Free And a Puzzle to Die On by Parnell Hall

peevishly. His nerves were rather frayed, and he’d had just about enough of the nationally famous Puzzle Lady.
    “I’m saying Ricky wasn’t that drunk. I’m saying he could have made the turn. I’m saying there’s gotta be some contributing factor to the accident.”
    “You mean like someone ran him off the road?”
    “All I’m saying is, you got a traffic accident that isn’t accounted for by the facts in the file. The medical examiner’s report is damn skimpy. Makes you wonder if something was missed.”
    “I assure you, nothing was missed.”
    “I’d rather hear it from the horse’s mouth, Sergeant. Do you suppose I could talk to the doc?”
    “I’m sure he’ll be delighted,” Sergeant Walpole said dryly.
    They drove back to the police station, and Walpole called the medical examiner. He listened a moment, said, “Oh, is that right?… I see. When?… Okay, thanks.” He hung up the phone.
    “I’m not going to like this, am I?” Cora asked.
    “I’m afraid the doctor’s not in his office.”
    “How come?”
    “He’s in jail.”
    “What?”
    Walpole grinned. “Dr. Jenkins is also the prison doctor. One day a week he’s up at the penitentiary treating the inmates.”
    “Oh.” Cora cocked her head. “By any chance, would that be Brandon State Penitentiary?”
    “Yeah. Why do you ask?”
    “Just a hunch,” Cora said sweetly.

Cora Felton lurched to a stop at the top of the driveway, got out, and slammed the door. She stomped up to the house, barged in, yelled, “I’m back,” over her shoulder as she clomped into the kitchen.
    Cora flung her purse on the table, and threw open the cupboard over the sink. It was empty, except for a couple of disposable roasting pans.
    Cora scowled, slammed the door, tried the cupboard next to the refrigerator. She was greeted by boxes of cold cereal. Cora muttered an appreciation of the product that probably would have cost her her TV commercial.
    She banged the doors shut, bellowed, “Sherry!”
    A faint “Yeah?” wafted from down the hall.
    Cora stomped into the office where her niece sat typing. “Damn it, Sherry! Where’s the booze?”
    Sherry looked up from the computer. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Don’t play coy with me. You threw out my liquor!”
    “You quit drinking.”
    “That’s right,” Cora said. “I stopped drinking.
I
did.
Me
. I’m not in a twelve-step program. I didn’t join AA. I just
didn’t
drink. But I didn’t clean up the house. I didn’t throw out my booze.”
    “It’s bad to have around—”
    “No!” Cora interrupted. “See? There’s the problem.
You’re
telling
me
how to drink. That. Doesn’t. Work. Remember when we moved in together? Remember the first rule?”
    “I don’t tell you what to drink.”
    “That’s right. You don’t tell me what to drink. If I wanna drink, that’s my business. If I don’t wanna drink, that’s my business too. But you don’t make that decision, I do. And you don’t throw out my booze, I do. If I don’t, it stays. See the problem?”
    “Aunt Cora—”
    “Don’t placate me. Do you see the problem?”
    “Yes, I do. Aunt Cora, why are you so angry?”
    “You took my booze.”
    “Before that. What made you angry enough to take a drink?”
    “This goddamn case.” Cora took out her cigarettes, lit one up.
    “You’re smoking in the office.”
    “You wanna confiscate my cigarettes too?”
    “Never mind. You were saying …”
    “I wasn’t
saying
anything.”
    “No, you were telling me why you were mad. Something about the case.” Sherry peered at her closely. “Cora, are you telling me you don’t want this case? You wish it would go away?”
    “Cases don’t just go away.”
    “No, but you can get out of them. No one says you have to do this.”
    “I promised Becky.”
    “Becky wouldn’t mind.”
    “Now you’re talking for Becky Baldwin?”
    “I forgot. You’re angry enough to argue anything. Okay, so tell me. What exactly is wrong with the