Puzzled to Death (21 page)

Cora smiled. “Don’t pull your punches, Chief. If you don’t like my theory, just say so.”

J
ESSICA
T
HORNHILL, AS A GRAPHIC PROCLAIMED
P
AUL
Thornhill’s wife to be, rolled soulful eyes at the camera and said, “I feel connected to this woman, because she protected me. A man was harrassing me about winning the first event, and she made him stop. Which was only right, because why shouldn’t I have won the first event? My husband had nothing to do with that puzzle, so why should I be disqualified just because my husband happened to be on my team?”

“Why indeed?” Rick Reed soothed. “But with regard to the woman herself. Mrs. Felicity Roth. The woman who was violently slain. Just what exactly did she say to your husband?”

“I don’t know. I was playing the picture game. You know, identifying the drawings on the wall. Paul wasn’t helping me because of that
awful
man. And then I go back to our table, and there he is. Complaining again. And Paul’s not even playing. And that’s when the woman pulled him away.”

“Very interesting,” Rick Reed said, nodding sagely. One got the impression he had Jessica Thornhill on camera because she was pretty but couldn’t care less what she had to say. “Mr. Thornhill. What was Mrs. Roth talking to you about?”

“She was confirming the fact that I was a local celebrity.” Paul Thornhill made a self-deprecating gesture of false modesty. “I was afraid she was going to ask for an autograph.”

“And did she mention the murder of Judy Vale?”

Paul Thornhill frowned. “I believe she said she was a neighbor. I got the impression she was trying to make herself seem important, but I really wasn’t paying much attention.”

“And why was that?”

“Frankly, I was watching my wife. I had noticed some resentment toward her during the first game.” Paul Thornhill grinned and ducked his head boyishly. “And I
like
watching my wife.”

As if on cue, the Thornhills beamed at each other, while still managing to keep their handsome faces turned to the camera.

“That’s enough to make you puke,” Cora Felton commented, waving her fork at the TV.

“I hope you’re not referring to my pork medallions,” Sherry said as she poured the wine. Sherry had whipped up a dinner of pork, egg noodles, and spinach. As usual, Sherry and Cora were eating in the living room in front of the TV.

“Dinner’s great. Particularly since we didn’t get lunch. But I’ve really had enough of glamour-puss Thornhill.” Cora took a bite of pork and sipped her wine. “Even so … Oh, look, there’s Iris.” Cora pointed at the TV. “And what’s-his-face.”

On the screen, Iris Cooper stood next to Harvey Beerbaum on the marble steps of the Bakerhaven town hall. “These homicides are of course a genuine tragedy,” Iris said with convincing sincerity, “and would be at any time. It’s just doubly unfortunate that they should happen now, when the town is deeply involved in doing good work. I am referring, of course, to the Bakerhaven Crossword-Puzzle Tournament, which has raised over ten thousand dollars for charity. We just want to assure the public that in spite of these tragedies, the tournament will go on.”

“That’s right,” Harvey Beerbaum piped up. “The last puzzle will be given out at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, to be followed immediately by the final play-off between the top three finishers.”

“
Among
the top three finishers,” Sherry corrected automatically. As the TV went to commercial, she picked up the zapper, clicked it on mute. “What were you going to say?”

“I don’t know. Was I going to say something?”

“About Paul Thornhill. Something about his interview.”

Cora speared some noodles. “Oh, yes. He says Mrs. Roth bragged about being Judy’s neighbor. Trying to make herself seem important.”

“So? I’m sure that’s what she did.”

“Me too. Only thing is, when Chief Harper asked him about it this morning, Thornhill didn’t remember that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. He said she didn’t mention the murder and he seemed surprised to learn she lived across the street from the Vales.”

“That’s not what he just said.”

“Exactly.” Cora said it smugly. Or as smugly as you can say something with your mouth full of noodles.

“How do you account for it?”

“Well,” Cora said, “either he was fibbing to cover up the fact he killed her, or he was lying because he didn’t want to be involved, or he was dissembling to avoid adverse publicity, or he just plain didn’t remember.”

“That’s helpful,” Sherry said.

“Actually, it helps to state the problem,” Cora said serenely. “These noodles are delicious. What’s your secret?”

“Boiling water. It’s a dish even you could make, Cora.”

“Well, let’s not be hasty. Just the thought of cooking gives me hives.” Cora took another bite and gestured with her fork to the doodle, which was lying precariously close to her wineglass. “So, you give any thought to the puzzle?”

“Such as it is,” Sherry said. She retrieved the paper, spread it out on the coffee table.

“I’m assuming Judy Vale doodled this. It’s a woman’s doodle. Anyway, it concerns two people, her husband and her lover. Primarily her lover. Do you see why?”

“Sherry. I’ve had it up to here with puzzles.”

“Sorry. The first word doodled was
lover
. It’s in the middle of the pad, and it goes across. The way a person would normally write. Everything else grows from that. And the other words are all in pairs. For instance,
lights out
is a series. But it can’t be the next series, because
out
intersects with
jealous
. So the next word would have to be
jealous.
”

Cora, peering over Sherry’s shoulder, said, “Why not
Joey
?
”

“Because
Joey
doesn’t connect with
lover
, it’s parallel to it. It connects with the
j
in
jealous
. So
jealous
comes next.
Jealous
and then
Joey. Jealous
is written first, but the two words actually come together, making the phrase
jealous Joey
or
Joey jealous
.

“So what’s next? Well, now you can do
lights out
. No
problem. She doodles those next. Which fits just fine. Except, unluckily, she’s got
or
left over from writing
Joey
over
lover
. So she scribbles an
else
onto
Joey
, creating the phrase
or else
. Which fits very nicely.
Joey jealous. Lights out or else
. Or even
Lights out or else Joey jealous
. But
lover
, that’s who the note’s about.”

“I wish I could think like you,” Cora said. “That’s the sort of thing I need to do to get Harvey Beerbaum off my case. Explain a crossword puzzle. Convince him I have a nodding acquaintance with one.”

“I’m afraid a simple analysis like that wouldn’t impress him much.”

“Maybe not,” Cora said. “But it sure wouldn’t hurt. Okay, never mind how the damn thing was doodled, what does it mean? All this stuff about Joey being jealous unless the lights are out.”

“Or else.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not
unless
, it’s
or else.
”

“Whatever. What does it mean? Is it a message to her lover?”

“Not at all. It’s what she scribbled while talking on the phone. She wasn’t leaving a message, she was doodling her subconscious thoughts.” Sherry sawed a piece of pork. “And that’s what Aaron thinks too.”

“You told Aaron?”

Sherry put up her hand. “Off the record, in strictest confidence. Not for publication.”

“Chief Harper will kill me.”

“Relax. He’d never write it. Anyway, Aaron agrees it’s not a message, just a doodle.”

“And the lover in the doodle?”

“The lover in the doodle is in serious trouble, what with Joey Vale cleared.”

“I mean who is he?”

Sherry shrugged. “Mrs. Roth talked to three men: Paul Thornhill, Marty Haskel, Billy Pickens. Paul Thornhill’s the type, but he wasn’t in town. Marty Haskel was, but he’s not the type. Billy Pickens qualifies on both counts.”

“It wouldn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

“So why does Harper need your help?”

“Maybe he figures the doodle’s
too
straightforward, there must be something more to it.”

“Yeah, well … Wasn’t it Freud who said sometimes a cigar is just a cigar?”

“I think it was Bill Clinton.”

“You’re terrible.”

The phone rang. Cora scooped up her plate and glass, headed for the kitchen. “I got it,” she said. She plunked the dishes down on the counter, picked up the phone.

Sherry, following with her plate, saw her aunt stiffen.

“Hello, Harvey,” Cora said.

“Hello, indeed!” Harvey Beerbaum had on his most peeved voice. “You ran out on me today. Left me to carry on alone.”

“It was a murder, Harvey,” Cora said defensively. “Chief Harper needed me.”

This was only partly true. Chief Harper had actually brought Cora back during lunch, but she had feigned police work and skipped out on the afternoon session.

“That may well be,” Harvey said. “But we’re supposed to be a team. So far, I’ve done almost everything. It’s embarrassing. I feel like I’m showing off. I’d like to give you a chance to show off too.”

A cold chill ran down Cora’s spine. “What do you mean?” she asked. She reached up and hit speakerphone so Sherry could hear.

Harvey Beerbaum’s voice filled the kitchen. “Tomorrow. During the finals. While the three finalists are solving the puzzle onstage,
you’re
going to do the commentary.”

“The what?”

Harvey practically purred. “Just a little idea of mine. They do it at the national tournament, so there’s no reason we can’t do it here. The finalists wear headphones that play loud classical music. So they can’t hear what you’re saying. And you take the microphone and do a play-by-play commentary on how they’re doing with their puzzles. Point out where they’re making errors. Suggest lines of strategy they might take.”

Cora could barely speak. “It’s your idea, Harvey,” she managed to croak. “I think you should do it.”

“Not at all. It’s your turn to shine. I want you to have a chance to show people what you can do.” It seemed to Cora that Harvey’s voice took on just a slight edge. “You can’t hide your expertise forever.”

The line clicked dead.

Cora hung up the phone with nerveless fingers. “Sherry. What the hell do I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t do the commentary.”

“That’s for sure.”

“How do I get out of it?”

“You could murder Harvey Beerbaum.”

“Thank you for the gallows humor.” Cora shrugged. “I suppose I could get drunk.”

“Aunt
Cora …
”

“If I were drunk, no one could expect me to comment coherently on crossword puzzles.”

“No. But videotape of you failing to do so would
undoubtedly run on every nightly news show. It might even go national.”

Cora muttered something any news show, local or national, would have to edit.

The doorbell rang. Sherry and Cora looked at each other.

“If that’s Harvey Beerbaum I’m not here,” Cora said decisively.

“Don’t be silly. He just hung up.”

“He could have been on a cell phone. If it’s him, I’m gone.”

“Aunt Cora.”

“Phooey. You get the door. I’ll be in here ready to bolt. And pick up that puzzle before you let anyone in.”

Sherry detoured into the living room, folded up the doodle, and stuck it in her purse. Then she opened the front door to find a handsome curly-haired young man who looked familiar but whom she could not immediately place. “Yes?” she asked.

“Cora Felton. I’ve gotta see her. Is she here?”

Sherry frowned. “I’m afraid my aunt went out. And who are you?”

“Billy Pickens.”

Cora popped out of the kitchen. “Mr. Pickens!”

Billy Pickens looked at her. “I thought you went out.”

“I came back in. What are you doing here?”

“Miss Felton. I gotta talk to you. I’m going nuts.”