a jack-o’-lantern?”
“Tomorrow’s Halloween.”
“Already?” Cora said. “Gee, time flies when you’re having fun.”
“Where have you been?”
“The library, mostly. And if that isn’t a place to drive you wild! You can’t eat, you can’t drink, you can’t smoke. You can’t talk. Damn lucky there’s stuff to read. A person could go batty there.”
“You want me to Google someone you met in the library?”
“Someone I read about in the library. And someone I didn’t.”
“Cora, didn’t I show you how to Google?”
“Yeah, you did. If I knew which icon to click I could probably do it.”
“Just keep clicking till you hit it.”
“Oh, no. I’m not opening your programs. I can’t close ’em. Some of them are fine. But some of them say, ‘Would you like to save so-and-so?’ And I don’t wanna delete your program by saying no. But if I say yes, it asks me to do something else stupid, like slip in a disk. Or enter some password. Or promise it my firstborn child, not that that’s gonna happen, knock on wood. I had a stressful day, I don’t need some computer talking back to me too.”
“Who do you want to Google?”
“One of them’s Cindy Tambourine. She was Darryl Daigue’s girlfriend.”
“Who’s the other?”
Cora dug out her notepad. “Valerie Thompkins.”
“What’s her connection to the case?”
“She doesn’t have one.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cora said irritably.
“Okay.” Sherry picked up a big spoon, began scraping the bottom of the pumpkin.
After a few moments Cora said, “Someone might have followed me today.”
“ ‘Might have’?” Sherry said, spooning out seeds.
Cora told Sherry about the black sedan.
“You traced the wrong license plate, and now you’d like to Google it?”
“Just because Chief Harper says it’s wrong doesn’t mean it’s wrong. What does he know?”
“Yeah, he’s just the chief of police,” Sherry said.
“You know what I mean. Just because Harper can’t find a connection doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“Uh-huh. But you personally think it’s the wrong car?”
“More than likely.”
“So why don’t you find the right one?”
“How?”
“Go back to Danbury, see if it starts following you again. Where did it pick you up?”
“First time I noticed it was when I came out of the doctor’s.”
“Who knew you were going in?”
“The doctor. The cop. The doctor’s receptionist. The woman with the poodle. The one I wanna Google. Good God, did I really say that? I wanna Google the woman with the poodle.”
“And how would the woman with the poodle know you were calling on the doctor?”
“How would
anyone
know I was calling on the doctor? Why would anyone
care
if I was calling on the doctor, unless they happened to kill what’s-his-name. Ricky Gleason. Who wasn’t mentioned in the newspapers, or the transcript, or by anybody else, for that matter. With the possible exception of Darryl Daigue, who claims it could have cleared him, but didn’t manage to pass it on to either the police or his attorney.”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
“How else can I put it? You got a case that doesn’t add up from any angle. You got a sister who’d like to free her big brother, who can’t be freed, and who only came up with this idea after twenty years of not giving a good goddamn. You got a prisoner with the brains of a tree slug, only slightly less appetizing, whose chance of redemption is even lower than that of the Red Sox winning the World Series.”
“Hey, you’re not in New York anymore. I’d watch that talk around here.”
“I have, in short, the least promising case I can imagine. And yet when I start poking into it, what do I find? My lead suspect died under suspicious circumstances, and the fact I’m looking into it raises someone’s hackles.”
“So you wanna Google them. Or at least Google the leads you got. Tell me, what is the optimum result
“Tomorrow’s Halloween.”
“Already?” Cora said. “Gee, time flies when you’re having fun.”
“Where have you been?”
“The library, mostly. And if that isn’t a place to drive you wild! You can’t eat, you can’t drink, you can’t smoke. You can’t talk. Damn lucky there’s stuff to read. A person could go batty there.”
“You want me to Google someone you met in the library?”
“Someone I read about in the library. And someone I didn’t.”
“Cora, didn’t I show you how to Google?”
“Yeah, you did. If I knew which icon to click I could probably do it.”
“Just keep clicking till you hit it.”
“Oh, no. I’m not opening your programs. I can’t close ’em. Some of them are fine. But some of them say, ‘Would you like to save so-and-so?’ And I don’t wanna delete your program by saying no. But if I say yes, it asks me to do something else stupid, like slip in a disk. Or enter some password. Or promise it my firstborn child, not that that’s gonna happen, knock on wood. I had a stressful day, I don’t need some computer talking back to me too.”
“Who do you want to Google?”
“One of them’s Cindy Tambourine. She was Darryl Daigue’s girlfriend.”
“Who’s the other?”
Cora dug out her notepad. “Valerie Thompkins.”
“What’s her connection to the case?”
“She doesn’t have one.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cora said irritably.
“Okay.” Sherry picked up a big spoon, began scraping the bottom of the pumpkin.
After a few moments Cora said, “Someone might have followed me today.”
“ ‘Might have’?” Sherry said, spooning out seeds.
Cora told Sherry about the black sedan.
“You traced the wrong license plate, and now you’d like to Google it?”
“Just because Chief Harper says it’s wrong doesn’t mean it’s wrong. What does he know?”
“Yeah, he’s just the chief of police,” Sherry said.
“You know what I mean. Just because Harper can’t find a connection doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“Uh-huh. But you personally think it’s the wrong car?”
“More than likely.”
“So why don’t you find the right one?”
“How?”
“Go back to Danbury, see if it starts following you again. Where did it pick you up?”
“First time I noticed it was when I came out of the doctor’s.”
“Who knew you were going in?”
“The doctor. The cop. The doctor’s receptionist. The woman with the poodle. The one I wanna Google. Good God, did I really say that? I wanna Google the woman with the poodle.”
“And how would the woman with the poodle know you were calling on the doctor?”
“How would
anyone
know I was calling on the doctor? Why would anyone
care
if I was calling on the doctor, unless they happened to kill what’s-his-name. Ricky Gleason. Who wasn’t mentioned in the newspapers, or the transcript, or by anybody else, for that matter. With the possible exception of Darryl Daigue, who claims it could have cleared him, but didn’t manage to pass it on to either the police or his attorney.”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
“How else can I put it? You got a case that doesn’t add up from any angle. You got a sister who’d like to free her big brother, who can’t be freed, and who only came up with this idea after twenty years of not giving a good goddamn. You got a prisoner with the brains of a tree slug, only slightly less appetizing, whose chance of redemption is even lower than that of the Red Sox winning the World Series.”
“Hey, you’re not in New York anymore. I’d watch that talk around here.”
“I have, in short, the least promising case I can imagine. And yet when I start poking into it, what do I find? My lead suspect died under suspicious circumstances, and the fact I’m looking into it raises someone’s hackles.”
“So you wanna Google them. Or at least Google the leads you got. Tell me, what is the optimum result
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