Puzzled to Death (27 page)

“Something like that. I walked around the mall awhile before I shopped.”

“So,” Sherry said. “You can’t vouch for your husband’s whereabouts. But if you were out at the mall, then you had the car. So Billy couldn’t have gone anywhere.”

“Actually, we have two cars,” Sara said.

“Really? There’s only one in the driveway.”

“The other’s in our garage.”

“Oh? And what kind of car is that?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Just trying to get things straight,” Sherry said. “You have a Ford station wagon in the driveway. What kind of car is in the garage?”

“A Nissan Sentra.”

“Uh-huh,” Sherry said. She turned to Billy Pickens. “When you went out for pizza, what car did you take?”

“Why?”

“Someone may have seen you there at the pizza place. Or recognized your car there, or seen you getting into it. All of which would be corroboration of the fact that that’s where you were.”

“How about the fact I brought a pizza home for my kids?”

“That’s good too, but I’d like to try to keep your daughters out of this. What time did they go to bed?”

“Ellie at eight-thirty. Wendy at nine. You’re not going to wake them up, are you?”

“No, I’m not. Do you still have the pizza box?”

“It’s in the garbage.”

“Good. Leave it there. If the police ask, you can show them.”

“This is ridiculous,” Sara Pickens said.

“Maybe,” Sherry agreed. “You remember what car you took out for pizza, Billy?”

“I took the Nissan. And Jed Benson saw me get into it. Carrying the pizza box. Is that enough for you?”

“Not quite,” Sherry said. “Sara, which car did you take to the mall?”

Sara Pickens hesitated.

Sherry grimaced. “See, there’s your problem. If Billy took the Nissan for pizza, then the Nissan should be parked
behind
the station wagon. And you’d naturally take the Nissan to the mall. But then when you came back, you’d still be parked
behind
the station wagon. The station wagon might even be in the garage. But it isn’t. The Nissan’s in the garage, and the station wagon’s parked behind it. That looks like you took the station wagon to the mall. But if you did, how did you get out of the garage with the Nissan parked behind it? See the problem? I’m sure you do, because that’s why you hesitate to answer. You know neither answer works. And you know why. And it’s the same reason you’re not telling us to go to hell and throwing us out of here. It’s because you’re really upset, you haven’t had time to talk
and get your stories straight, but you’re trying to test your theories and see what you could do.” Sherry raised a finger. “Now,
I’ll
tell
you
what really happened. Billy went out for pizza, like he said. He admits he drove the Nissan because he has to, since he was seen in it. He drove home with the pizza. After dinner, Sara, you took the Nissan and went shopping in the mall. You’ve got groceries to prove it, though an hour and a half is a long time for grocery shopping, but I won’t get into that now. The point is, you got back and found the garage door open and the station wagon gone. You put the Nissan in the garage, unloaded your groceries, and proceeded to sweat. Billy drove up minutes later in the station wagon, and you proceeded to sweat
him
. Was he out of his mind, what was he thinking of, leaving your girls alone? He must have had a good enough story to satisfy you, otherwise you two wouldn’t be ready for bed. You’d still be arguing about it.”

Billy and Sara Pickens said nothing.

“You have anything you want to tell us?” Sherry asked.

They said nothing.

“Okay, that’s it. I would imagine the police will be here rather soon. I’d advise you to be forthcoming, direct, and helpful. In particular, don’t let them catch you in a lie.”

“We’re not lying,” Billy protested.

“I’m glad to hear it. On the other hand, you don’t have to volunteer everything unless specifically asked. That’s not to say don’t be cooperative, that’s just to say don’t be stupid. Sorry to bother you, we’ll let ourselves out.”

Sherry turned, guided a rather dazed Aaron Grant out the door.

“What was that all about?” Aaron demanded, as he followed Sherry back to the car.

“Nothing, I hope,” Sherry said. She left Aaron standing there, got in the passenger seat. After a moment he walked around the car and climbed in.

“Okay,” Aaron said, backing out of the driveway, “I know Billy is rumored to be linked to Judy. And you’re tap-dancing all around the subject, talking to his wife. What’s that got to do with tonight, and what’s this bit about the cars?”

“I got a bad feeling,” Sherry said. “Pull over and kill your lights and motor.”

“What?”

“Please, pull over to the side.”

They were about a block and a half from the Pickenses’ house. Aaron Grant pulled the car over to the curb, killed the motor, and turned off the lights. “Now what?” he demanded.

“We wait and watch,” Sherry told him. “Is your mirror angled toward their house?”

“More or less.”

“Make it more, so we don’t have to turn around.”

“How long are we going to be?”

“Not long enough for what you’re thinking,” Sherry told him. “If anything’s gonna happen, it should happen right now.”

She was right. Within a minute there came the roar of a motor, then headlights came on, and the Ford station wagon backed out of the Pickenses’ driveway and turned onto the road. It didn’t drive off, however. It sat there idling, waiting. Moments later the Nissan Sentra backed out of the driveway and pulled up ahead. The minute it was out of the way, the station wagon pulled into the
driveway and drove into the garage. The Nissan Sentra backed up, then pulled into the driveway behind it. The motor died and the headlights went out.

Sherry shook her head. “Too bad,” she said grimly. “I was afraid that would happen.”

“S
O
WHAT WAS
P
AUL
T
HORNHILL DOING AT YOUR
house?” Chief Harper asked as he and Cora pulled out in the police car.

“I have no idea,” Cora told him.

“Had he ever been there before?”

“No, he hadn’t.”

“Then how did he know where you lived?”

“You got me.”

“Could he have followed you home?”

Cora shook her head. “Not then. Sherry and I came home, got ready for bed, and found the body. There just wasn’t time for him to follow us, someone else to follow
him
, kill him, leave the body in our backyard, and get away. Even if there were, it simply makes no sense.”

“So you figure he was killed while you were out?”

“Had to be.”

“You were out looking for him. While you were, he came looking for you and got killed?”

Cora grimaced. “I admit, it sounds bad.”

“How long was this window of opportunity? How long were you gone?”

“I don’t know. Two and a half, three hours.”

“You spent that long looking for Paul Thornhill?”

“No, of course not.”

“So, what were you doing?”

“Well,” Cora said reluctantly, “we were also looking for Marty Haskel.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Drive by his house?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Was he home?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“What did you do then?”

“We kept looking for him.” Cora felt virtuous that she hadn’t actually lied.

“Where did you look?”

“Around. The Rainbow Room and the Country Kitchen.”

“Did you find him?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“And just why were you looking for Marty Haskel?”

“Because Jessica Thornhill thought she remembered Mrs. Roth talking to him
before
the incident with her husband.”

“Oh?”

“Which meant she had to be talking to him about something else.”

“Of course,” Chief Harper said. “And you were checking up on everyone Mrs. Roth talked to?”

“Something like that.”

“Seems to me she talked to Billy Pickens.”

“What’s your point?”

“Did you call on Billy Pickens this evening?”

“No, I did not.”

“That’s interesting. A direct answer. I wonder why?”

“You don’t like direct answers?”

“With you I’m suspicious of them. You happen to know where Sherry and Aaron are right now?”

“Chief. They’re young. They’re in love.”

“And they’ve just seen a dead body. What an aphrodisiac. I wouldn’t want to stay and find out what happened. I’d rush right off to bed.”

“That’s rather crude, Chief.”

“You’re the one who suggested it.”

“Yes, but in much nicer language.” Cora said it in her purest Puzzle Lady rectitude.

Chief Harper pulled up at an intersection, turned toward town. “I notice Mrs. Thornhill mentioned finding her husband talking to Becky Baldwin.”

“I believe she did,” Cora said, glad that Chief Harper had changed the subject. “What do you make of that?”

“It’s an interesting point. You were saying Jessica had no motive to kill him. But if she found him with another woman …”

“Talking on the town-hall steps? How compromising. Guaranteed to drive a woman mad with jealousy. Come on, give me a break.”

“There’s talking and there’s talking,” Chief Harper told her. “You women are awfully good at reading body language.”

“I’ll give you that,” Cora said. “With my husband Frank I could always tell. But I didn’t strangle him. Not that I didn’t want to.”

Chief Harper ignored this tangent. “Especially when you consider the other woman’s Becky Baldwin. There’s something about that girl makes men silly.”

“You noticed that?”

“I’m over forty, but I’m not blind. All I’m saying is, granted, it’s not like catching your husband in bed. But if it wasn’t the first time. And if he happened to be smitten with Becky. You didn’t see the two of them together at all, did you?”

“Oh.”

Chief Harper grimaced. “See, there is something to it.”

“No, there’s nothing to it,” Cora said irritably. “But you notice how Paul Thornhill was always the first one to finish his puzzle? He came out on the front steps and Becky was there with us, and that’s who he chose to talk to. Evidently he was doing it again this afternoon when his wife showed up. But it couldn’t have been any big deal, ’cause that TV guy was hanging around Becky Baldwin too.”

“Yeah, but if it’s the wife, it solves one of my problems.”

“What’s that?”

“How did the killer know you wouldn’t be home? If the killer’s gonna lure Paul Thornhill out to your house and kill him, the killer’s gotta be damn sure you’re not there. Well, here’s one person who knows you won’t be home. Mrs. Thornhill. She knows you’re out looking for her husband. Plus, she’s sent you off on a wild-goose chase after Marty Haskel.”

“What makes you think it’s a wild-goose chase?”

Chief Harper sighed in exasperation. “Are you telling me you like
Marty Haskel
for this crime?”

“Don’t be absurd, Chief. I don’t like Marty Haskel at all. I wanted to talk to him about what Mrs. Roth said to him, but that’s it. He has absolutely no motive. I don’t for a second think he did it.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Chief Harper said. “The way
this case is going, I thought you were going to try to sell me on some wacky theory.”

Cora stuck her nose in the air, maintained a dignified silence.

“So what do you make of the puzzle?” the chief asked.

“You mean what’s my wacky theory?”

“I’d be happy with
any
theory.”

“I have two theories. One, the killer’s mocking me. The crossword puzzle’s left for the same reason the body’s left at my house.” Cora sighed. “The problem is, it’s the third puzzle. If you wanna count the crossword puzzle found under Mrs. Roth and Judy Vale’s squiggles. Which is completely wrong and makes no sense at all. If the killer were doing this to mock me, this puzzle would be the first clue. In response to my investigation. It would be like the killer saying, ‘You think you’re gonna solve these crimes? Fat chance, lady.’ ”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“The Judy Vale clue was left
before
I started investigating. And there’s no connection between me and Judy Vale at all.”

“The killer could have known you’d investigate.”

“And left the clue? It’s a woman’s handwriting, Chief.”

“So what if the killer’s a woman? Or a man trying to make his handwriting
look
like a woman?”

“A man would have trouble. I’m not saying it couldn’t be done.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Chief Harper said. “Do I dare ask what your other theory is?”

“The more obvious theory,” Cora said, “is the killer leaves the puzzle to mock Paul Thornhill. It’s Thornhill’s puzzle. The killer rolls it up, shoves it in his mouth to spite him.”

“I admit that seems more likely,” Chief Harper said.

“Of course it does,” Cora said serenely. Miss Marple couldn’t have sounded more sage. “In which case, our killer’s not Billy Pickens. Billy Pickens doesn’t know from crossword puzzles. Billy Pickens couldn’t care less about crossword puzzles. No, the crossword puzzle makes it look like a contestant. Someone who was jealous of Paul Thornhill’s success and fame. Not to mention his constructing expertise. It’s the killer sayin’, ‘Hi, pretty boy, how do you like that, you with your fancy puzzles.’ ”