Puzzled to Death (13 page)

It seemed to Sherry that Becky was looking at Aaron
when she said that. But she couldn’t tell if he blushed, because he was still blushing from the encounter with his parents.

“Well, shall we try our luck again?” Becky Baldwin suggested. It was an ambiguously vague suggestion.

Sherry turned grimly toward the next picture. It was of a woman with curly hair. It might have been Mia Farrow, Edith Piaf, or Clara Bow.

Sherry didn’t recognize the woman and couldn’t care less. To Sherry Carter, all the fun had just gone out of Fun Night.

She had finally met Aaron Grant’s parents, and it couldn’t have gone worse.

C
ORA
F
ELTON CAME OUT OF THE BATHROOM IN A MUCH
better mood. She stopped in the doorway and surveyed the room.

For some reason people seemed to be walking around looking at the wall. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Ah, yes. Cora vaguely remembered something about some atrocious drawings by Zelda Zisk. If only she had paid more attention in any of the planning meetings. But Cora’s mind had a tendency to wander the moment Harvey Beerbaum began to pontificate. What was it about drawings …

As Cora watched, Sherry, Aaron, and Becky Baldwin went by and stopped to look at a picture on the wall. Sherry didn’t seem particularly pleased. Probably due to the presence of Becky Baldwin. And the ugliness of the pictures. Good God, had someone really drawn that?

Cora’s mind was going in circles, and not very productive ones. Now then, why was she here?

Cora’s eyes widened. Ah, yes. Phooey on Fun Night. She was here to trap a killer. To check out the crowd for suspects in the murder of Judy Vale.

Cora looked around.

Judy Vale’s four neighbors had broken up into husband-and-wife teams and were attempting to identify Zelda’s pictures. From what Cora could see, neither of the teams was doing a very good job. There seemed to be more bickering going on than identifying.

Next to Judy’s neighbors, a guy was looking at a picture of what might have been a young girl. He seemed familiar, but with his back to Cora, it was impossible to tell. Fortunately, he turned away, grabbed a cup of coffee, and went and sat on a tabletop, which gave Cora a better look at him.

It was the man she’d seen shooting pool with Joey Vale in the Rainbow Room. He was even wearing the same Knicks T-shirt. He was a rather tall man, with a thin face and a beaky nose. He sipped his coffee as if he would have much preferred a beer.

Cora pushed her way over to his table. “Giving up so soon?”

He looked at her, frowned. “That’s not allowed?”

“What do you mean, allowed?”

“Aren’t you the Puzzle Lady?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Well, you’re in charge, right? You here to tell me I can’t quit?”

“Of course you can quit. This is just a stupid game. It’s not like shooting pool.”

His thin face altered. He pointed at her. “You were in the Rainbow Room the other night. Talking to Joey. I didn’t put it together. I thought you were his mother, come
to console him.” At Cora’s offended look he added, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. I just didn’t put it together then. You’re the woman who figures out crime.”

“Right, I’m Bakerhaven’s
Murder, She Wrote
broad. I ask a few questions and zero in on the suspect.”

“I’m a suspect?”

“I dunno. Did you strangle Judy Vale?”

“No.”

Cora shrugged. “Then I guess you’re not. What’s your name?”

“Sy. Sy Fishman.”

“I’m Cora Felton, and I’m damn glad you didn’t kill Judy Vale.” Cora scrunched up her nose. “There was something I wanted to ask you.”

“About Joey Vale?”

“Yes,” Cora said. “No,” she amended. “Sort of,” she decided. “The guy Joey Vale thought was fooling around with his wife …”

“Billy Pickens.”

Cora’s face brightened slyly. “Yes. Billy. Very good. So you knew about Billy Pickens?”

“Everybody knew about Billy. Joey’d get in the bag, he’d start whining about it.”

“You happen to know Billy Pickens?”

“ ’Course I do. He’s a regular.”

“At the Rainbow Room?”

“Sure.”

“Was he there the other night?”

“No, but he’s there a lot.”

“So what’s he look like?”

“I don’t know,” Sy said. Apparently descriptions weren’t his forte. He raised his head, looked around the room.

Cora frowned at him, then got the idea. “You mean Billy’s here?”

“Unless he left. I saw him earlier. Yeah, there he is. In the corner, looking at the cartoon of the old lady.”

Cora followed Sy’s gaze.

In the corner of the room stood a broad-shouldered, muscular, athletic-looking young man in gray slacks, tweed jacket, light blue dress shirt, and patterned tie. His curly brown hair was neatly trimmed, and his face was almost boyish.

The woman with him looked older but probably wasn’t. It was just the fact her hair was up and she was wearing earrings, tiny, understated, tasteful.

They were studying a drawing of either an extremely flat-chested woman or a very long-haired man.

“That’s Billy Pickens from the paper mill?” Cora asked Sy.

“That’s right. Billy’s the bookkeeper down there. Looks too young, don’t you think?”

Cora didn’t know about that, but Billy Pickens from the paper mill suddenly seemed a much better prospect on her suspect list. Particularly in light of the young woman at his side. “Is that his wife?”

“Probably. I think he’s married, but I’ve never met her.”

“Uh-huh,” Cora Felton said. It occurred to her she had some questions for Billy Pickens, if she could just separate him from his date. Cora scratched her head, wondered how to go about it.

As Cora stood there pondering her next move, a young woman flitted by, peered at the androgynous picture the Pickenses were contemplating, scrawled a notation on her answer sheet, and scampered on.

Aha, Cora thought. Paul Thornhill’s wife. Attacking the game with undisguised zeal. But without her celebrity husband.

Cora glanced over at the Thornhills’ table. Paul Thornhill was seated facing Cora, partly obscured by the back of a woman who was bent over the table, talking to him. Cora was not surprised. With Mrs. Thornhill out of the way, her handsome husband would surely be besieged by female admirers.

This female admirer, however, seemed somewhat older than Cora would have expected. And there was something familiar about her. Cora looked more closely. The woman moved, and Cora saw her face.

“Now, isn’t that odd,” Cora murmured.

The woman talking to Paul Thornhill, giving a superb impression of a crossword-puzzle groupie, was none other than Judy Vale’s reclusive neighbor.

Mrs. Roth.

The troll.

What, Cora wondered, could possibly have lured the old woman from her shadowy lair? From Cora’s conversation with Mrs. Roth, it certainly wasn’t a passion for crossword puzzles. And, despite appearances, Cora couldn’t really imagine her making a play for Paul Thornhill.

Cora watched with growing interest.

“
Stop!
” Harvey Beerbaum commanded. There was a collective groan of disappointment, which seemed to delight him. “
Stop
where you are. Do not move on to the next picture. Stay right where you are standing, and volunteers will be around to collect your answer sheets. Be certain your name is printed legibly on the top. If we cannot read your name, you cannot win. As soon as your paper is collected, return to your table so we may begin the next exciting event.”

A volunteer collected Mrs. Thornhill’s paper, and she trotted back to the table and her husband.

Marty Haskel was right on her heels. He strode up to the table, jabbed his finger in Paul Thornhill’s direction. Cora Felton was too far away to hear what he said, but his subtext was plain. If Mrs. Thornhill happened to come in first on this puzzle too, there’d be hell to pay.

For her part, Mrs. Thornhill looked surprised and aggrieved. Why should anyone be raining on her parade? Just when things were going so well. Why was this happening? Why wasn’t someone rescuing her from this loathsome man?

To Cora’s surprise, the troll saved the day.

Graceful as a girl, Mrs. Roth stepped smoothly between the Thornhills and Mr. Haskel, murmured something to the garage attendant, and swept him away.

At the microphone, Harvey Beerbaum prattled on, blissfully unaware of any percolating controversy. “Volunteers are passing out the next puzzle now. Please keep it facedown on your table. This puzzle you will work on in teams of two. Please sit across from each other and be prepared to pass the puzzle back and forth.” He beamed. “And this puzzle, I am pleased to announce, comes from celebrity contestant Paul Thornhill.”

Harvey gestured to Paul Thornhill, who stood and took a bow to some applause, although not nearly as much as there would have been had his wife not won the first event.

A volunteer handed a paper to Cora. She glanced at it, saw it was a puzzle. Her lip curled up, and she had to curb the strong urge to hurl it on the floor. She looked again, saw the name
Paul Thornhill
featured prominently.

APOLOGIES
by Paul Thornhill

“Are we all ready now?” Harvey Beerbaum said, with all the warmth of a prissy schoolteacher about to administer a final exam. “In that case, ready, set, go!”

Cora looked from the puzzle to the man who had created it. At the table the Thornhills were having what could charitably be called an earnest discussion. Paul Thornhill looked defensive. Mrs. Thornhill looked thoroughly upset. The reason was obvious. As a result of Marty Haskel’s objection, there was no way Paul Thornhill could let his wife solve his own puzzle. Mrs. Thornhill, not one to suffer long in silence, was clearly not happy to be barred from victory.