"About him killing the guy? No. About him not knowing anything useful? You can bet on it."

Chapter 45.

CHUCK DILLINGER STEPPED down onto the platform of the Bakerhaven train station, and looked around for his wife. He was surprised not to see her. The station was small. There was no crowd. She was usually standing right there.

Cora Felton stepped out of the shadows. "Need a ride?"

Chuck scowled. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might want a lift. You're miles from home, and the cab service here is so poor."

"Where's my wife?"

"She couldn't make it."

"She asked you to pick me up?"

"Not exactly. You want to take a ride? Standing here reminds me of one of Lady Bracknell's lines in The Importance of Being Earnest. Something about ex- posing us to comment on the platform. I think it had to do with missing trains, though."

Chuck shifted his briefcase from hand to hand. "Look, I'm trying to make allowances. I know you've been arrested. You must be very upset."

"You don't know the half of it."

"Maybe not, but it's none of my business. Why don't you run along?"

"And leave you stranded? That wouldn't be very neighborly."

"My wife's coming to pick me up."

"She's going to be delayed."

"What makes you think so?"

"I pounded a nail into her tire. Right rear. She won't get a block. Then she's gonna have to change it. And even if she does, it won't help, because these new cars have those tiny spares just good enough to get you to the gas station. Don't you hate them? Anyway, she'll have to get the tire fixed. By the time she does all that, we'll be long gone."

"You sabotaged her car?"

"It sounds so bad when you say it like that. But I had such short notice. I had to talk to you. It's important. Not just because I'm arrested for murder. That's annoying, but it will go away. Some things won't."

"What are you talking about?"

Cora gestured to her Toyota, parked in the lot. "Come on, hop in, I'll give you a ride."

Chuck looked at her suspiciously.

"Hey, come on. If I were that crazed killer they're all talking about, you'd be dead by now. That was a joke. Come on, I won't bite you."

Chuck glanced around the parking lot. Aside from Cora's, there was only one car, presumably for the woman in the ticket booth. He weighed his options, climbed in.

Cora's purse was on the seat. "Just put that on the floor. Throw your briefcase in back. You might wanna fasten your seat belt. It's gonna be a bumpy ride."

He looked at her, baffled.

"Bette Davis, for Christ's sake. Does everyone have to remind me that I'm old?"

Cora started the engine, pulled out of the lot. "Okay, here's the deal. You know a guy named Dennis Pride?"

Chuck turned sideways in his seat. "What about him?"

"He's a psychotic wife-beater. And that's his good side. He's my niece Sherry's ex-husband. Totally obsessed with her. Won't leave her alone. Even though he's remarried, and she's about to be. Makes any excuse at all to see her."

"I don't understand."

"I don't want you to be that excuse. Dennis claims he knows something about you and Benny Southstreet. I don't think he does. I think he's just bluffing. But he's counting on the fact that I've been arrested, so Sherry will do anything to save me. I don't want that to happen. That's why I'm warning you about Dennis. He's pond scum. He's the Ebola virus. Am I getting through to you? This is not someone you want to have anything to do with."

"Miss Felton-"

"Dennis claims he knows something about you. So what does he know?"

"Nothing."

"That would be my first guess. The thing is, he had to get to you. So what did he say?"

"He claims he knows Benny Southstreet ripped me off."

"Really? How does he know that?"

"I have no idea."

"When did he tell you this?"

"I don't remember."

"Well, it was obviously after you were ripped off. Was it before the murder?"

"I don't know when the murder was."

"Good answer. That's the type of thing my lawyer wants me to say. But we're all agreed Benny bit the big one the day before his body was found. Was it before that?"

"Yes."

"I thought so."

"Hey, you missed the turn!"

"No I didn't. We're not finished talking."

"I don't know what else we have to say."

"Just this. You get anything, you give it to me, you stay forever in my good graces."

"I don't have anything."

Cora waggled her fingers, drove with one hand. "That's the iffy part. I think something was stolen from you. Maybe it was hundred-dollar bills. Maybe it wasn't. But it was something. I say that because I'm a seasoned investigator, a good judge of character. I got an opinion you can take to the bank. If Dennis says that, it's because he's a moron, and he's guessing. Tell him to run along, because he's got nothing to back it up, and if you call his bluff he's done.

"That's one thing. Here's another. If Dennis bothers you again, you tell me, and I will bitch-slap him so hard they'll have to scrape him off the sidewalk."

Cora put her blinker on, pulled into the garage at the far end of town. Mimi Dillinger, wailing babe in arms, was standing next to a grease-smeared mechanic who had her car up on a jack and was taking off the wheel.

"Tell your wife how lucky you were I happened along and gave you a ride."

Cora grinned as Chuck got out of the car. As she pulled into the street, she had to resist an overwhelming temptation to floor it and peel out.

Chapter 46.

BUDDY WAS YAPPING hysterically when Cora got home. Sherry'd left him shut up in the house. Cora wondered how long her niece had been gone. To hear Buddy, it was days.

Cora opened the front door. Buddy went through it like a shot, and proceeded to run crazy circles on the front lawn. Any urgent purpose he might have had for going out was forgotten in the simple joy of being alive on a sunny country day in Connecticut.

"Come on, kid, you're making me dizzy." Cora sank down on the front step, pulled her cigarettes out of her purse, lit one up. She took a deep drag, thought about the case.

It was strange not to be able to solve it. No, that was arrogant. It was strange not to have the first clue. It was almost as if being personally involved made it impossible for her to think straight. If so, it was preferable to the onset of Alzheimer's. Early Alzheimer's. She wasn't that old. No, sir. There were a few more good years in the old gray mare.

Stop with the old gray mare.

"Sheesh!"

Buddy came trotting up, sniffed her legs.

"Hey, Buddy. Why don't you go find a clue. Do something to solve the crime. Like not bark in the nighttime."

Buddy studied Cora's face, as if considering the concept.

"Doesn't sound like much fun, does it? Okay, here's the bit. Somebody killed Benny Southstreet and made it look like I did. Either that was entirely fortuitous-" Cora groaned. "Oh, for God's sake, she's got me saying words like fortuitous. The killer's either lucky or good. If he's lucky, it doesn't help me. But if he's good, it helps me a lot. Because I can learn from him. His actions will be directed, they'll have a purpose. I can rely on cause and effect. The killer framed me because he wanted me framed. The question then is, why?

"The obvious answer is the chairs. The problem is the killer didn't take them, I did. Though, as Becky points out, he might have been killed for not having the chairs. Which makes no sense at all.

"The other possibility is, he was killed for ripping off hundred-dollar bills from Chuck Dillinger's study. The problem is, Dillinger says he didn't. The saving grace is, murderers sometimes lie. If Dillinger killed him to get the hundred-dollar bills back, that works okay. Because I didn't steal the hundred-dollar bills. So if Southstreet stole them from Dillinger, Dillinger could have killed Southstreet for 'em just fine.

"Except I had the gun. It really doesn't work with me having the gun. With me having the gun, the only one who could have killed Benny Southstreet was me.

"Which is how it's gonna look to a jury."

Cora took a deep drag, blew it out. "Which is why I better start thinking straight in a hurry.

"For starters, why is Wilbur getting a free pass? He was supposed to be there at the time of the murder. According to his own statement, he was there at the time of the murder. We have only his own statement for the fact that he left without seeing Benny Southstreet.

"If he had seen Benny Southstreet, and killed him, why would he come back the next day and walk into the arms of the police? After he so neatly framed me. Why would he do that?

"Well, I have to assume he can reason too. So, he's gotta ask himself how I got a line on Benny Southstreet and knew he was at the motel. His shop was broken into, and there was a message from Benny on his answering machine. If I was the one who broke in, then I know he had a two o'clock appointment with Benny Southstreet. And I would be sure to tell the police. He heads that off by admitting it. He comes back to the motel the next day, and tells the police he's come to see Benny Southstreet because he tried to see him the day before, and Benny wasn't there.

"How does that sound?"

Buddy was looking up at her, wagging his tail.

"Oh, my God, I'm talking to a dog!"

Cora ground out her cigarette in the dirt. She got up, went in the kitchen, fixed Buddy's kibble. She opened a can of tuna fish, mixed some in.

"I know I'm not supposed to do this, but you've been a real good dog, waiting for Mommie all day long."

Cora set the bowl on the floor, watched the little poodle gobble it up.

"Now, how about a treat for Mommie."

Cora glanced around the kitchen. A real treat for Mommie, a belt of hooch, had been disposed of long ago. There was not a drop in the house. Second on the list-a distant second-was chocolate. A nice Whitman's Sampler. That would give her brain a workout, detecting which candies held the mother lode, the gooey caramel centers Cora preferred infinitely to the coconut or cherry.

Cora knew without looking there wasn't a candy in the house. She could always go out and buy some. As long as she was out...

There was a Starbucks in the mall. Cora didn't drink Starbucks coffee-she was loyal to Cushman's Bake Shop-but Starbucks had a caramel Frappuccino, a calorie-laden piece of heaven with whipped cream on top. Cora allowed herself one only on special occasions, or in times of dire stress.

Being a murder suspect, Cora decided, surely qualified as both.

Chapter 47.

THE MALL PARKING lot was jammed, and it took Cora a while to find a space. She circled the rows, working it out in her mind. Not the case. The Frappuccino.

The problem was the size. Grande sounded too big. Tall sounded too small. Venti didn't sound as large as Grande, but was actually larger. So the dilemma was, was it more important for the Frappuccino to sound small when she ordered it, or look small when she picked it up?

Cora was still working on the problem when she finally found a parking space two rows down from Starbucks.