Last Puzzle & Testament (42 page)

“But he knew someone who could. For years he’d been acting as attorney for Jeff Beasley, the town drunk. Who’d been arrested for breaking and entering many times. Jeff Beasley owed him, and Jeff Beasley would be happy to pay. Happy to get the lawyer in his debt, actually. Jeff Beasley took the first set of clues, broke into the Hurley mansion, and planted them in the desk.

“Unfortunately for Arthur Kincaid, Jeff Beasley was so polluted—er, intoxicated—when he did that he passed out in Emma Hurley’s bed and got arrested.

“And that’s when everything began to come apart. Kincaid couldn’t very well represent Beasley when he was representing the Hurley estate. A bit of a coincidence he was not too happy to have to reveal in court. Plus it necessitated assigning Beasley another lawyer. Becky Baldwin seemed perfect—Do you know her? Young and inexperienced, she would do what he said, and the matter could be quickly disposed of.

“Bad luck for Arthur Kincaid, Becky Baldwin was no pushover. Neither was Jeff Beasley, who didn’t take kindly to being plea-bargained into jail. As a result, instead of being quickly disposed of, the matter was set for trial. Jeff Beasley, bailed out by Becky Baldwin, wound up at the Country Kitchen that night, hitting the heirs up for drinks, and making enigmatic comments in a most insinuating manner. Which everyone passed off as the ravings of a drunk.

“Except Arthur Kincaid, who knew exactly what Beasley was getting at. Particularly when he threw around phrases like
prodigal son.
Which Beasley could only have picked up by hearing his lawyer discussing the heirs. Listening to Beasley at the Country Kitchen that night, Arthur Kincaid realized he’d made a terrible mistake. Jeff Beasley was a conniving drunk who could not be trusted. A serious liability and a real threat.

“Jeff Beasley had to be eliminated.”

“So the lawyer killed him?” the photographer asked, enthralled.

Cora Felton raised an eyebrow. “Are you taking pictures, or what? Yes, of course he killed him. Snuck up behind him and clobbered him on the head. Left him in a ditch. A drunk like Beasley, who would be surprised? And that might have been the end of it, if that was the only one he had to kill.”

“Annabel Hurley,” the interviewer said.

“Yes.” Cora Felton nodded. “I think Arthur truly regretted that one, but he really had no choice. She was on to him. Annabel Hurley had been helping Chester Hurley collect the clues. She was with Chester when he solved the puzzle. Learned that it led nowhere. That’s when Annabel started poking around, questioning people. She spoke to Daniel Hurley; she even spoke to me. She must have also questioned Arthur Kincaid, which wasn’t wise. Only she had no way of knowing that. Her questions were just shots in the dark.

“But not to him. Arshe had nothur Kincaid hears Annabel zooming in with leading questions, and he figures she’s after him. He’s terrified, and he acts. He’s flustered, but not so flustered that he doesn’t take the knife away, afterward. And plant it where it will do the most good. When he learns Annabel called on Daniel just before she died, he puts the knife in the saddlebag of the boy’s motorcycle. Daniel finds it, panics, and throws it away.”

“And the clues,” the interviewer said. “The puzzle clues you say the lawyer planted. How did that work?”

“That was actually rather clever,” Cora said. “He found a puzzle where the four long answers were all types of buildings—a courthouse, a post office, a laundromat, and a flower shop—and he turned that into a treasure hunt for finding the clues.”

“And Chester Hurley solved it first?”

“That he did.” Cora Felton made a self-deprecating gesture with the trowel. “And well ahead of me. Chester was a whiz with words, had no problem zipping though a simple puzzle like that. He solved the first part, then drove Annabel Hurley around and had her pick up the rest of the clues.”

“And then he forged part of the puzzle?”

“Yes.” Cora Felton smiled. “Just as Arthur Kincaid forged part of Evan Hurley’s will. Chester Hurley completed the puzzle, and the last answer was
flower shop.
That sent him to the greenhouse, where he couldn’t find a thing. And if something was hidden there, he didn’t want the other heirs to get there until he found it. So he stole the last set of puzzle clues, and made up a new set to lead the heirs somewhere else. Then he sent Annabel Hurley back to the laundromat to substitute his false set of clues for the real ones. That worked, because Chester was so far ahead of the game no one else had gotten there yet.” She made the self-deprecating gesture again. “Even me.”

“And he was able to do that?” the photographer asked. “Create a whole new piece of the puzzle?”

“Actually, it wasn’t that hard. He just had to come up with a ten-letter word for a building—he chose
five-and-ten
—and fill in words around it and write up clues. The job he did was good enough to buy him time to search the greenhouse. The only reason it didn’t work was there was nothing at the greenhouse for him to find.”

The interviewer frowned. “That’s the part I don’t understand. If the lawyer devised this whole thing to send the heirs to the greenhouse and there was nothing in the greenhouse, how did he expect to get away with his deception?”

“Actually, he almost did. And it would have been my fault. You gotta remember, he was the attorney for the estate. He was there at my elbow all the time, advising me, pushing me in the direction he wanted to go. And, I must admit, he had me on the verge of ruling whoever completed the puzzle would be the winner. Regardless of the fact the clues actually led nowhere.” Cora Felton smiled. “Plus, you have to remember at that point I had never been to the greenhouse. Following Chester Hurley’s false clues, I had jus#x201D;t reached the conclusion there was nothing hidden at the five-and-ten.” She cocked her head. “You sure you wouldn’t like some iced tea?”

“Not just now,” the interviewer said. “And the expert—this crossword-puzzle guy who got assaulted. Beerbaum. What was the deal with that?”

Cora Felton frowned. “You’re not going to write this?”

“Absolutely not.” The interviewer smiled. “Why do you ask?”

“For one thing, I would not want to embarrass a colleague. Or myself, for that matter. Well, the story is this. Some of the heirs were no good at crossword puzzles.” Cora Felton shrugged modestly. “Some people aren’t. Anyway, with so much money at stake, the heirs were leaving nothing to chance. The ones who weren’t good at crossword puzzles got outside help. Phyllis Applegate went to the library. Philip Hurley went to Harvey Beerbaum. Philip had met him at the Country Kitchen the night before and knew he was an expert. He asked him to help.”

“And he did?”

Cora Felton waggled a finger. “This is what you’re not going to write. Yes, he did. And there was nothing wrong with that. And he had every right to do it.”

“Yes, but why would he? A respected expert like him.”

“Again, this is not for publication. Crossword-puzzle construction is not nearly as lucrative as you might think. Most constructors have other sources of income. I was being well paid for refereeing the contest. No reason why Harvey Beerbaum shouldn’t pick up a few bucks.”

“Why was he attacked? As I understand it, he found something wrong with the puzzle.”

“The puzzle was supposed to be forty years old. But it was full of modern references. Harvey Beerbaum found them in the puzzle. He knew something was wrong, and tried to warn me. Only I wouldn’t listen. As judge, I wasn’t about to discuss the puzzle with anyone, as I’m sure you can understand. But Arthur Kincaid overheard him asking, and realized he’d become a threat.”

“And tried to murder him. But he’s out of danger now?”

“Last I heard.” Cora Felton pointed toward the edge of the house. “You know, I got a box of violets I was going to put in over there. If you wouldn’t mind walking around.”

“Just one more thing,” the interviewer said. “Who gets the fifteen million now? I mean, that’s up to you, isn’t it? Who really won Emma Hurley’s game?”

“No one did.” Cora Felton shrugged her shoulders, smiled ruefully. “No one even played. Due to Arthur Kincaid’s interference, no one found the real clues.” She shook her head. “But it doesn’t matter. The money wasn’t hers to leave. By rights, it was Chester’s all along.”

?And what’s going to happen to him?”

Cora Felton frowned. “That’s not exactly a secret. It’s been on every news channel.”

“I know. Forgive me. Force of habit. Interviewers often ask questions to which we know the answers, just to see what someone will say.”

“I thought you weren’t writing this.”

“Like I say, force of habit. And, of course, we have to
allude
to your extracurricular activities. As an aside.”

“Uh huh,” Cora Felton said, dryly. “Well then, as you know, Chester Hurley’s been arrested for Kincaid’s murder. He’s hired Becky Baldwin as his attorney. As he has no money to pay her retainer, she’ll have to petition the Hurley estate for her fee. Which should be fun to watch. She’ll probably have to work harder to collect his inheritance than to save him from the murder rap. Much harder. In this town it won’t be easy to find twelve jurors eager to convict Chester Hurley.” She put up her hand. “I’m no advocate for vigilante justice, but if there ever was a popular shooting, this is it.”

“And the other heirs—what’s happening with them?”

“Chester’s declared he’ll honor his sister’s bequests. So, even if they can’t touch the money legally, the other heirs all stand to pick up ten grand each.

“What the boy will do with his, I can’t say. But if the twins run true to form, Philip will invest in some shady scheme, and Phyllis will take out an insurance policy on her husband. If so, they’ll bear watching, but that’s really not up to me.”

Cora Felton cocked her head. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to go to my daughter’s wedding.”

The interviewer frowned. “What?”

“Marlon Brando in
The Godfather
after solving all the problems of the world.” Cora Felton gestured to the flower box near the corner of the house. “Could I show you my petunias?”

“Be my guest,” the interviewer said.

On the front lawn Aaron Grant grinned at Sherry Carter. “You think they’ll use any of these pictures?”

“Only if they can’t get shots of Chester,” Sherry said. “I’m afraid this human interest piece has taken a little turn.”

“Yeah. I hope Cora’s not too disappointed.”

“Don’t be silly. If the truth be known, she’s more proud of her detective skills than anything else.”

“Yeah, I know,” Aaron Grant said. He raised his hand. “Come here, will you?”

““What is it?” Sherry said.

“I’d like to get away from the media for a minute. Come on out back.”

Aaron Grant led her around the garage to the backyard. The prefab had no porch, but there was a picnic table, a clothesline, and a barbecue grill.

“Here, sit down,” Aaron said.

He escorted Sherry to the picnic table, sat her on the top with her feet on the bench.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry to be theatrical, but I’ve got something to say to you.”

“What’s that?”

“I know who you are, Puzzle Lady.”

“What’s that?”

Aaron Grant ducked his head, grinned. He spread his arms, looked up at her, still grinning. “I feel like I’m Lois Lane and you’re Superman. Except Lois only suspected. I
know
your secret identity. And don’t blame Cora. She didn’t tell me. I figured it out myself. I’m a reporter, and the clues were all there. Cora can’t do crosswords to save her life. But you’re a natural. I just wanted to tell you I know, and your secret is safe with me.”

“Is it?” Sherry said.

“Yeah, it is.” Aaron frowned, looked at the ground. “Then there’s the other thing …”

“What other thing?”

He looked up again. “Becky. Yes, we used to have a relationship. But that was a long time ago. And now she’s here, and it looks like she’s going to stay. She’s got Chester’s case to handle. And there’s an opening for a lawyer in town, now that Arthur Kincaid’s dead.”

“Aaron.”

“Let me finish. Becky’s news, and I will have to write about her because she’s news. And I cover the courthouse, it’s one of my beats.”

“I know.”

“She was interested in Daniel Hurley. Maybe just as a client, or maybe there was something else. It’s hard to imagine, an uncouth guy like that, what a woman could see in him.”

“You
are
rather young, aren’t you?” Sherry said.

“I’m younger than you or Becky. By a little.”

“I didn’t mean chronologically,” Sherry told him. “Go on. I’m sorry I interrupted. You were telling me you couldn’t see Becky Baldwin being interested in Daniel Hurley.”

“Is that what I was saying? I can’t recall. I think I was saying it couldn” I don’t like him at all.”

“Do I have to stay up on this picnic table?” Sherry asked.

“You, as usual, can do anything you like.” Aaron took her hands. “I’m trying to say whatever you choose to do, I’d like to do with you.”

“Oh, is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Sort of. I’m not good with words.”

“Oh?” Sherry said, sliding down from the tabletop. “You’re usually fine.”

“I know,” he said. “Older women fluster me.”

Sherry let go of his hands. His arms went around her.

Sherry smiled. “Older women?”

“Your designation, not mine.”

“I was talking about emotional maturity.”

“I was talking about
you
.”

“You talk too much,” Sherry said.

“So do you,” Aaron Grant said.

And kissed her before she could reply.

For Alice, who might have been a writer.

ALSO BY PARNELL HALL

A Clue for the Puzzle Lady
Puzzled to Death
A Puzzle in a Pear Tree
With This Puzzle, I Thee Kill
And a Puzzle to Die On
Stalking the Puzzle Lady