"I wouldn't worry about it. I doubt if the Gazette's circulation's changed much in twenty years. So what's up? This just a social call?"

"I'm bored. Nobody's tried to kill anybody recently. Not that I wish anyone ill. Still, if someone had to die, it wouldn't hurt if it was in your jurisdiction."

"So you could solve it for me?"

"Not at all, Chief. But it would give me something to think about. Aside from this damn wedding."

Chief Harper's eyes narrowed. "Damn wedding? You're not happy about the match?"

"Of course I'm happy about the match. They're perfect for each other. If they'd get over their petty jealousies. Which is no sure thing. Aaron's hung up on her ex-husband. Sherry keeps looking over her shoulder at Becky Baldwin."

"Can you blame them?"

"Of course I blame them. They're young. They're in love. They should be oblivious to such things while caught in the throes of animal passion." Cora found Chief Harper blushing furiously. "Or so I'm told."

"Where are they going to live?"

"They haven't worked that out yet."

"You're kidding."

"Actually, /haven't worked it out yet. Aaron's moving in with Sherry. He practically has anyway. Which is not a problem, until it becomes official. As soon as it does, I'm the spinster aunt in the guest room."

"I don't think anyone would call you a spinster aunt."

"I'm glad to hear it. The point is, I can't see me staying there after they're married. No one's asked me to move out. I just don't know where I'd go. My apartment's sublet. I'd have to get it back. I'm not sure how hard it is to boot people in that situation. They've been there a couple of years. They think they got license. I don't know how to evict them. I might have to marry a real estate lawyer."

"I'm glad you can joke about it."

"Who's joking? I've married men for less. And a lawyer ought to have some money." Cora dug in her floppy drawstring purse, pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"You can't smoke in here."

"Yeah, but you're not going to give me what I want. So what's the difference?"

"You're not making much sense."

"No, I'm not. If I hadn't given up drinking, I'd get drunk. If I hadn't given up men... Well, never mind. I haven't given up men. There's just none on the horizon." Cora sighed. "You know how desperate I am? I thought one of the women at the bakeshop was having an affair, and I offered to help her."

"You offered to help her have an affair?"

"No. I offered to deal with the blackmailer."

"You really shouldn't be telling me this."

"It's all right. There's no blackmailer. There's no affair. She just ran into a tree."

"What?"

"Not a tree. A pole." Cora waggled her hand. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, I said I'd help her before I knew what it was all about. Now I'm stuck with breaking it to her husband that she dented the car."

"That doesn't sound hard."

"It's a snooze, that's what it is. Come on, Chief. Don't you have something you need to know? I'd be happy to dig it out. I'm going stir-crazy."

Chief Harper picked up the phone and pressed the intercom.

Dan Finley answered in the other room. "Yeah, Chief?"

"Dan, you got the file on the Wilbur case?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah. The Wilbur file. Could you bring that in here?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Thanks, Dan." Chief Harper hung up the phone.

"What's the Wilbur case?" Cora demanded.

"You wanna look into something, this is it."

Dan Finley came in the door. "You sure you want the Wilbur case?"

"Don't oversell it, Dan. Your skepticism is noted."

"What's the case?" Cora asked.

"Unsolved robbery. Been kicking around for a year now."

"It's still open?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"I don't understand."

"The thing that keeps this case open, instead of sinking into the depths of the great unsolved, every month or two Mr. Wilbur comes in and refiles the complaint."

"Can he do that?"

"I have no idea. But short of arresting him or throwing him out of my office, I don't know how to stop him."

"Who is he?"

"Antiques dealer. Has a shop just out of town. With the broken wagon wheel sign."

"Oh, him. So what does he claim was stolen?"

"His chairs."

"What chairs?"

"He bought some chairs at auction. Had 'em delivered to his shop."

"And?"

"Someone stole 'em."

"When?"

"If I knew that, I might be able to solve this crime."

"He doesn't know when the robbery took place?"

"He has a barn out back. He stores stuff not immediately for sale."

"The chairs weren't immediately for sale?"

"Stick with me here. No, they weren't. They were rattan, wicker-back chairs. Needed refinishing. Wilbur intended to get 'em done, never got to it. Next time he looked for 'em, they were gone."

"And that period of time would be?"

"Anybody's guess. The best we can tell, the auction was in April, Wilbur filed his first complaint in May."

"A month later?"

"Thirteen months later."

Cora cocked her head. "I can't see why you haven't solved this case, Chief."

Dan Finley's smile was enormous. "You giving it to her? He's due to come in any day now. Can I say we gave it to her?"

"You can say we consulted an expert. Not that it will matter." Chief Harper picked up his coffee cup, smiled with satisfaction. "I imagine by then he and Cora will have become good friends."

Chapter 4.

THE BROKEN WAGON wheel sign was the only thing Cora remembered about Wilbur's Antiques. This was not surprising. The white, two-story frame building looked exactly like ninety percent of the houses on the main street of Bakerhaven, which differed from each other only in their choice of black or green shutters. Wilbur had opted for green, the same color as the paint on his sign, which was short and to the point: ANTIQUES, it declared, in upper- and lower-case script. The A had a pointed top rather than round. The sign was rectangular, about a third wider than it was high.

The sign perched on the broken wagon wheel, which was missing at least two of its spokes. Any missing from the top half would have been hidden by the sign. The wagon wheel was held up by two-by-fours, which kept it at a slight angle from the perpendicular.

Cora pulled up next to the curb and stopped. Her red Toyota was the only car on the block. Apparently, the sign was not packing them in. Cora walked over and peered at the back of the sign, noted that the top spokes were all there. She continued along the front of the house until she could see the barn behind. It was white with green trim. The scene of the crime.

Cora reined herself in. Mustn't make fun. This was important to the gentleman, needed to be treated seriously.

Cora went up the front steps. The windows on either side were not promising. One held a rather ratty Christmas wreath. The other a green vase. Neither instilled in Cora the desire to buy anything.

The front door was wood, not glass, allowing no view of the treasures within. It was also locked. Cora could understand why a man who'd been robbed might be security conscious; still, the whole setup didn't seem conducive to sales. Cora couldn't help wondering how long it had been since anyone had actually bought an antique there.

Cora knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again. It seemed from somewhere deep within a faint voice said, "Coming," but it might have been a TV, a creaking floorboard, or her imagination.

The door was flung open by a man Cora knew. Or at least recognized. She had seen him eating lunch in the Wicker Basket, dinner in the Country Kitchen, a muffin in Cushman's Bake Shop. In fact, Cora couldn't recall a time she hadn't seen him eating. In light of which, he was most unfairly thin. His face was also most unfairly unwrinkled, considering his age, which had to be close to ninety. He had suspicious eyes, and a narrow line of a mouth that turned down at the corners. It was hard to imagine anyone buying anything from him.

His manner was not welcoming. "What do you want?" he croaked. It was the vocal equivalent of Dorian Gray-only his voice had aged.

"I want to help you," Cora said.

That took him aback. Whatever he'd expected, that wasn't it. He made no move to invite her in. Instead he seemed even more suspicious. "Help me what?"

"I understand you had a theft. Several chairs were taken. So far the police have no leads."

"You want me to hire you to find my chairs?"

"No."

"Then what's it to you?"

"It's a puzzle. I like puzzles."

"Right. You're the crossword puzzle person."

"Yes."

"I don't see the connection."

"There's no connection."

"Then why are you here?"

"I asked Chief Harper if he had any cases he needed help with. He told me about your robbery."

"Oh, so he's given up, has he? Palmed me off on you?"

It was all Cora could do to keep her frozen smile in place. "I prefer to think he called in an expert."

"If he had, he'd be paying you. He paying you?"

"No, he isn't."

"There you are."

"Yes, I am." Cora smiled. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wilbur, but your case isn't interesting enough for me to put up with abuse."