"You don't know? I guess you really did hit your head." To Wilbur, Harper said, "Keep her here. I'll check in with Sam."

"I called for an ambulance. They're gonna wanna take her."

"You called for an ambulance?"

"She's got a pretty good gash in her head."

"From falling on the floor?"

"That's right."

"Any chance she was coshed?"

"Coshed. There's a word."

"Could it have happened?"

"Sure. I don't know where they could have got to. I grabbed my gun and ran out as soon as I heard the shot. The shooter might have got away, but not if he hung around to hit her on the head."

Chief Harper looked at Wilbur thoughtfully. "You're being damn nice to someone who broke into your barn."

"She's been working on my robbery. Which is a darn sight more than other people I could mention."

Chief Harper stomped off to look for Sam Brogan.

"Why are you being so nice?" Cora asked.

"Someone tried to shoot you. In my book, if they're shootin' at you, you must be doin' something right."

"That's no answer."

"How about I don't want you to sue me for gettin' hurt in my barn."

"That doesn't really fly. Particularly with you making the suggestion."

"I suppose not." He paused a moment. "You put the chairs on eBay."

"And you bid on 'em."

"I didn't know it was you."

"I didn't know it was you either."

" 'Cause you didn't tell me you was doin' it."

"What would you have done if I had?"

"Told you not to. It was a stupid, dumb-ass, girly thing to do. But it means you were trying to help."

"Wanna know why I broke into your barn?"

"Don't give a damn. You're a murder suspect.

You must be desperate. Can't count on you to think straight."

Chief Harper came back from the direction of the barn. He had a funny look on his face. "Miss Felton. You feel up to examining the scene of the crime?"

"No, she doesn't," Wilbur said. "She's waiting for the ambulance."

"Phooey on that." Cora lunged to her feet. "He's not asking me to dance, just to look at something. How can that possibly hurt?"

Nonetheless, her legs were a little wobbly. Chief Harper had to hold her up.

Wilbur took her other arm. "This is not a good idea. The paramedics will be mad."

"So you stay and explain it to them," Harper told him.

"Just a damn minute here. That's my barn."

"Then you've seen it before. Wait here. Don't make me waste a man detaining you."

The barn was lit by bare bulbs that hung from the rafters. Adequate lighting did nothing to improve the appearance of the merchandise. If anything, it exposed its flaws.

Sam Brogan was inspecting the side wall. He did not look happy. But then, he never did. He turned as they approached. "Good. You got her. Sure hope you're telling the truth. I'd hate to search the whole damn place."

"What are you talking about?" Cora asked.

"That's just Sam bein' Sam," Chief Harper said. "He's looking for the bullet in the wall. To corroborate your story."

"I haven't got a story. I was in the dark. Someone shot at me. That's all I remember."

"Do you remember where you were?"

Cora looked around. The picnic table was in the far corner of the barn. The tarp hung down the side. It was a green tarp, old, frayed, with eyeholes where ropes could be tied.

"I was standing right about here," Cora said, walking over to the table. "The bullet whizzed by my head."

"Where did it come from?"

"The direction of the door. But it seemed closer."

"How much closer?"

"I don't know. Halfway, maybe."

Chief Harper moved into position somewhere near the middle of the barn. "You got that, Sam?"

" 'Course I got that," Sam snorted. "It's not where she fell," he added grumpily. "Next time fall where you're shot."

"Where did I fall?"

"More to the left," Harper said.

"My left?" Sam asked.

"Not you. Her."

"Her left?"

"Sam, I'm talking to Cora. You fell more down here. Any luck yet, Sam?"

" 'Course not. You got me lookin' to the left. Wait a minute! Here we go! Lower than you thought. Closer to your heart than your head."

"Mark the spot and dig it out. Try not to scratch the bullet."

"Are you done with me?" Cora said. "I need a cigarette."

"Go ahead and have one."

"I'd love to. You find my purse?"

"Yeah."

"Well, could I have it?"

"Not just yet."

"Come on, Chief. Let me have my smokes."

"You've got a gun in your purse."

"So?"

"This is not kosher for a murder suspect."

"Hey. I'm innocent until proven guilty. I have a right to bear arms."

"That doesn't mean it's a smart thing to do."

"Chief, I just want a cigarette. Can I have my purse back?"

"Not right now. You weren't aware anyone was watching you until you heard the shot?"

"Or saw it. I'm not sure which came first."

"But you didn't know anyone was here?"

"If I did, it was subconscious."

"But you didn't shoot anyone? Perhaps wound your attacker?"

"Wound him? I barely had time to resent him. I tell you, the shot rang out and I went down."

"Okay, got the bullet," Sam Brogan called.

"Run it down to the lab."

"This time of night? The technician will be asleep."

"Wake him up, Sam." Chief Harper turned back to Cora. He didn't look happy. "Miss Felton. We're going down to the police station. The prosecutor has a few questions."

Wilbur came bubbling up. "Ambulance is here!"

"Sorry, Chief," Cora said. "That's my ride."

Harper shook his head. "You can take the ambulance if you want. But we're going down to the station."

Chapter 51.

HENRY FIRTH TWITCHED his nose and smiled.

Cora wasn't fooled. The prosecutor had always reminded her of a rat. Now he reminded her of a smiling rat. It was mostly his pencil-thin mustache. It occurred to her he must not be married. A wife with any artistic sense would have made him shave it off. Yet, here he was, once again, sticking his ratlike nose into everybody's business.

"What's this all about?" Cora demanded. It was not the first time she'd asked.

"Let's wait for your attorney."

"I don't need my attorney. I need a cigarette. You're not letting me have one. That's tantamount to torture. As I'm sure my attorney will point out."

"Let's leave that to her, shall we?"

"I don't know why Chief Harper called you in. We were having a perfectly nice discussion."

"You're the defendant in a murder case. It's a delicate situation."

"It's not a delicate situation. It's a load of hogwash. It's got nothing to do with this."

"I'm glad you think so. You were shot at. That is a crime. It requires investigation. You are one of the people called upon to testify. It is crucial that none of the testimony you are to give should in any way compromise your position as a defendant."

Cora's eyes twinkled mischievously. "I can think of something that might compromise your position as a prosecutor."

"Be as rude as you want," Henry Firth said. "You're not provoking me. We're waiting for your lawyer."