Another Word for Murder (8 page)

A normal Saturday gathering at the eatery consisted of too much food and too many laughs, which meant that everyone involved in the “Bunch” would waddle out the door at nine thirty or ten
A.M
. with their midsections in cramps. The participants varied from week to week depending on schedules, but this Saturday varied in another way: NPD had leaked a photograph of Dan Tacete to the evening news, and his disappearance was now general knowledge. Naturally, everyone in the Breakfast Bunch had an opinion, even though only one of them had actually met the missing man.

Martha, the fifty-something-year-old waitress whose hair, makeup, and attitude made her seem as if she'd just stepped out of a 1957 T-Bird ad—blonde beehive and American Beauty-pink lipstick startlingly intact—analyzed the situation with her customary grain of salt. “And you say he owned six cars, Rosco? That spells one thing to me; P-L-A-Y-B-O-Y. Tacete's found himself a younger chickie and flown the proverbial coop!”

But Abe Jones, the African American with the movie-star looks, who happened to be NPD's forensic expert and was no slouch in the playboy category, didn't buy Martha's scenario. “No way, Marth. Nobody walks away from all those goodies. Rich people like their S-T-U-F-F, and men like their trinkets. Especially car guys. Sure, he might take a powder on his wife, but there's no way he leaves a Porsche 911 behind.”

“There's a loving comment, gorgeous,” Martha wise-cracked, and Abe responded with an equally droll: “And ‘flying the coop's' supposed to be sympathetic, Marth?”

“You want T.L.C, how's about a B.L.T. with extra mayo, Dr. J?”

Al Lever was also there, and his offering was a habitually jaded “Not my department, Missing Persons, but nine times out of ten, it turns out these guys scooted up to Boston for a little hanky-panky. When they creep home, they've got their tails between their legs, and a dozen roses clenched in their sorry fists.”

Sara Crane Briephs, the grand old lady who traced her ancestry back to the first settlers of Massachusetts, and who had become Belle's surrogate grandmother, offered a more genteel and empathetic version. “Well, I've only met Dan Tacete a few times at charity fund raisers, but I can attest that he seems a most upright and wholesome young man. A thorough professional, I would imagine, beside being very pleasant … which leads me, I'm afraid, to fear the worst. I don't mean to be a pessimist, but I don't foresee a happy ending to this situation.”

“What
situation
would that be, Mrs. B?” Al asked her as he forked up his order of French toast with a double side of bacon—extra crispy, as usual.

“You're in charge of our city's homicide investigations, Albert dear,” was Sara's smooth response after she'd dabbed daintily at her lips with a still-clean paper napkin. “Perhaps, you should be telling me.”

Later on, remembering those ominous words, Rosco slumped into his office chair and rubbed his stomach. Once again, he'd overeaten. He released a groan as he scanned his cluttered desk. Dedicating a full day in an effort to help Karen locate her husband had left him behind with his investigation into the Porto Ristorante valet parking scam. On top of that, his answering machine was blinking rapidly. He tapped the play button, and an automated voice announced, “Friday, one twenty-seven
P.M
.” This was immediately followed by a human, but also staccato, “Rosco, it's Elaine Vogel. I was hoping to catch you in. I'd like to work with you on the Snyder case, but if I need to get someone else, let me know ASAP.” She then left a string of numbers for work, home, and cell. She was a person who left nothing to chance.

Rosco released a second groan, although this one was full of self-criticism. He'd promised to call Elaine on Friday, but with the Tacete mess it had completely slipped his mind. He punched in her first contact number and reached a voice mailbox. “Elaine, it's Rosco Polycrates. Sorry about yesterday. Listen, I know you're not making a dime on this one, so let's just say I'll help you out where I can. I'm really too busy to take on something else right now … but I've been in and out of a lot of body shops lately working on another situation. If anything looks fishy or seems like it might have bearing on the Snyder case, I'll get back to you, but if you need a full-timer I'll understand.”

He left identical messages at Elaine Vogel's other mailboxes then replaced the phone in the cradle. It rang within seconds.

“Polycrates Agency.”

A grave voice responded with, “Yeah, this is Phil Gronski. You left me a message earlier in the week.”

Rosco pushed through some papers on his desk until he found the one he wanted. “Yes. Right. Mr. Gronski. I understand you had your BMW stolen in front of Porto Ristorante on the evening of March fifteenth.”

“Yeah, right, a Z-8.”

“I've been hired by Northern Mutual to look into—”

“I'm not insured by Northern. My company's G.I.A.”

“Yes sir, I know that. There are a number of companies handling the claims. I'm trying to talk with everyone who had a vehicle stolen regardless of their insurer. We're looking for any thread, anything that can help us piece together who the perpetrator might be. I was wondering if you—”

Again Gronski interrupted Rosco. “It's sleazeballs like you who make life miserable for the rest of us.”

“Pardon me?”

“All I want is my damn money. I could care less if you catch the jerks who lifted my Z-8.”

“Northern Mutual's paid off their claims, Mr. Gronski. What they're looking for is criminal prosecution and the opportunity to reclaim some of their losses if they can.”

“Yeah, well, G.I.A. hasn't paid off jack,” Gronski growled into the phone. “And you know why? Because they're waiting for you people to get your act together. All I get from my agent is, ‘That case is still pending criminal investigation.'”

Rosco shook his head. G.I.A. Insurance was one of the worst companies in America, notorious for stringing customers along for months, even years, before settling claims, in the hopes that eventually clients would give up or just fade away.

“Well, sir, I can't answer for G.I.A., since I've been hired by Northern, but if that's their position, perhaps it would be in your best interest to answer a few questions? Get the ball rolling?”

“Yeah? Says you. Why don't you just go to hell.”

Instinctively, Rosco pulled the receiver away from his ear, knowing full well that Gronski's next move would be to smash the phone down into its cradle. And like clockwork, that's exactly what he did.

Rosco leaned forward and drew a narrow line through Phil Gronski's name, moved his pen down to the next name on his list, and reached for the telephone. Once again it rang before he had the opportunity to lift the receiver, and he answered with his normal “Polycrates Agency.”

“Rosco, thank goodness you're there,” Karen sobbed into the phone. “Dan didn't disappear. Someone has him. Someone's kidnapped him! They just called!”

“SUGAR AND SPICE”

Across

  1.  Part of S.P.C.A.

  4.  Nap spot

  7.  Virginia's specialty

10.  Tam

13.  Cable network; abbr.

14.  Theater worker; abbr.

15.  Yalie

16.  Fuss

17.  Sea eagle

18.  Map abbr.

19.  Kitty Fisher, e.g.

21.  Nursery rhyme

24.  Remove, in trips

25.  Pepper's pal

29.  Nab

30.  A Tucker

32.  Hare's adjective

33.  British Air, once

35.  Tempe campus; abbr.

37.  Airport info

38.  “The Grasshopper & the——”

41.  Vol/time fig.

42.  Mythical bird

43.  Cobra kin

44.  Ghostly sound

45.  British honor; abbr.

46.  Gals' dates

48.  Puss in——

50.  Fish eggs

52.  With 20-Down, Tibetan terrier

55.  Against

56.  Wood preservative

59.  Nursery rhyme

63.  Marvelettes hit

66.  Cartoonist Browne

67.  Fall back

68.  “The Mind Benders” actress

69.  Pitcher's stat.

70.  “… little girls——made of.”

71.  WNW counterpart

72.  Mr. Beatty

73.  Steal

74.  Buddhist temple

75.  Morning shakes

Down

  1.  Book support

  2.  Hugh, Pat, or Edmond

  3.  Nicaragua fighter

  4.  Nursery rhyme

  5.  Bone; comb. form

  6.  A man in a tub

  7.  Beatles hit

  8.  Lotion ingredient

  9.  “Three Blind——”

10.  48-Across, e.g.

11.  Orange or lemon add-on

12.  ——favor

20.  See 52-Across

22.  Newspaper, informally

23.  Siouan

26.  Like the Owl & the Pussy Cat

27.  “——Hang On!”, 4 Seasons hit

28.  Snare

31.  Nursery rhyme

32.  Nursery rhyme

34.  Edwards or Andrews; abbr.

36.  Old French coin

38.  “Dancing Queen” group

39.  Twelve

40.  Blow one's horn

47.  Tie back

49.  “Once upon a——”

51.  Wood sorrel

53.  Like Polly Flinders

54.  “Finally!”

57.  City in Madagascar

58.  Rims

60.  “The cow jumped——the moon”

61.  Roman fiddler

62.  Lackluster

63.  Good times

64.  Mine find

65.  Little——Riding Hood

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

CHAPTER 11

Unaware of Karen's calamitous news, Belle pulled into the small driveway in front of her house on Captain's Walk. After leaving Rosco to catch up on work following their weekly rendezvous with the Breakfast Bunch, she'd decided to give the dogs a brief run in the cliff-side park before settling down to an afternoon of crossword editing. The morning was simply too pleasant to resist; and she'd found the surprisingly visitor-free park a welcome relief after the emotional roller coaster of the previous forty-eight hours—as well the equally impassioned or trenchant comments Dan Tacete's disappearance had elicited from the crowd at Lawson's.

Reflecting on Sara's kindly concern, on Martha's joking skepticism, on Abe Jones and Al Lever's seen-it-all world-weariness, Belle realized how nice it was to toss a Frisbee or a stick while gazing at the salt waves of the bay and feeling the heat of the sun beating through the cooler ocean air. It felt good to clear her brain.

Watching Gabby and Kit bounding along, tearing after squirrels and each other, Belle considered how much humans could learn from studying the behavior of their canine friends. Joy was immediate; worry and fear became issues only when the need arose. Dogs didn't have sleepless nights fretting over mortgages or leaking roofs or roving spouses; they didn't torture themselves over past mistakes or unkindnesses or those many sins of omission. They existed to give love, receive love—and eat. Which wasn't a bad notion as long as someone else was paying the bills.

It was in this reflective frame of mind that Belle—along with Kit and Gabby—had finally returned home. As the three climbed the stairs to the porch, Belle noticed that the front door was slightly ajar and that there was an envelope wedged in the crack. Pulling it out, she noted that her name and street number were handwritten, that the script appeared feminine in shape, and that there was no return address.

Belle walked inside as she opened the flap and extracted a crossword with a Post-it providing the constructor's name, Randy E. Isaacs, and email address. “Oh …,” she murmured, scanning the puzzle, “‘
Sugar and Spice.'
This looks like another nursery rhyme theme…. ” Her brow creased in thought as she walked into her office and retrieved the “Baby Steps” puzzle Artie had delivered on Wednesday morning. Either these are constructed by the same person using different names for authorship, Belle decided, or there's some weird kind of
zietgeist
going on.

She spread the crossword on her desk, muttering aloud as she scanned the solutions and clues. “4-Down: CURLY LOCKS … 21-Across is LITTLE BO BEEP … MARGERY DAW is the answer to 31-Down … We've got Kitty Fisher's nemesis at 32-Down, and
Like Polly Flinders
at 53-Down…. Good … good … Those references work well with the ‘What are little girls made of?' theme.” Then she sighed as she realized she couldn't put two puzzles into the same collection that were so similar in message and intent.

She set the crosswords side by side, but as she scrutinized them, Rosco burst in through the front door. “I didn't want to phone you with the news,” she heard him call out as he hurried through the living room. She turned toward her office door. Only rarely did her husband come home without announcing himself with a cheery “Hiya Belle!” Something was wrong.