blue tie. Cora pulled it out, unfolded it.

  * * *

  It was a sudoku. That was a stroke of luck. Cora couldn’t solve a crossword puzzle if you gave her the answers, but she was a whiz at sudoku. If the police wanted it solved she’d have no problem.

  At least with the puzzle.

  Cora refolded it, stuck it back in his jacket pocket.

  All right, what to do?

  She had to get to a phone and call the police.

  Except …

  What was she doing there, and why did she look in the Dumpster?

  Good questions. And ones she could not answer. Well, she’d tap-danced her way out of tighter spots than that.

  No, she hadn’t. It was a question that had no answer. Why did you look in the Dumpster? There was no conceivable reason. She had something she wanted to throw away? So naturally she drove a mile outside of town to an abandoned filling station on the off chance it still had a Dumpster, and lo and behold, it did. Cora could imagine Chief Harper going for that.

  No, the anonymous tip. That was what the situation called for. Get the hell out of there. Find a pay phone. Disguise her voice. Report the body. And hightail it home and be there waiting when Chief Harper called her to solve the sudoku.

  Cora closed t
he lid.

  Should she wipe off her fingerprints? Absolutely not. That would be obstructing justice.

  On the other hand, it would be hard to maintain the position that she hadn’t looked in the Dumpster with her fingerprints on the lid.

  Cora plunged her hand into her floppy drawstring purse, pulled out a handkerchief, polished her prints off the lid of the Dumpster.

  Okay.

  Now go.

  There came the sound of a siren. It grew rapidly louder.

  Too late.

  The police were there.

  Hell!

  Now what?

  She’d have to stand firm and not talk. They couldn’t do anything to her. She’d invoke her right to remain silent, and call her lawyer. Then Becky would—

  Damn!

  The blackmail money!

  They’d arrest her and book her and find the blackmail money. How the hell would she ever explain that?

  Cora raced back to the gas pumps. The panel on the front of the nearest pump was slightly loose. Cora bent down, pulled at it. The metal bowed outward. When released, it would snap back.

  Cora pulled the manila envelope out of her drawstring purse, thrust it toward the opening in the gas pump.

  It wouldn’t fit.

  Cora cursed, pulled harder at the metal plate.

  It bowed farther, farther, farther. Just a little bit more.

  And it bent!

  A diagonal crease across the corner. A good six inches long. There was no way it would snap in place. Well, nothing she could do about that now. Cora bent the corner up. Thrust the package in. Let go.

  The corner wouldn’t stay down.

  Cora banged on it, to no avail. It jutted out at an angle. It practically screamed to be noticed.

  Cora reached her hand in behind the plate. She pushed from the outside, bent the metal back over her fist. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

  Cora released the flap, stepped back, and was standing calmly lighting a cigarette just as the police car came screeching up.

  Chapter

  6

  Chief Harper got out of the cruiser, eyed Cora Felton suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” Cora said brightly.

  “Why?”

  “You’re the chief of police.”

  Harper scowled. “I know I’m the chief of police. Why are you waiting for me here?”

  “You always show up at crime scenes.”

  “This is a crime scene?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Yes, but it seems you already know. You come driving up with your siren blaring, there’s gotta be a reason.”

  Chief Harper took a breath, tried to control his blood pressure. He knew better than to spar with Cora Felton. “Did you look at the body?”

  “What body?”

  “The one that makes this a crime scene.”

  “It’s a murder, Chief? This being a service station, I was thinking more along the lines of a convenience store robbery.”

  “Sure,” Harper said. “Someone tried to rob an abandoned filling station.”

  “Some crooks aren’t that bright.”

  “Yeah.”

  Harper turned on his heel, walked around the corner of the station to the Dumpster. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, used it to lift the lid, and peered in.

  After a moment he closed the lid gently, and walked back to Cora.

  “Did you know that was there?”

  “The Dumpster? Of course I knew it was there. I can see it from here.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Cora. Do you know what’s in the Dumpster?”

  Cora shrugged. “Most Dumpsters contain trash.”

  “I’m not talking about most Dumpsters. I’m talking about this Dumpster. Did you know, specifically, what was in this Dumpster?”

  Cora was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Sam Brogan. The cranky officer drove his cruiser right up to where they were standing, clambered out of the driver’s seat, and assumed a put-upon pose. “It’s my day off, Chief. What’s so all-fired important?”

  “There’s a corpse in the Dumpster. Set up the crime scene ribbon before people get wind of it.”

  Sam popped his gum. “Anyone I know?”

  “It’s no one I know,” Harper said. “I can’t vouch for your circle of acquaintances.”

  “I suppose I should have a look.”

  Sam wandered off in the direction of the Dumpster.

  “Now then,” Harper said. “You were telling me what brought you here.”

  “My trusty Toyota. I know there’s bad press and recalls and the gas pedal might stick. Still, I like the old girl.”

  “You ever seen the corpse before?”

  “You want me to take a look?”

  “Haven’t you already looked?”

  Cora smiled. “Was that a veiled question, Chief? You didn’t used to be so indirect.”

  Barney Nathan drove up. The medical examiner, as usual, wore a red bow tie. Cora had never seen him without one. She wondered if he wore them to bed.

  “Where’s the dead man?” Barney said.

  “In the Dumpster.”

  “You wanna take him out of the Dumpster? I’m not climbing in there.”

  “Soon as we get some photographs.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Dan’s got the camera.”

  To a New Yorker like Cora, the idea that a police investigation would be held up while they located the one officer with a camera was somewhat mind-blowing, but the doctor seemed to take it as a matter of course. “You reach him?”

  “He’s on his way.”

  While the chief was occupied, Cora seized the opportunity to stroll off in the direction of her car.

  “Hey,” Harper said. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Sherry’s in the hospital. She’s having a baby.”

  “You’re not. You can stick around.”

  “It’s her first kid, and it’s five weeks premature. I want to call.”

  “You’ll get your chance. We happen to have this murder.”

  “Seriously. I gotta go.”

  “Then tell me about the body.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I’ll take a look if you want, but if you don’t know him, it’s a good bet I don’t know him.”

  Harper nodded. “Loquacious.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s one of your fancy words. When you’re it, something’s up. I got bad news for you, Cora. You’re not leaving here until you answer a few questions in simple, declarative sentences.”

  Harper went back to look at the body.

  Cora glanced casually at the pump. Gas was a dollar sixty-nine. That was something. It was hard to believe the station had been closed that long. The last sale was for twenty-one dollars and forty-two cents.

  Farther down the pump a metal panel stuck out. Cora sucked in her breath, tried to tell herself it wasn’t that bad. Not like someone had pried it up to hide something. More like something had dented it. A car bumper. A baseball. Though no one would be throwing a baseball at a gas pump, and it wouldn’t make a crease. But there was really nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to draw one’s attention to it.

  Except her staring at it.

  “Hey.”

  Cora looked up guiltily to see Sam Brogan holding a crime scene ribbon. “What’s up, Sam?”

  The laconic officer, never one to exert himself unduly, indicated the gas pump with his chin. “That’s a gas pump.”

  Cora caught her breath. “So?”

  “Shouldn’t be smoking around a gas pump.”

  She exhaled in relief, shook her head. “Sam, this station hasn’t been used in twenty years.”

  “Even so. Bad habit to get into.”

  Sam found an electrical cable on the side of the station to tie off to, and began stringing the crime scene ribbon.

  Barney Nath
an, waiting impatiently for Dan Finley to show up and photograph the body, found himself face to face with Cora Felton. The doctor acknowledged her somewhat stiffly. In the past Cora had occasionally alluded to the fact he might have botched an autopsy or missed a cause of death or two. “What are you doing here?”

  “You know, that’s just what Chief Harper said. A case of great minds running in the same direction.”

  “You mean he didn’t call you?”

  “Why, did he call you?”

  “Of course he called me. I’m the medical examiner.”

  “And yet you don’t want to climb into a Dumpster,” Cora observed. “Some defense attorney is going to have fun with that.”

  “What?”

  “When it comes to determining the time of death. A defense attorney could probably make a big deal about not examining the body as soon as it was found.”

  Barney Nathan’s jaw tightened. He seemed to be looking for the appropriate comeback. Instead, he turned and stomped off in the direction of the Dumpster. Cora could see him conferring with Chief Harper. She smiled as the doctor dragged an old apple crate over to the Dumpster and climbed in.

  Harper walked over and joined Cora. “I suppose I have you to thank for Barney’s change of heart?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, don’t think it gets you off the hook. You’re not leaving here until you make a full statement.”

  “In that case, could you do me a favor?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Call my lawyer.”

  Chapter

  7

  Becky Baldwin screeched her car to a stop behind Sam Brogan’s, got out, and strode over to where Cora stood next to Chief Harper. “So, what’s the score?”

  “Well,” Cora said, “there seems to have been a murder.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t see what’s the problem.”

  “The problem is she isn’t talking,” Chief Harper said.

  “Then why is she here?”

  “She was here when I got here.”

  “She was here before you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That must be a little embarrassing.”

  “Now, see here—”

  Becky put up her hand. “Chief. You know and I know Cora had nothing to do with this. If she isn’t talking she must have a reason. So, for the benefit of all concerned, why don’t you let us have a little talk, as a courtesy, a friendly thing to do. Otherwise I’ll demand it as a right, and things will get sticky.”