The Purloined Puzzle Read online

  She marched up and banged on the door. There was no answer. Melvin was downtown bailing himself out of jail, but she wanted to make sure she hadn’t gotten the room number wrong and was about to break in on some amorous couple.

  Cora was in no mood for subtleties. She reached into her floppy drawstring purse and pulled out her gun. She didn’t shoot the lock off, however, she merely smashed a pane in the front window.

  She snaked her hand in, groped for the door. The doorknob was just within reach. She fumbled around with her fingers, clicked the lock.

  The last time Cora had searched Melvin’s motel room, there had been a bimbo involved. It was kind of weird to be doing it when there wasn’t.

  From habit, Cora bent down and looked under the bed. While she was at it, she checked under the mattress. There was nothing there.

  Recalling No Country for Old Men, she stood on a chair and unscrewed the cover of the heating vent near the ceiling. There was nothing hidden in the duct. There was not even a string to pull out whatever might have been hidden around the bend. Cora could have told that just from unscrewing the old cover. It hadn’t been disturbed in years.

  Melvin had a briefcase. That, she knew, was a charade, just another prop to make him look like a real estate broker, or whatever other businessman he was representing. In the course of normal events, Melvin would rather have been shot dead than caught carrying a briefcase. It gave the impression he was employed, which detracted from the rich playboy image he worked so hard to cultivate.

  Cora riffled through the papers in the briefcase. As she expected, they were meaningless gobbledygook, intended merely to confuse and confound. A person confronted with them would either be incredibly impressed or realize they were dealing with a fraud.

  Cora flipped through the pages and stopped dead.

  It was a standard boilerplate contract from a major publishing company. Cora recognized it instantly. She had signed a number of them herself for the lucrative series of Sudoku books that were published in her name.

  The amount of the contract, $800,000, leapt off the page. So did the name Melvin Crabtree, typed in the blank marked “Author.”

  That answered the question of how he was able to post bail. The man had a six-figure book advance.

  The contract was for a work of nonfiction of approximately seventy-five thousand words.

  The work was tentatively titled Confessions of a Trophy Husband: My Life with the Puzzle Lady.

  Chapter

  26

  Cora got home to find her niece Sherry and Sherry’s daughter, Jennifer, doing the laundry. Jennifer loved helping Mommy, particularly transferring the clothes from the washer to the dryer. Cotton socks made wonderful wet balls, which Jennifer could wind up and pitch right through the door of the front-loading dryer.

  Jennifer had started the game as a toddler, standing right in front of the dryer, but as she grew older and more proficient, she had gradually backed up farther and farther until now, as a first grader, or what she herself referred to as a big girl, she could get eight out of ten from all the way across the room.

  Sherry was not entirely pleased, as that meant two out of ten socks wound up on the floor, but Cora, who had grown up in an age when girls weren’t allowed to play ball, couldn’t wait for Jennifer to be old enough for Little League.

  As Cora came in, a rolled-up sock sailed across the room, bounced off the top of the dryer, and plopped to a soggy stop on the floor.

  “She’s working on her knuckle curve,” Sherry said. “Whose fault do you suppose that is?”

  Cora waved it away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let her practice. I need to talk to you.”

  Jennifer had been gung-ho before, but since she had been to Yankee Stadium she was irrepressible. “I wanna show Auntie Cora!” she squealed.

  “Show me two times. Auntie Cora has to talk to Mommy.”

  Jennifer threw two pitches. Unfortunately, she missed the second one and insisted on trying again. The first she got right down the middle. The second was high and outside.

  “Again!” Jennifer cried.

  “Uh oh,” Cora said. “She’s prolonging the game. A bad habit to get into. Jennifer, if you throw two in a row you can have ice cream.”

  “Ice cream!”

  “She doesn’t have ice cream before dinner,” Sherry said.

  “It’s a special occasion,” Cora said. “If I don’t talk to you, I’ll go mad. You want ice cream, Jennifer?”

  “Ice cream!” Jennifer whooped and hurled two socks into the dryer.

  “Perfect,” Cora said. “Get your ice cream.”

  Jennifer squealed and raced out of the laundry room.

  “You can’t let her serve herself,” Sherry said. “She’ll eat a whole half gallon.”

  “Let her. We got trouble.”

  “Can’t it wait five minutes?” Sherry said.

  “No,” Cora insisted, but Sherry was already out the door.

  In the kitchen, Jennifer was about to plunge her spoon into a full pint of Häagen-Dazs chocolate chocolate chip. Sherry intercepted it, set a bowl on the table, and spooned out a reasonable portion.

  “More!” Jennifer cried.

  “That’s plenty,” Sherry said.

  Jennifer made the most adorable face. “Little more?”

  “How can you resist that?” Cora said.

  “I have a lot of practice,” Sherry said. She portioned out one more spoonful into Jennifer’s bowl and put the ice cream back in the freezer. She was about to lecture Jennifer on the virtues of moderation when Cora dragged her out of the kitchen.

  “What’s so damn important?” Sherry said.

  “Melvin wrote a book.”

  “What?”

  “At least he’s writing one. He has a six-figure contract with a major publisher. Confessions of a Trophy Husband: My Life with the Puzzle Lady.”

  Sherry sank down in a chair. “Oh, my God,” she murmured.

  “Exactly.”

  “This is a disaster.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “Does he know you know?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “I saw his contract.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “Well, that’s the problem.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where was the contract?”

  “In his briefcase.”

  “Where was his briefcase?”

  “In his motel room.”

  “You broke into his motel room?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Does he know it?”

  “He might infer it.”

  “How?”

  “From the broken window.”

  “Cora, you’ve got to stop doing these things.”

  “What things? Sherry, you’re missing the big picture here. Melvin’s writing a book about me. The fact that I broke into his motel room is entirely coincidental.”

  “I’m not sure Chief Harper will feel that way.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “Short of killing him?”

  “Let’s not rule out any options.”

  “Cora.”

  “Well, I’m not going to remarry him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “God forbid. What if you offered to forgive his alimony?”

  “That would be good if it ran to eight hundred thousand dollars. Otherwise he’s not going to be impressed.”

  “Eight hundred thousand dollars?”

  “Apparently, I’m a big sell.”

  “For that money they’re not looking for a happy puff piece.”

  “No, they’re going to want every salacious tidbit. Trust me, Melvin’s got ’em.”

  “What’s the worst they can be?”

  “I have no idea. If you’ll recall, I was drinking fairly heavi
ly then. What I can remember would ruin my image. What I can’t remember would probably land me in jail.”

  “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

  “We’re talking Melvin. He brought a date to our wedding.”

  “You didn’t object?”

  “I didn’t know till the wedding night. I wondered why he was plying me with champagne.”

  “Stories like that will kill us. We’ll lose our sponsor for sure. Granville Grains will not consider that a wholesome image for schoolchildren.”

  “That’s nothing,” Cora said. “He can hit me with every morals charge from here to Sunday. We could weather that.” She grimaced. “But he’s going to expose me as a fraud.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It kills the goose that lays the golden eggs.”

  “Yeah, but they’re our golden eggs. For eight hundred thousand bucks he’s not going to care. He’ll throw everything in the book but the kitchen sink.” Cora’s eyes widened. “Oh, that miserable bastard!”

  “What?”

  “He took a selfie with me in front of the coffee shop. You wanna bet it’s for the book?”

  “How are we going to stop him?”

  “I could frame him for murder.”

  “Isn’t he already framed for murder?”

  “Yeah, but it isn’t going to stick. I could manipulate a little evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m his lawyer’s investigator. I’m bound to come up with something.”

  “You’re supposed to come up with something that helps him. That’s what you’re paid for.”

  “Well, if you want to nitpick.”

  “Seriously, how are we going to handle this?”

  Cora shook her head. “We may not be able to. It may be all over. We have to start thinking about our second lives. You as the Puzzle Lady. And me as the Puzzle Lady impersonator.”

  “Don’t even joke about it.”

  “That’s not a joke. If Melvin blows the whistle, we’re screwed. What’s going to stop him?”

  “So how do you want to play it?”

  “I want to stall. That’s all we’ve got going for us. I should sign a few contracts of my own, get some Sudoku books in the works, maybe squeeze in a few Granville Grains commercials.”

  “Isn’t that worse?”

  “What?”

  “Doing commercials when you know you’ll be exposed? If you take Granville Grains’ money for commercials knowing they’ll be worthless—isn’t there a special penalty for that?”

  “I probably get my own circle in hell.” Cora shrugged. “What’s the difference? It’s not like I go directly to jail. Or hand over all my ill-gotten gains. It would take complicated legal procedures to sort it all out. Which fits right into my philosophy. Stall, stall, stall.”

  “What about Becky?”

  “What about her?”

  “Did Melvin tell Becky?”

  “I’m a fraud?”

  “Yeah.”

  Becky knew Cora couldn’t solve crossword puzzles but still thought she constructed them. That was not as impossible a concept as it sounded. Noted cruciverbalist Harvey Beerbaum believed the same thing.

  “I don’t know,” Cora said.

  “Better find out.”

  “She might not tell me.”

  “How could she possibly keep it from you?”

  “If it was a confidential communication from her client, she might be bound to keep it from me.”

  “Oh, come on, Cora. As if you couldn’t tell.”

  “How? By asking probing questions? By making her suspicious, if she’s not already?”

  “Give me a break. If this was anything else, you wouldn’t be arguing with me. You’d be falling all over yourself to do it. You’d bust into her office, haul Melvin out of his chair, slap him around a few times, and say, ‘All right, guys, what’s up?’”

  “That’s not much of a plan.”

  “Well, it’s better than busting in on me and feeding Jennifer a half a pint of ice cream before dinner.”

  “It wasn’t half a pint.”

  “It’s before dinner. Once you breach that sacred barrier…”

  “It’s a special occasion. Kids understand special occasions.”

  “What special occasion?”

  “I’ll make one up.”

  “Cora.”

  “Trust me. How bad can it be?”

  Jennifer ran out of the kitchen waving a spoon. She had chocolate ice cream all over her face, down the front of her dress, and in her hair.

  Buddy was yapping at her heels and licking up the drops of melted ice cream that fell from the spoon. The poodle had evidently licked her bowl clean. He was wearing a chocolate bib.

  Jennifer spun in a circle, sending a shower of chocolate drops in every direction, offered her most beguiling smile, and said, “Buddy wants a little more.”

  Chapter

  27

  Cora burst into Becky’s office, where the young attorney was conferring with her client. “All right, you guys. What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m having a confidential conversation with my client. I wasn’t planning on broadcasting it to the world.”

  “You think I’m going to tell Rick Reed?” Cora flopped into a chair next to Melvin. “Relax. I was married to Melvin during some of his darkest hours. Did I ever rat you out to the cops?”

  “Well, actually—” Melvin said.

  “Oh, shut up,” Cora said. “I’m talking serious stuff. I may have had you arrested now and then, but that was normal husband-wife business. Practically foreplay.”

  “Do I need to be here for this?” Becky said.

  “I don’t know. What has Melvin told you?”

  “You know exactly what Melvin’s told me. He didn’t do it, and someone stuck a knife in his car.”

  “Someone also stuck a knife in Fred Winkler. You know anything about that, Melvin?”

  “I didn’t see it happen, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Who would have a reason to frame you for this crime?”

  “Hey,” Becky said. “Who’s the attorney here? I know you two are in love, but—”

  Melvin and Cora reacted at once.

  “In love?” Cora thundered.

  Melvin laughed derisively. “Are you kidding me?”

  Cora turned on him. “Well, I like that. You scoff at the idea?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Of course. But not in a hurtful way. There’s no reason to be rude about it. There was a time we meant something to each other.”

  “Yes. I believe your attorney explored that time during the alimony hearing.”

  “Why dwell on the past, Melvin? There is this current situation.”

  “Exactly,” Becky said. “If you wouldn’t mind coming back to earth, I would like to know why I’m suddenly deluged with a rash of clients framed with bloody knives.”

  “Unless I find one in my Toyota, let’s assume that run is over,” Cora said. “I’m all for finding out how Melvin got his. Unless he’d prefer another investigator on the case. One with whom he does not have so much history.”

  “You want to prove my innocence, feel free,” Melvin said. “Just don’t expect me to help you. I know absolutely nothing about the situation.”

  “How about where you parked your car?”

  “It was in front of the Country Kitchen.”

  “All night?”

  “No, when they picked me up. I was having lunch.”

  “I saw you there,” Cora said. “That was the first time you denied killing Fred Winkler. And just where was the knife discovered?”

  “Apparently in the glove compartment.”

  “Did you happen to look in your glove compartment when you started your car?”

  “No. Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know, but it would pin down the time. The knife was planted last night or this morni
ng. Which is more likely?”

  “Neither is more likely. It simply makes no sense.”

  “Then why would the police search your car?” Cora looked at Becky. “That’s the hundred-dollar question, isn’t it?”

  “It wasn’t an illegal search,” Becky said. “They had a warrant.”

  “How the hell did they get a warrant?”

  “Based on allegation and belief.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the sort of thing lawyers say.”

  “Becky.”

  “The cops had a warrant. I can demand a probable cause hearing and find out on what basis they got a warrant, but if they aren’t inclined to tell me, I’m not likely to find out.”

  “Don’t you have back-channel sources?”

  “What do you mean, back-channel sources?”

  “Put on something slinky and ask Dan Finley.”

  “He’s impervious to my charms.”

  “Nonsense,” Melvin said. “There’s not a man alive impervious to your charms.”

  “Not even gay ones?” Cora said.

  “Her allure defies demographics.”

  “Pretty flowery language, Melvin. You getting all highbrow on us?”

  “I’m actually educated. You just never saw that side of me. I’m maturing into an upright citizen.”

  “Who’s working a real estate scam and charged with murder.”

  “There’s no stigma attached to that. Any man may be charged.”

  “Most of them don’t bloody the victim’s nose and keep the murder weapon in their glove compartment.”

  “I’m as surprised as you are.”

  “Okay, kids,” Becky said. “I hate to interrupt, but we do have this murder to deal with. Could the two of you stop bickering and concentrate on that?”

  “Of course,” Cora said. “Pay attention, Melvin.” She smiled at Becky. “You have our undivided attention.”

  Peggy Dawson burst into the office waving a piece of paper. “I found the puzzle!”

  Chapter

  28

  Melvin plastered on his most ingratiating smile. “And who is this fine young lady?”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, Melvin,” Cora said. “She’s twelve.”

  Peggy’s eyes blazed. “I am not!”