Last Puzzle & Testament (22 page)

Chester Hurley narrowed his eyes, drew back his lips. The effect was unnerving. “So?” he said.

“Frankly, it’s the reason we were concerned about you. Annabel Hurley was skeptical of the puzzle and wasn’t playing the game. Someone killed her. You’re skeptical of the puzzle and you’re not playing the game. You’re the only other heir who isn’t playing the game. All the rest of them are all gung ho. You strike me as a very intelligent man. Can you see why we’d be concerned for your safety?”

“Sure,” Chester Hurley said. “Because you don’t know me.”

He reached into the pocket of his overalls and drew out the largest handgun Sherry Carter had ever seen. The revolver was ancient, but the blue steel gleamed from having been lovingly cleaned and polished. Sherry had no doubt the weapon was loaded, no doubt it would work.

“You can quit worrying about me, young lady. I can take care of myself. Now, you got any more damn fool questions?”

“Just one,” Aaron Grant said bravely. “You have any idea who murdered your niece?”

“Obviously not.”

“Why obviously?”

Chester Hurley waggled the gun.

“If I did, they’d be dead.”

Cora Felton paced the kitchen and fumed. Where were they? That’s what she wanted to know. Where had they gone? And why did Sherry have to run out on her now? It was positively infuriating. There they were, with a fresh set of clues to work on, and Sherry chooses to run off. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been right after Cora Felton had set the deadline. Four o’clock that afternoon. That was when the heirs would be showing up. That was when the heirs would be demanding these clues. And if Sherry and Cora hadn’t solved the puzzle by then—if they hadn’t found the closed recycling place, whatever that was, and gotten the next set of clues—then how could she give these out? And wouldn’t that be a fine kettle of fish, if she had to go back on that promise so soon after making it. So soon after reassuring the heirs the whole thing we oould be wrapped up by tomorrow morning. No, that would not do at all.

Cora Felton stalked to the refrigerator, jerked it open, looked inside, and slammed the door. It was not the first time she had done so.

The really infuriating thing was that Cora was being good. Sherry wasn’t home, Cora was all alone, Cora was bouncing off the walls, but Cora was not, repeat,
not,
pouring herself a drink. Absolutely not, no way. Cora had had her one wake-up Bloody Mary, and after that she would not drink until dinner. It was a rule that Cora would not violate except under extreme circumstances—though Cora was never quite sure exactly what constituted extreme circumstances—but certainly never on a day when she had been given the responsibility of adjudicating a very important puzzle, not to mention passing Go and collecting fifty thousand dollars. No, Cora would never drink on that day, even with extreme provocation, like Sherry running out on her and leaving her with the puzzle unsolved.

Cora opened the refrigerator again, took out the orange juice, poured herself a glass. Her first husband, Jerry, had made her drink orange juice when he had taken on the formidable task of sobering her up. Cora had loathed orange juice ever since, but drank it religiously in times of crisis, as a deterrent to the other. Cora took a sip, made a face. As usual, the thought
could use a little vodka
crossed her mind.

On the kitchen table, propped up against the sugar jar, was the manila envelope with the clues. Cora set her glass down, opened the envelope, pulled a sheet out, read it over. It was not the first time she had done so. Of course, the clues didn’t mean much without the puzzle grid. Cora had the one she’d used at the meeting to compare the heirs’ answers, but that grid only had the first quadrant filled in. Since this was the third set of clues, Cora needed the grid with the first and second quadrants, and Cora didn’t have that. In fact, she wasn’t even sure where Sherry’d put it.

Most likely in the office.

Cora padded down the hall, the clues in one hand, the orange juice in the other. She carried each at arm’s length. It was a toss-up which she found more distasteful.

Cora went into the office and looked on Sherry’s desk, but the crossword puzzle was not in plain sight. That did not surprise her. Sherry wouldn’t leave it lying around. But where would she put it? The desk drawer? The file cabinet? If it was filed, what would it be under?

Glancing around, Cora’s eyes lit on the computer. Of course. It didn’t matter where Sherry had hidden the grid. Sherry wouldn’t have worked on it anyway.

Not in the computer age.

Cora sat at the computer, switched it on. She was greeted by a reassuring whir. But the screen stayed blank. Damn, where’s that other switch? Cora found it, clicked it on. Sat and waited while everything booted up. Cora smiled, almost as pleased with herself at having remembered the term
booted up
as at having remembered how to turn on the infernal machine.

Cora absently took a sip of orange juice, then grimaced as she realized what it was.

On the screen, the various startup functions neared completion. Virus Scan completed its search—a process Cora Felton found unnerving, even though no virus was detected—and a series of tiny icons slowly came into focus on the screen. Cora found the one marked Crossword Compiler. She moved the mouse, double-clicked it as she’d seen Sherry do.

Seconds later, a crossword-puzzle grid filled the screen. Only this was a totally empty grid. No numbers. No black squares. No letters. No clues. No nothing. Basically, a blank piece of paper to a crossword-puzzle compiler.

For a non-crossword-puzzle compiler, a slap in the face.

This couldn’t be right. She’d seen Sherry working on the screen.

Cora leaned forward, peered at the grid. A quick count showed it to be a fifteen-by-fifteen square, just what Sherry had been working on. Of course, it wasn’t. At the top it read Crossword Compiler (untitled). Below there were certain choices. File, Edit, Grid, Words, Clue, Options, Windows, and Help.

Cora needed help, but when she moved the mouse and clicked on it, it offered her Contents, Keyboard, Mouse, Crossword Compiler on the Web, Download updates from the Web, and About. That was definitely more than she wanted to deal with. She moved the mouse back to the beginning, clicked on File. She found New, Open, Save, Save as, Close, Export, Copy to clipboard, Print, Printer setup, Page setup, Headers, Information, Statistics. Who invented these things, she wondered irritably.

And then, down at the bottom, numbered one through five, the last five puzzles Sherry had been working on. They were labeled 1) Will #2-B; 2) Will #2-A; 3) Will #1-B, 4) Will #1-A; and 5) Will Blank.

Cora moved the mouse, clicked on 1) Will #2-B.

And the crossword puzzle filled the screen. Just as Cora had seen it when Sherry had been working on it. The section with
courthouse
was filled in across the top. And the section with
post office
was filled in down the right side. There it was, the most up-to-date version of the puzzle, just as Sherry had left it.

Cora Felton held up the new list of clues:

ACROSS

• 25. Amiable
  
• 30. Chinese gelatin
  
• 35. Perfect rejoinder
  
• 40. Barbie’s buddy
  
• 41. Do ____ (second chances)
  
• 44. Wipe out
  
• 48. Unfruitful
  
• 52. Me first man
  
• 57. Peru city
  
• 61. Alda
  
• 64. So far
  

DOWN

• 23. Attitudes
  
• 25. Wolf gathering
  
• 26. Monster
  
• 27. Close recycling place, so to speak?
  
• 31. Worry
  
• 36. Golf course features
  
• 45. Character in “Wheel of Time” books
  
• 48. Stop
  
• 49. Spry
  

Cora Felton looked at the grid and grinned.

Because she had a word. She had an answer. She had a solution to one of the clues. That was why she’d been so eager to find the grid. She’d seen the clue in the kitchen, th she hand she’d wanted to make sure. Because the answer just had to be.

And it was.

The answer to forty across,
Barbie’s buddy,
was three letters, just as she’d thought.

Cora Felton triumphantly moved the mouse, and typed in
Ken.

The doorbell rang.

The smile froze on Cora Felton’s face.

Uh, oh. Whoever it was, they mustn’t see this. But how did she hide it? A paper she could hide, but a computer?

Cora looked at the screen. Did anything say Hide? No. Or Exit? No. But she’d seen it. She was sure she’d seen it. Now, what had she opened? Help and File. It wasn’t Help, it must be File.

Cora clicked on File. Scanned down quickly. Eureka! Exit. She clicked on Exit.

The computer didn’t exit the program. Instead, a new screen came up. It read Puzzle has been modified: do you wish to save Will #2-B? There were three choices to click on: Yes, No, and Cancel. Cora wasn’t sure what that meant. If she said Yes, would that replace Sherry’s puzzle with the one she’d just typed? If she said No, would it erase Sherry’s puzzle?

The doorbell rang again.

Which was it? Yes? No?

Cora hit Cancel.

The puzzle remained on the screen. Cora jumped up, knocking over her orange juice. It spread on the desk, headed for the mouse.

Cora glanced around for tissues, saw none. She grabbed the mouse, set it on the keyboard. The orange juice was approaching fast.

The doorbell rang again.

Cora looked around frantically. She grabbed paper out of the printer, slapped it down on the desk in the path of the orange juice, creating a dam.

There. Was that enough to hold it?

Cora grabbed more paper from the printer, slapped it on top.

The doorbell rang again. More insistently this time.

Cora took one last look at the computer screen, then fled from the office, slamming the door behind her.

She hurried to the front door and flung it open to find a rather impatient Chief Harper on her threshold.

“Well, it’s about time,” the Chief said. “If it weren’t for your car in the driveway, I was starting to get the impression you weren’t here.”

“Oh, yes? Well, I’ve got news for you. Sherry and I sometimes leave the car here and go out with someone else.”

“Well, I’m glad this wasn’t one o#x2go out wif those times.”

“Actually, it is. Sherry’s out with Aaron Grant.”

“That’s all right. I came to see you.”

“Why?”

“The new clues. Have you solved them yet?”

“Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m not. Do you have the new clues for me?”

“You have two murders on your hands and you want the new puzzle clues?”

“I have two murders on my hands
connected
to the new puzzle clues. So, what’s the solution? Do you have the next part?”

“No, I don’t.”

Chief Harper scowled. “Well, why not? You’re the world-famous puzzle expert. You’ve had time to work on it.”

“I’m sorry,” Cora said. “I don’t mean to be rude. You want to come in and have some coffee?”

“Coffee wouldn’t hurt,” Chief Harper said. “But what’s with the puzzle? You really don’t have it?”

“Actually, I don’t,” Cora said, leading him into the kitchen.

“And why is that?” Chief Harper asked.

Cora took the coffeepot over to the sink and washed it out, thinking fast. “The problem is, Sherry’s not here. While I was giving out the puzzle clues to the heirs, she took off with Aaron Grant.”

“So?”

“It’s been a full morning, Chief. We went straight from the post office to the crime scene to a powwow with the heirs. We had the puzzle clues with us, of course.”

“Don’t tell me.”

Cora filled the pot with water, brought it back to pour in the automatic drip machine. “I’m sorry, but there you are. Sherry’s off with Aaron, and I can’t work on the new clues until she gets back. Just one of those unfortunate things. How do you like your coffee, pretty strong?”

“She took
all
the sets of clues?”

“They were all together in an envelope.” Cora didn’t like lying. So far, every statement she’d made to Chief Harper had been the absolute truth. If he happened to misinterpret those statements, that was hardly her fault.