Puzzled to Death (3 page)

F
IRST
S
ELECTMAN
I
RIS
C
OOPER WAS ALL SMILES
. “T
HIS
is wonderful,” she gushed. “This will put Bakerhaven right on the map. Not that we’re not on the map already, but you know what I mean. If there’s two things a town can’t have enough of it’s publicity and goodwill. Not to mention the opportunity of aiding a worthwhile cause.” Iris raised an eyebrow in Harvey Beerbaum’s direction. “Just what cause are we aiding?”

“That is yet to be determined,” Harvey answered. “But that’s the least of our worries. There’s always someone willing to take our money.” He laughed at his own joke and turned to include Cora Felton, who favored him with a frozen smile.

Cora and Harvey were on display, sitting on folding chairs in the front of the town-hall auditorium, along with the five Bakerhaven selectmen. Iris Cooper had called a special town meeting to deal with Harvey Beerbaum’s proposal, and the turnout had been good. Over a
hundred people had jammed into the meeting room to find out what was up.

Or to put in their two cents’ worth. “That’s all well and good,” a cranky voice said from the middle of the crowd. The speaker stood up, proved to be a man in a red-and-black plaid hunting jacket, with a blond mustache under a flattened nose that accentuated his quarrelsome quality. “Before I donate my services to anything I want to know exactly where my money is going.”

Cora Felton, who recognized the man as a mechanic from the service station on the edge of town, wondered just what services he might be donating to a crossword-puzzle tournament, but she held her tongue.

Iris Cooper, at the lectern, nodded. “That’s a good point, Mr. Haskel. One of the first things we want to pin down is what charity we are representing.” Iris turned to Cora Felton. “And I think I’ll let our celebrity cohost do that. Miss Felton, would you care to choose a charity for this event?”

Cora Felton, stunned at being called on, racked her brain for her last charitable contribution. The fact that her husbands had always taken care of the family finances didn’t help. Cora was painfully aware that Sherry was in the crowd and would take her to task for the damage done to the Puzzle Lady image if she came out and admitted she couldn’t think of a single charity. “Well, that’s a problem,” Cora said. “I’m familiar with New York City charities. But something like this should be national. Let me look into it and see which national charity would be best.”

“Fine,” Iris agreed, nodding again. “We appreciate that.”

“I’d appreciate an answer more,” Mr. Haskel grumbled.
When it was clear none was forthcoming, he sat down.

“Well,” Iris Cooper said. “I would imagine most of you have never seen a crossword-puzzle tournament before. I know I never have. So I’d like to turn the floor over to Harvey Beerbaum to tell you what it’s all about. Mr. Beerbaum.”

Harvey Beerbaum sprang from his chair, pranced to the lectern. “It’s extremely exciting,” he informed the crowd. “You start off with a roomful of contestants and wind up with only three. Standing onstage in front of everyone. Solving the same identical puzzle. On giant grids for all to see. Positively thrilling.”

In the back of the hall, Aaron Grant grinned and leaned closer to Sherry Carter. “Your aunt doesn’t look happy. You think she can survive this?”

“Relax,” Sherry replied. “She has nothing to fear from a man who would use a redundancy like
same identical.
”

“Even so, Beerbaum’s formidable. I hear he’s contributed to
The London Times.
”

“He’s British.”

“That makes it easier?”

“No, just more likely. Yes,
The London Times
is a tougher puzzle of a different type than the Puzzle Lady’s. And, no, I’ve never created one. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t.”

“You’re rather touchy this evening.”

Sherry opened her mouth to retort, then closed it. “You’re right, I am. Teaming Cora up with that man is my worst nightmare. It’s funny in one respect. But in another, one little slip and that’s the ball game.”

“Your aunt’s pretty quick on her feet.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know the first thing about crossword puzzles.”

“So what? With Harvey in charge, she’ll be lucky to get a word in edgewise.”

Sherry looked toward the lectern, where the little cruciverbalist was carrying on blissfully, totally oblivious to the fact someone in the room might not care.

“In order to draw attention to our tournament,” he was saying, “I have invited some of the brightest luminaries in the crossword-puzzle community, and they are here today to lend their support to our little endeavor and to assure us that they intend to compete. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. Paul Thornhill, Ms. Zelda Zisk, and Mr. Craig Carmichael.”

Heads swiveled as the three experts stood and waved.

Paul Thornhill was a handsome, personable young man in a stylish sport jacket who seemed perfectly at ease, but Zelda Zisk was an enormous woman in a pink print dress the size of a circus tent who appeared to be sweating profusely, and Craig Carmichael was a pinched little man in a tweed suit and red bow tie, who had a twitchy nose and shifty eyes and who gave the distinct impression he’d much rather have been somewhere else.

Mr. Haskel from the gas station was certainly not sold. He jerked a thumb in their direction and challenged Harvey Beerbaum. “Now, just a minute here. You say you’ve invited these people? How can you have invited these people when we haven’t even set a date for this thing yet? When we haven’t sanctioned a tournament yet? Don’t you think it premature for you to take it on yourself to invite people? And just what have you invited them to?”

Harvey Beerbaum was clearly not used to having his good works flung back in his face. He tugged at the collar of his crisply starched shirt. “I inquired as to their availability as to a crossword-puzzle tournament I was
organizing for the weekend of December fifth. I merely pointed out if such a tournament could be arranged we would be honored by the presence of such celebrities. In organizing an event of this nature it is requisite to make preliminary inquiries into the availability of the contestants in order to assess the feasibility of the venture.”

Haskel digested this barrage silently, then countered sullenly, “Oh, yeah? Suppose I don’t want these people here? Suppose I’d like to win the thing myself?”

“Oh, do you do crossword puzzles?” Harvey Beerbaum inquired. His tone implied he would be less surprised if Mr. Haskel ran shuttle buses to the moon.

“That’s not the point,” Haskel snapped. “The point is, if I wanted to do crossword puzzles, I should be allowed. I shouldn’t have to compete against professionals. I mean, is this an amateur contest or what?”

Harvey Beerbaum’s smile was superior. “The words don’t apply. They are basically
all
amateur contests. The prizes aren’t large enough or the contests frequent enough for anyone to do it professionally. But if you mean a
novice
contest, no, it is not. It’s a
charity
contest, open to everyone, beginners and experts alike. However, your point is well taken. And in addition to the first-, second-, and third-place winners, I see no reason why we shouldn’t have a trophy for the highest-ranking
novice
contestant.”

“A consolation prize?” Marty Haskel snorted. “Gee, isn’t that just great!”

A rather attractive young woman with glossy red hair and honey-colored freckles sprang to her feet. “I’m with Marty on this. I’ve been listening to what you’re saying, Mr. Beerbaum, and I’m not sure I like it.” She batted her eyes in Paul Thornhill’s direction. “Not that I’m not delighted
to see these professionals you’ve brought in, but are you planning on giving them the prize money?”

Harvey Beerbaum’s smile became somewhat forced. “You must remember we’re doing this for charity. The monetary awards are negligible.”

The feisty young woman with the flame red hair was not so easily dissuaded. “Just how negligible are they?”

Harvey Beerbaum cleared his throat. “Two hundred to the winner, a hundred to the runner-up, and fifty to third. Just enough to defray expenses, really.”

“I don’t understand. If the prizes are so small, why are these celebrities willing to come?”

Harvey Beerbaum nodded. “That’s an extremely good point. I’d been saving this as a surprise, but since you bring it up …” Harvey positively beamed. “In order to make our little event more attractive, I have arranged for the Channel 8 news team to film a documentary of the tournament, including of course an in-depth profile and interview with the winner.”

If Harvey had hoped to appease the woman, he was sorely disappointed. “Oh, is that so,” she said. “Well, isn’t that wonderful. You mean the whole purpose of this tournament is to get your celebrities on TV? And we all get to be extras? Unpaid extras? That doesn’t sound so good to me. Maybe we should call the whole thing off.”

That pronouncement was greeted by a rather loud murmur and much nodding of heads.

Iris Cooper pushed forward, hands raised, to calm the roiling waters. “Now, now, let’s not get carried away here. TV coverage is certainly a wonderful thing. But I would like to point out, we are
not
doing this to get on television, we are doing this to aid a charity. Even if we’re not sure
which
charity.”

Cora Felton, who had been surreptitiously rooting through her bulging drawstring purse, stood up. “With regard to that … I have recollected one of my favorite national charities, which I think would be most appropriate. It’s always nice to do something for children. Sets the right tone, shows our heart’s in the right place. Not to mention helping the kiddies. So I propose that we donate all charitable contributions raised through this tournament to the National Children’s Placement Fund, an organization devoted to the welfare of underprivileged children.”

Iris Cooper was instantly all smiles. “Well, I think that should settle the matter,” she said firmly, elbowing Harvey Beerbaum away from the lectern. “We have a date set, we have a charity selected and celebrities invited. It remains for us to organize committees to get this under way. Now then, I’m going to ask for volunteers.”

It was nearly an hour later when Cora Felton managed to sneak offstage and she and Sherry were able to steal away.

“Good Lord,” Cora fumed, as she peeled out of the parking lot in the Toyota. “How could they be that stupid?”

“You mean to put Harvey Beerbaum in charge?”

“No, I mean in general. Did you hear them picking committees? Are communities always this selfish and dense?”

“Come on, Cora. Didn’t your apartment house ever have a co-op meeting?”

“You think I ever went? When I had a perfectly good husband to go for me?”

“Which husband?”

“What’s the difference? If I was married, he went.”

“What about when you were divorced?”

“You couldn’t expect a woman in marital turmoil to care about an apartment.”

“You always managed to hang on to them.”

“I had good lawyers. Not that they’d go to co-op meetings for me. Say, who were those dodos Harvey Beerbaum brought in?”

“Crossword-puzzle experts.”

“No kidding. I mean, do you know them?”

Sherry frowned. “I’ve heard of Zelda Zisk. I don’t know the men.”

“Too bad,” Cora said. “That one guy looked dreamy.”

“You thinking of getting married again?”

“No, but you might.”

“Cora.”

“Right, you got Aaron. But, trust me, you can never have too many men.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes!”

“Hey, until someone proposes, you’re single. It pays to line up prospective suitors.”

“What a charming philosophy.”

“Anyway, if you haven’t heard of the men, then they’re not that famous, and I won’t lose points for not knowing them. I’ll have to know what’s-her-name though.”

“Zelda Zisk.”

Cora grimaced. “What a name. No wonder you remember it.” She shook her head. “This whole thing is a nightmare. I’m constantly improvising, and I never know where I stand.”

“Where’d you come up with that charity?” Sherry asked. “The National Children’s Placement Fund? I never heard of it. You didn’t make it up, did you, Cora?”

“It was on a flyer in my purse.”

“A flyer?”

“Yeah. From before we moved up here. I know it’s
been some time, but you don’t expect a charity to just go away. If it has, big deal, we’ll quietly substitute another.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t even know what the National Children’s Placement Fund is?”

“It’s a charity for kids. A national one. And it shut the gas-station jerk up. That’s good enough for me.”

“Aunt Cora, before you endorse something, you ought to know what it is.”

“Sherry, I know I got that brochure from an earnest-looking young girl outside D’Agostino’s handing out leaflets. Clean, presentable, attractive. An all-American girl.”

“Even so …”

“Sherry. Sweetheart. Relax. It’s a charity for kiddies.” Cora shifted gears, whizzed around a turn, smiled sideways at her niece. “What could possibly go wrong?”

T
HE PICKET SIGNS READ, NO MONEY FOR SEX!!!, DON’T ENDORSE PROMISCUITY!, UP WITH ROE V. WADE!, DEFEND OUR RIGHT TO CHOOSE!, DOWN WITH SMUT!
, and
JUST SAY NO TO PORN!!!
The women who carried the signs marched back and forth in front of First Selectman Iris Cooper’s office window with grim-faced energy.