With This Puzzle, I Thee Kill

by Parnell Hall

  Across the street, Dennis stepped from behind a tree. He watched Sherry’s car turn the corner. As soon as she was out of sight he crossed the street, and went in the door of the Bakerhaven Gazette.

  On the second floor, the managing editor popped out of his office and said, “Can I help you?”

  “Looking for Aaron Grant.”

  The editor gnawed his lip. What was this, a frat house? He jerked his thumb in the direction of Aaron’s cubicle.

  Dennis wove his way through the newsroom, and found Aaron sitting at his desk.

  “Aaron Grant?” he asked.

  Aaron turned, spotted Dennis. His eyes grew cold. “Yes?”

  “I saw you last night in the restaurant. With the lawyer lady.”

  “Yes?” Aaron said again, an edge in his voice.

  “I’m Dennis Pride. Sherry’s husband. I hear you used to date the lawyer lady.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “It’s a small town.”

  “Yes, it is. What do you want?”

  “It’s not what I want, it’s what Sherry wants. Sherry deserves a chance to be happy. No one should screw that up for her.”

  “That’s one thing we agree on.”

  “Really? Then why are you doing it?”

  Aaron’s jaw tightened. “I beg your pardon?”

  Dennis grinned. “Oh, yeah, like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You and the lawyer lady. A blind man could see the chemistry there. That girl wants you bad.”

  Aaron stood up. “Now, look here—”

  “What, are you threatening me? Please, just tell me you are. Make my day.” Dennis leaned in close enough that Aaron could smell the whiskey on his breath. “You’re young. You’re human. You got this gorgeous, high-powered woman throwing herself at you. Sooner or later you’re gonna give in. And what’s gonna happen to poor little Sherry then?”

  “Poor little Sherry’s been doing just fine without your help.”

  “Oh, is that so? I guess she just doesn’t know she’s bein’ two-timed. She and the lawyer lady are probably great friends, am I right?”

  “You’re way off base. For your information, Becky Baldwin is hung up on a TV reporter.”

  “I heard that. If I hear it one more time I might even start to believe it. So there’s a TV station in town?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. So this guy’s not local. He’s just around when there’s a story.”

  Aaron said nothing.

  Dennis’s grin widened. “Yeah. And the rest of the time she’s free. To make a play for you.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.”

  “Hey, no skin off my nose. But if you’re hurtin’ my little girl, that’s something you shouldn’t do. I would get very angry if I thought you were hurtin’ my little girl. Trust me, it’s better to leave her alone than hurt her like that.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “You bein’ sarcastic with me?”

  “Now, why would I wanna go and do a thing like that?”

  Before Dennis could retort, the managing editor stuck his head in the door. “Hey, guys, this is a newsroom. You wanna gab, take it outside. Got it, bub?”

  Dennis smiled as if the editor were his long-lost brother. “Am I glad to see you! I’m just giving your boy here a story, but he doesn’t seem to want it. I’m Sherry Carter’s ex-husband. Her aunt’s getting married this weekend. You know, Cora Felton. The Puzzle Lady. Sherry’s going to be her maid of honor.”

  The managing editor’s eyebrows rose. He looked at Aaron. “Is that right?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Is Cora Felton getting married? Yes or no.”

  “That’s what she told me last night in the Country Kitchen.” Dennis jerked his thumb at Aaron. “Hell, he was there when she said it.”

  The editor glared at Aaron. “And you didn’t write it up? You did that puff piece on Becky Baldwin. And that damn EMS guy. I thought you knew better than that. Cora Felton is the biggest celebrity in town. If she gets married, it’s news. If we break it before everybody else, it’s good. If we break it the same time as everybody else, it’s bad. If we break it after everybody else, someone gets fired.”

  “Aw, gee, Bill . . .”

  The editor ignored Aaron, turned to Dennis. “I guess I owe you an apology. I saw you in here gabbin’, I thought it was more of the same. But, no, you got a corroborated news scoop we can substantiate. Thanks a lot.”

  Dennis smiled smugly, happy to be sticking it to Aaron Grant. “Don’t mention it,” he said, and walked off.

  The editor stabbed his finger at Aaron. “You write this up.”

  Aaron hunched over the computer, began banging on the keys. He was not happy. The nerve of that damn Dennis, pretending he’d come by to bring them a wedding announcement. Aaron wondered if Dennis had had that excuse in his hip pocket, or if he’d made it up on the spur of the moment. Dennis didn’t strike him as very smart, but Aaron realized he was probably biased in his assessment. He had to remind himself Dennis had been clever enough to trick Sherry into marrying him.

  It was not a pleasant thought.

  As soon as the editor was out of earshot, Aaron snatched up his phone and punched in the number. He was not surprised when the answering machine picked up.

  “Sherry, it’s Aaron. Guess who just dropped by?”

  10

  DENNIS CAME OUT OF THE GAZETTE OFFICE TO FIND Brenda Wallenstein looking for him. “Yoo-hoo,” she called, waving from down the street. “There you are. I had no idea where you were. Your car’s parked down there.”

  “Yeah. I was gonna get a coffee. You want one?”

  “Coffee?” Brenda was baffled. “But that’s back there. Where you’re parked. What are you doing down here?”

  Dennis grimaced. “Oh, I guess you caught me.”

  Brenda’s face fell. “Why? What is it?”

  Dennis smiled ruefully. “I wasn’t gonna tell you. It was gonna be a surprise. But I gotta tell you now. That’s the Bakerhaven Gazette. The daily paper. I told them about our wedding.”

  “You what?”

  “Well, sure. Don’t you want everyone to know?”

  “Of course I do! But why would they care? We’re not from Bakerhaven.”

  “No, but Cora is.”

  “You told them about Cora?”

  “It’s a double wedding. How can you have a double wedding with just one couple?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Brenda.” Dennis turned on all his boyish charm. “What could it matter? I love you. I want everyone to know.”

  He swept her up in his arms, gave her a big hug.

  For a moment she smiled contentedly in his arms. Then she sniffed and pulled back.

  “Dennis. Have you been drinking?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I can smell it.”

  “Smell what?”

  “Dennis. You’ve got whiskey on your breath.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. Look at me. Now breathe out.”

  “Brenda.”

  “Breathe out.”

  “Damn it, Brenda.”

  “You do! Dennis, how could you? You promised. You were doing so well.”

  “I am doing well.”

  “No, you’re not. You had a drink and then you lied about it.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Dennis, you just told me you didn’t have a drink.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You’ve got whiskey on your breath.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Dennis said irritably. He took her by both hands. “All right, look. I went by the paper to tell them we were getting married. The managing editor got all excited, said, ‘Wow, that’s terrific.’ He reaches in his desk, pulls out a bottle, pours two shot glasses, says, ‘Let’s drink to your bride.’ What am I gonna do, say, ‘No, I don’t think I wanna drink to the woman I’m nuts about’?”

  “You could explai
n.”

  “To the newspaper? I’m announcing my engagement. You want it written up, ‘the prospective bridegroom, a recovering alcoholic’?”

  Brenda bit her lip. “Gee. That doesn’t sound so great. And how’d you refer to me?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “As an artist or a nurse?”

  “Oh. Jeez, I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I said artist. I know you’re a nurse, but I think of you as an artist. You got a loft. You paint. Your nursing’s like a job-job, you know? Like me waitin’ tables when the band didn’t have a gig. I mean, am I goin’ to tell people I’m a waiter?”

  “So what’d you tell ’em?”

  “Huh?”

  “The newspaper. What did you tell ’em you were?”

  “Oh.” Dennis thought fast, having to invent not just an answer, but a reason for his reaction to the question. “Well, now I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing again. I should have talked this over with you, but I couldn’t, if it was gonna be a surprise. I don’t have a job with your father yet—that’s all he needs, to pick up the paper and see I told the press I was working for him. So I just referred to myself as ‘former lead singer of the Tune Freaks.’ ”

  “Former lead singer?”

  “Yeah. Was that wrong? I mean, doesn’t ‘former lead singer’ sound better than ‘unemployed musician’?”

  Brenda’s face warmed into a smile. “Oh, you’re too good. You really said ‘former’?”

  “Well, that’s what I am.”

  “You didn’t have to say ‘former.’ ”

  “Well, I didn’t want you getting upset, talking like I was still in the band.” Dennis chucked her under the chin. “Come on, kid. Let’s get that coffee.”

  They went down the street to Cushman’s Bake Shop, where the morning rush had abated. Only a few straggling housewives with baby strollers were hanging out. Dennis ordered a coffee and dumped in milk and sugar. Brenda had hers black.

  “How do you stay so thin?” she asked him.

  “Dunno. You want a muffin?”

  “Not if I wanna fit into my wedding gown.”

  A toddler in overalls teetered up to Brenda, plunked down on his bottom, and squealed in delight at the accomplishment.

  “Oh, what a cutie!” Brenda cried.

  The baby gurgled in delight at the compliment.

  “Dennis, look how cute!”

  Brenda glanced up to see Dennis munching on his muffin, and looking out the bakeshop window. There was nothing out there so far as Brenda could see, just their car parked in front of the town library, and a police cruiser driving by. She wondered if, in a town of this size, that was the police car, and the cops all took turns driving it.

  Brenda looked down to find the toddler had abandoned her for greener pastures, lured by a baby girl with a doughnut.

  Did Dennis think kids were cute? He was cute. He’d be a terrific father. Brenda joined him at the window, sipped her coffee. Looked out at the car.

  Frowned.

  “Why’d you drive?” she asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “We’re only three blocks away. I walked it. Why did you drive here?”

  “Oh. Had to get gas. Town like this closes up after dark, you can’t get a thing.”

  “Yeah, it’s not like New York,” Brenda agreed. “Come on. It’s a nice day. Let’s drink our coffee outside.”

  The bench under the bakeshop window had been taken over by a woman with two small white dogs. She was drinking coffee and feeding them pieces of bagel.

  Brenda stood on the sidewalk, sipped her coffee, looked around. Down the street to the left was the newspaper office, where Dennis had announced their engagement. To the right was the police station. The cruiser she’d seen going by the window was parked out front. Across the street was the library, where their car was parked.

  Brenda frowned. She threw her coffee in the trash can next to the bench. “Come on,” she told Dennis. “Let’s go back to the B&B. I want to wash up.”

  “Okay.”

  Brenda started across the street.

  “Where are you going?” Dennis asked.

  “To the car.”

  “Why don’t we walk?”

  “No, I wanna drive.”

  “Why? Like you say, it’s just a few blocks.”

  “You can’t leave the car in front of the library all day. That’s not for guest parking. It’s for the library.”

  “There’s no sign.”

  “Even so, Dennis. We’re getting married here. You want to make a bad impression?”

  “Who’s gonna care?”

  “The police station’s right there. Cops go in and out all day, see the car parked there. Even if they don’t ticket it, whaddya wanna bet they note the license number?”

  “It’s a rental.”

  “Even so.”

  Brenda crossed the street, stood next to the car.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Dennis said irritably. “What’s the big deal?” He fished the keys out of his pocket, pressed the zapper that unlocked the doors. “Come on. Get in. We’ll drive a whopping three blocks home. Talk about the decadent, idle rich.”

  Brenda got in the passenger seat, looked over at the dashboard.

  The gas gauge read three-quarters full.

  It seemed to Brenda it had been that full when they had parked the car. Of course, she’d had no particular reason to notice. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it had been only a quarter full, and Dennis had filled it up to where it was now. It wasn’t conceivable he had filled it full and then used a quarter of a tank of gas. You could drive every road in this town and not use a quarter of a tank of gas. So maybe he hadn’t filled it full. Maybe the pump had shut off automatically at three-quarters full. Those automatic shut-offs made mistakes all the time, stopping before the tank was full. Or maybe Dennis bought ten bucks’ worth of gas, and this was how much it took. There were lots of explanations.

  Brenda wondered if she should ask for one. Dennis wouldn’t like it, not after having to explain about the newspaper. Toasting their marriage—that stupid editor—why in the world did some people force you to drink? Dennis was doing great, he really was, seeing his ex-wife again, putting his demons behind him, as he called it. His therapist had even suggested the idea. And Dennis had agreed, even though he admitted it would be painful. With all the sacrifices he was making, why should she be a nag?

  Dennis started the engine.

  Brenda watched the needle on the gas gauge. Some gauges didn’t register until you turned on the car. But, no, the needle stayed right at three-quarters.

  But so what? What did it matter? What difference did it make?

  They were here, weren’t they? They were going to have a wedding. A real church wedding. With a bridal gown and everything. She’d have to call her parents, tell them to come. Wouldn’t they be surprised!

  It was just too wonderful.

  By the time they got back to the B&B, Brenda had completely forgotten about the gas tank being three-quarters full.

  11

  THE MANAGING EDITOR JERKED A SOGGY CIGAR AT AARON’S copy. “That’s bland.”

  “Hey, it’s a wedding announcement,” Aaron protested.

  “I know it’s a wedding announcement. And the Bible is a book. There are books and there are books. And there are wedding announcements and there are wedding announcements. I’d like this wedding announcement to be one people care to read about. I would like this wedding announcement to be the type that sells papers, the type people say, ‘It says so in the Gazette,’ and they buy it to see for themselves. Do you see the point I’m trying to make?”

  “You would like me to elevate this from wedding announcement to feature news?”

  “Now, there’s a thought.” The managing editor waved his cigar at the sheet of paper again. “Is there anything in here that would do that?”

  “No.”

  “Why
not?”

  “I wrote it as a wedding announcement.”

  “Let’s not do this again. Would you like to write it as a feature news story?”

  “If that’s what you’d like.”

  “I would. So, what’s the first thing you do?”

  “Throw this out?”

  “Aside from that.”

  “Find an angle. ‘Puzzle Lady Comes Across Suitor, Walks Down Aisle.’ ”

  “No, I mean— Actually, that’s not bad. Hold on to that. What I was gonna say is, this guy she’s marrying— this Raymond whatever—who the hell is he?”

  “He’s just a guy.”

  “Wrong. No one’s just a guy. This is a special guy who swept the famous Puzzle Lady off her feet. Who is he, and how’d he do it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, there you are. I wouldn’t presume to tell you your job, but you ever think of going out and interviewing the groom?”

  “Actually, I asked him, and he didn’t want to be interviewed.”

  “Really? That’s good. That means anything we get, we’re the only ones who have it. Why don’t you look the guy up?”

  “I would, but he’s from San Diego.”

  “So?”

  “There’s nothing I can find on the computer.”

  “No, I suppose not. San Diego, huh? There’s a reporter on the San Diego Union. Name of Hines. Give him a call, use my name, ask him for a favor.”

  “What should I offer in return?”

  “It’s not a trade, it’s a favor. Oh, all right. Tell him if anything comes of it, I’ll leak it to him before we break it.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course not. Nothing’s gonna come of it. I just said that to shut you up. Get out of here, go make the call.”

  Aaron Grant went back to his cubicle, smiling to himself. He’d wondered if he’d overplayed his hand, writing such a bad piece, and acting so dumb. Apparently not.

  Aaron grinned, and picked up the phone.

  12

  THERE WERE BELLS IN THE STEEPLE OF THE CHURCH. WEDDING bells. Cora smiled at them as she walked across the village green. Cora had never noticed them before, but now they were all she saw. Bright, silver, wedding bells. Poised in the white, wooden church steeple, waiting to toll on her wedding day, waiting to ring out the news.