"There's no way to know. Because you don't know what the police are doing. You don't know what the medical examiner is doing. You don't know what the facts of the case are. That is why your attorney told you to make no comment. Too bad you didn't listen to your attorney."

"Don't you find it pretentious talking about yourself in the third person?"

"I'm not interested in word games. Aside from the puzzle the guy had on him. You know anything about that?"

"Harvey solved it."

"I know he did. I understand Benny accuses you of the murder."

"That is so stupid. Benny realizes I'm about to kill him, so he writes a crossword puzzle telling the cops I did?"

"He really accuses you?"

"Of course not. It's just a stop-you're-killing-me wisecrack."

"Are you sure?"

"I got a copy of it here."

Becky took the puzzle, looked it over. "There's nothing to it."

"Right."

"What do you make of it?"

"I'm being framed. The killer left it by the body to implicate me."

"You really think you're being framed?"

"Well, it's either that or I killed him. And I happen to know I didn't."

"How did the killer frame you?"

"I have no idea. But, boy, is it working. I told a story that's contradicted by medical evidence, forensic evidence, fingerprint evidence. Plus I've got the motive, what with him claiming I ripped him off, and you helping him sue me for big bucks. Say, could you testify against me?"

"It would be my pleasure."

"I mean would you be allowed to? You being the defense attorney, and all."

"Believe it or not, it's never come up in the course of my practice. I'd have to look up some precedents."

Cora snorted in exasperation. "Couldn't you just say no?"

"Actually, I think there's some cases where an attorney can be called as a witness. But, don't worry, I won't testify against you, regardless of the situation." "Much better. Now, what's our defense?" "I was kind of hoping you didn't do it." "Well, you got lucky. I didn't. How we going to establish that fact?"

"The frame is too good. We can't get around it. So we have to prove it's a frame." Cora heaved herself to her feet. "Okay. I'll rattle a few cages. See what I can scare up."

Chapter 42.

MR. WILBUR WAS out on the lawn polishing a gnome. The gnome was filthy. The rag was filthy. The rubbing wasn't accomplishing much. Still, Cora was impressed by the effort. It was the first she'd seen of Wilbur taking any interest in any of his possessions. Except for his chairs.

Wilbur glinted up at Cora with an evil eye. "What do you want?"

"I was hoping we could have a little chat."

He snorted. "Yeah. Like I wanna talk to you. You killed Benny."

"Oh, Benny, is it? Good friend of yours?"

"I barely knew him. Don't make him any less dead."

"No, I suppose it doesn't. And you think I did it?"

"Police do."

"And they're always right. Has this been your experience?"

Wilbur said nothing, rubbed the nose of his gnome.

"Of course, if I didn't do it, you'd be suspect number one."

That got his attention. "What?"

"The way I understand it, Benny had your chairs. You're so nutzo about the damn things, you'd have popped him if he wouldn't give 'em back."

"Yeah, well, I didn't."

Wilbur moved across the path to a second gnome. Cora, looking back and forth, couldn't tell the difference between the one he'd polished and the one he hadn't.

"Sorry to disappoint you, lady. I went to see him the day after he got killed. The police were already there."

"You were supposed to see him the day of the murder. What happened then? Did you go?"

"I don't have to talk to you."

"No, you don't. But if the police think you've got information about the crime, they're gonna want to know what it is."

"The police don't know anything about it."

"They will when I tell 'em."

"You think they'll listen to you?"

"Of course they will. My lawyer's advised me not to talk. Under the circumstances, they'll listen to anything I have to say. Suppose I tell 'em you had an appointment with Benny Southstreet at two o'clock."

Wilbur peered at her suspiciously. "You're the one who broke into my house?"

Cora's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Someone broke into your house? Don't tell me, they took your chairs."

Cora could practically see Wilbur's mind calculating. "So," he said. "You broke into my house, you went to meet Benny Southstreet. Benny wasn't there. So you went back later and killed him."

Cora nodded approvingly. "Good. I can't tell if you really believe that, or if you're just trying to make me think you didn't do it. Either way, I admire your cool. So how come you didn't keep your two o'clock appointment?"

"Who says I didn't?"

"Are you saying you did? You were in there all the time with Benny? Or Benny's body?"

"I've given my statement to the police."

"And they bought it. I wonder what you told them. Let's see, did you tell them you had a two o'clock appointment? You had to. You had to explain why you showed up at the crime scene. What'd you tell 'em about the day of the murder? That you just didn't go? That wouldn't fly. So, you tell 'em you went and he wasn't there? You got a little problem with that. I was there at two o'clock and I didn't see you. When the police hear that, they may have a few more questions."

Wilbur folded the rag over. The other side was just as dirty. His eyes gleamed. "Suppose I got there before two o'clock? Suppose Benny wasn't there? Suppose I sat in my car across the street from the motel where I could see the door? To see if Benny returned?"

"Did he?"

"You know he didn't. You were there. You drove up, knocked on his door. Got no answer. You must have come back later."

"Did you see me?"

"I didn't stay. I got a business to run."

Cora kept a straight face, refrained from comment. "When'd you leave?"

"What's it to you?"

"Did you wait until Benny came back?"

"You know I didn't."

"How would I know that?"

"You're right," Wilbur said. "You don't know that. I could have seen him before you did. Then you could have showed up and killed him."

"I'm curious about when you left the motel."

"Why?"

"A schoolgirl whim."

"Lady, you're something else. I left at two-thirty. You hadn't come back yet. Benny hadn't come back yet. Nobody had come back yet. Nobody had been at the motel. At least while I was there."

"You left the motel at two-thirty?"

"At least nothing's wrong with your hearing. Yeah, I left at two-thirty. I don't care how smug and mysterious the guy is, a half hour's all I'm gonna wait."

"Why do you say smug and mysterious?"

"The guy said he had my chairs."

"Maybe he did."

"No, he didn't. He had chairs he ripped off from somewhere else."

"But you didn't know that."

"Says who?"

"You didn't know that. You hadn't seen the chairs. You had no idea where he got them. It could have been from anywhere. He could have been the guy who stole 'em from you."

"Sure, lady. And then he kept them for a year and then called and told me he had 'em."

Cora shook her finger. "Uh-uh. You don't get to call it unlikely. The whole thing's unlikely. Someone making such a big deal about a bunch of chairs is unlikely."

"Not such a big deal. They're stolen. I want 'em back."

"Yeah, but why are you so obsessed? The only explanation I can come up with is you think you know who stole 'em. You can't bear to see that person get away. But you can't prove it without the chairs. So you're desperate to find 'em. How about that? Am I close?"

"Not even in the ballpark." Wilbur snorted. "Women. They overthink everything. Something so simple, they make a big deal."

"I don't see what's so simple."

"You prove my point. And you wonder why I'm upset when Chief Harper palms me off on you?" Wilbur was in danger of rubbing the gnome's face off. He realized what he was doing, stopped, leveled his finger. "Lady, I don't need a killer telling me my business. Get the hell out of here before I call the cops."

Cora was tempted to call his bluff, but she didn't really feel like talking to Chief Harper at the moment.

She got the hell out of there.

Chapter 43.

PAUL FISHMAN LOOKED confused. It occurred to Cora a less handsome man couldn't have gotten away with it. He crinkled his nose, shrugged his shoulders with an aw-shucks expression. "Excuse me?"

"I want my pictures." Cora flopped her drawstring purse down on the counter, reached in, and pulled out her gun.

That wiped the goofy grin off his face. "Whoa!" Paul took a step back and nearly fell over. "Hey! Hey! Lady!"

"Oh. Sorry." Cora stuck the gun in her purse, fished out her wallet, and calmly produced the stub from the Photomat envelope. "Here you go."