With This Puzzle, I Thee Kill

by Parnell Hall

  Raymond pointed to the cryptogram. “The last two words have to be getting angry, so P is N. And the first line is going to say you’re so smart, so V is S. Then FGTV , which appears twice, will be this, so G is H. And the rest should be obvious.”

  It was. Raymond quickly filled in the rest of the puzzle:

  “So,” Raymond said. “Not exactly a death threat.”

  “Not exactly a valentine, either.”

  “No. The interesting thing is he’s talking to me directly. The other message he was talking to me through you.”

  “Yeah.” Cora looked up into his eyes. “Raymond, I’m scared.”

  “It’s nothing to be afraid of, dear. It’ll take more than anonymous threats to make me go away.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “What?”

  “That this creep will do more than just threaten.”

  Raymond chuckled. He put his arms around her, pulled her to him. Tucked her head on his shoulder, patted her hair. “Sweetheart, I promise you. I can take care of myself.”

  Cora pulled away. “We should take this to the police,” she insisted.

  “No reason to involve the authorities.”

  “They brought us the first letter.”

  “Which is good, or we wouldn’t have it. But there’s no reason to reciprocate.”

  Cora snuggled up against him. “Reciprocate? What’s with the big words? I’m not the Puzzle Lady, you know.”

  “I know. And I don’t care.”

  Raymond held her close. And Cora was at peace. She had a man, and with him she didn’t have to pretend she was the darned Puzzle Lady. It was the best of all possible worlds.

  Except for the letters.

  16

  CORA FELTON WOKE UP IN THE DEPTHS OF THE NIGHT WITH the feeling something was wrong. She rolled over and discovered the first thing that was wrong was that she wasn’t in her own bed. Ah, yes. She was at Raymond’s. Instead of getting out of bed she had rolled onto his side. If she wanted to get out, she had to roll back the other way.

  Cora’s bleary mind had scarcely managed to untangle all that information when another thought struck her. If she was on Raymond’s side of the bed, where was Raymond?

  Cora struggled to her feet, stumbled into the bathroom. Cold water on her face did not really wake her up. She grabbed a towel, dried her hands and face, switched off the light. Padded out into the living room to see if Raymond was sleeping on the couch. The moonlight through the window was enough to show the room was empty.

  The digital readout on the VCR under the TV said 2:15.

  Cora frowned.

  This wasn’t right. Men usually ran out on her after the wedding.

  Cora smiled at the thought that she was jaded enough to make such a joke.

  Then another thought struck her. If Raymond wasn’t here, she could smoke.

  Cora tiptoed to the window, peered out. The car was there. So he couldn’t be far. Could she risk it? Hell, yes.

  Cora’s drawstring purse was on the coffee table. She snatched it up, started out.

  The door to the study clicked open, and Raymond came out. He was dressed in his pajamas and robe. He saw Cora, reached for the light. “What are you doing up?”

  “What am I doing up? What am I doing up?” she blustered. “I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re gone.”

  “Where were you going?”

  “Out to look for you.”

  “In your nightgown?”

  “At two in the morning you expect me to get dressed?”

  “You took your purse. Why did you take your purse?”

  Cora blinked. “Wait a minute, wait just one minute. Why am I answering all the questions? You’re the one wide-awake at two in the morning. What were you doing in the study?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Is this a chronic problem, or only when you’re faced with a wedding?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Cora, Cora. I have business problems that I’ve let slide because I’m here with you.”

  “You’re attending to business at two in the morning?”

  “I was typing some things on my laptop, yes.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Just business notes,” Raymond answered airily. “I was also thinking about our honeymoon.”

  Cora blinked. “You never mentioned a honeymoon.”

  He smiled and chucked her under the chin. “I didn’t know I was getting married next weekend. Have you ever been to France?”

  “Actually, yes. My second husband, Henry, loved to travel. First with me, then without. When he started traveling in different circles we called it quits.”

  “Well, I’ve never been to France. But if you don’t wanna go . . .”

  “I’d love to go!”

  Cora became acutely self-conscious of the fact she was still holding her handbag. She shrugged it off her shoulder and dropped it on the coffee table, hoping to remove it from the conversation. Unfortunately, this merely called attention to it.

  “So, why’d you take your handbag?” Raymond persisted. “A pretty funny image, in your nightgown with your handbag.”

  “My keys,” Cora improvised. “I didn’t want to be locked out.”

  Raymond frowned. “Did I give you keys to the house?”

  “No, and don’t you think it’s about time?”

  He digested this illogic.

  “Of course it is,” Cora went on breezily. “We’re getting married, for goodness’ sakes. We’re going to France. You mean to tell me you’ve never seen the Eiffel Tower? I promise you we are going to the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

  With her non sequiturs and her feminine wiles, Cora was able to prevent Raymond from finding out she had been on her way to sneak a cigarette. Within minutes, she managed to maneuver him into bed. Like most men, he immediately rolled over and began snoring.

  Cora was pretty pleased with herself, until it occurred to her she hadn’t had that cigarette. That realization made her crave one more than ever. She resolved not to have it. She would roll over and go to sleep, just like Raymond. Only without the snoring. Yes, that’s what she’d do.

  Three minutes and forty-seven seconds later Cora slipped silently out of bed.

  The door to the study was still ajar. Cora could see a dim light. It drew her, like a moth to a flame. She pushed the door wide, peered inside.

  Raymond had left his laptop on. It sat open on his desk. The screen was angled away, so Cora couldn’t see what was on it. Of course, there wasn’t any reason why she should. Raymond was a good man, there was absolutely no reason to check up on him. Despite anything Sherry might say.

  Except Cora had been married enough times to realize she couldn’t know enough about any man. That was the only reason she was doing this. Not for any silly paranoia Sherry might have. Indeed, there was no reason to even mention this to Sherry. But just for her own peace of mind.

  Cora tiptoed to the desk, peered at the screen.

  There. Absolutely nothing. No open program. Just a screen full of icons, exactly like Sherry’s computer always looked when you first turned it on.

  That was all Cora needed to know. She wasn’t about to open anything, even if she knew what the icons meant. There was no way to know which one Raymond had just used. Sherry might be able to tell, but not Cora. So there was really no point.

  An icon near the bottom of the screen caught her eye. It looked like a spiral notepad. Looking closer, Cora saw that was exactly what it was.

  A notepad.

  Raymond had said he was writing notes.

  Cora stared at the screen. Where was the cursor? There it was. But she had no idea how to move it. She only knew it was called a cursor, because the word always made her think of a sailor swearing a blue streak.

  Cora found the mouse pad, but no mouse. She moved her fingers over it, found the pad itself moved the cursor. She moved the cursor dow
n to the spiral notepad, clicked it on.

  A notebook page opened up on the screen.

  Written on it was:

  Cora groaned in disappointment. Raymond had typed a copy of that darn cryptogram. The last thing in the world she wanted to see. Just when she thought she was on to something. . . .

  Cora sighed. She was still half asleep, or she’d never have been so suspicious. Well, it served her right.

  Cora moved the cursor, closed the notebook. It shrank back to an icon again.

  It occurred to her she really needed that cigarette.

  Cora grabbed up her purse, and slipped out the door.

  17

  BRENDA STIRRED AT THE SOUND OF THE DOOR CLICKING SHUT. “Dennis?”

  “Shh,” he hissed as he slipped into bed.

  “Where were you?” Brenda murmured drowsily.

  “In the bathroom.”

  That woke her up. “No, you weren’t. You came in the front door.”

  “You were dreaming.”

  “Maybe, but you still came in the front door. Where were you?”

  “Out.”

  “You said you were in the bathroom.”

  “I was in the bathroom, then I went out.”

  “Why?”

  “Why was I in the bathroom?”

  “Don’t play dumb. Why’d you go out?”

  “Just to look around.”

  “At three in the morning?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing’s the matter.”

  “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

  “I just couldn’t. No big deal. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

  But Brenda was wide-awake now. After a few moments, she said, “Why’d we move?”

  Dennis didn’t answer.

  “Dennis, why’d we move?”

  “Brenda, why are you doing this at three in the morning?”

  “I’m awake. You woke me up coming in. Why’d we move?”

  “I told you. The nosy landlady went through our things.”

  “What things? It’s not like we have anything to hide.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing. I don’t want anyone pawing through my stuff.”

  “We don’t know she did that.”

  “Oh, no? I had my electric razor packed under my shirts. So how did it wind up on top of my shirts?”

  “Maybe I took it out.”

  “Why would you move my electric razor?”

  “I’m not saying I did.”

  “I don’t like people going through my stuff. Bed-and-breakfasts are just a little too cozy for me.”

  “This is a bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Yes, it is. And maybe it will work out, maybe it won’t.”

  “We could have stayed somewhere else.”

  “Where? You didn’t wanna ask Sherry.”

  “Oh, come on, Dennis. You know we couldn’t ask Sherry!”

  “Why not? We’re all friends.”

  “Yes. And it’s important we stay that way.”

  Brenda got up, padded to the window.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking out.”

  “Why?”

  “Same reason you went outside. Restless.”

  Dennis came to the window, put his arm around her. “You having second thoughts about the wedding?”

  She snuggled against him. “Not at all.”

  “Then come on back to bed.”

  “In a minute.”

  “What are you doing?” There was just a hint of impatience in his voice.

  “I thought I saw something.”

  “Where?”

  “Across the street.”

  “It’s called a house. They have them in towns. You city girls lead such sheltered lives.”

  Brenda batted at him playfully. “No, silly. I thought I saw someone. There. On the porch. Dennis, look!”

  “Look at what?”

  “See that orange glow? There’s someone standing behind the pillar, smoking a cigarette.”

  “You’ve been reading too many mystery novels.”

  “You trying to tell me that’s not a cigarette?”

  “It could be a firefly.” At her impatient exclamation, he said, “I admit it looks like a cigarette.”

  “It is a cigarette,” Brenda said, “and . . . Oh! Look who that is! It’s Sherry’s aunt Cora!”

  “It couldn’t be.”

  “Well, it is. Didn’t you see her in the moonlight?”

  “I was looking at you.”

  “Dennis!”

  “You don’t want me to look at you?”

  “Dennis, did you know Cora and Raymond were staying right across the street?”

  “No. What a shock.”

  “I don’t like the idea of being so close.”

  “Oh, what does it matter? Come on back to bed.”

  Brenda allowed Dennis to walk her across the room, but she wasn’t happy. It was quite a coincidence, Cora and Raymond living right across the street.

  Brenda didn’t like it.

  18

  CORA STOPPED IN FOR HER MORNING DANISH TO FIND THE bakeshop buzzing with the news.

  “Congratulations!” First Selectman Iris Cooper cried. “I can’t believe it. What am I saying, of course I can believe it. I’m so happy for you. What a thrill.”

  “Yes, it’s terrific,” Amy Cox agreed. “We’ll have to have a shower. Oh, wait. That’s babies, isn’t it? You’re not having a baby, are you, Cora?” The young housewife had a habit of sticking her foot in it.

  Iris Cooper jabbed Amy painfully in the ribs, said, “Oh, for goodness’ sakes, no. Cora’s just getting married. In our very own church. Isn’t that something?”

  “Isn’t it, indeed?” Cora replied dryly. Her first thought was the Reverend Kimble couldn’t be trusted with a secret.

  “So,” Iris gushed, “I assume he’s that distinguished-looking man you’ve been seen around town with. Of course, they didn’t run his picture.”

  “His picture?”

  “Yes. There was a nice picture of you, but none of him.”

  “You mean in the Gazette?”

  “Yes, of course. Didn’t you see it? Here, take a look. Amy, where’s the paper?”

  Mrs. Cox pulled the Gazette out from under her arm and flipped it open. “Here you go. ‘Puzzle Lady to Wed.’ Right on page 5.”

  Cora took the paper, read:

  Cora harrumphed. “ ‘Married before.’ That makes me sound like used goods.”

  “Not as much as if they’d said how many times,” Amy Cox pointed out, then tittered at her own wit.

  “Maybe not,” Cora said. “But remind me to give Aaron Grant a rap upside the head.”

  “Why?” Iris asked. “Surely you intended to announce your own wedding.”

  “Yes, but I intended to announce it. Not have it announced for me.” Cora scowled, buried her head in the paper.

  A portly, balding man in a brown suit scuttled through the bakeshop door. He wore no tie, and his white shirt was open at the collar.

  “Is it true?” he cried.

  Cora knew that voice. She looked up into the anxious little eyes of Harvey Beerbaum. Harvey was Cora’s rival, nemesis, and major pain in the fanny, always suggesting they solve or construct puzzles together, which of course she could not do. And she was running out of excuses. Cora stifled an involuntary curse at the sight of him. What did that annoying man want now?

  Harvey, like Cora, held a copy of the Bakerhaven Gazette. “Is it true?” he repeated, holding it up. “Are you really getting wed? I saw you around town with the gentleman. And of course I heard the talk.”

  “The talk?”

  “I, I, I don’t mean the talk,” Harvey floundered. “I mean I’d heard there was a possibility there might be nuptials in your future, but I’d dismissed it. But now I perceive it’s true. That is to say if it is true. Is it true?”

  “Yes, it is,” Cora told h
im.

  Harvey seemed taken aback. “I see. Well, my goodness. Congratulations, of course. I must say I’m astonished. I always thought if you married again it would be to one of us. You know, a cruciverbalist. A constructor, perhaps.”

  Cora noticed Harvey’s shirt was buttoned wrong, and what little hair he had was uncombed. She stifled a smile. Cora had long suspected Harvey of wanting to either expose her as a fraud or marry her. Apparently, it was the latter.

  “The paper doesn’t say what the gentleman does,” Harvey persisted. “He’s not a puzzle maker, is he?”

  “Not at all.”

  “So what does he do?”

  “He owns hotels. In San Diego.”

  “Oh. So does that mean you’ll be relocating?”

  “No, we’ll be staying here. Of course, Raymond may have to travel some.”

  “You’ll be getting an abode.”

  Cora frowned. Her compassion for Harvey’s disappointment in love was rapidly eroding in the face of his annoying, pedantic questions.

  Iris Cooper came to her rescue. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Harvey. Don’t be a nudge. Of course she hasn’t thought of that yet. But really, Cora, sweetie, if you want to go house hunting, I am best friends with Judy Knauer of Judy Douglas Knauer Realty. She happens to owe me one. I’d be delighted to call in the favor. Do you know Judy?”

  “No, I don’t. Sherry rented our house. I think it was through Kemper.”

  “Kemper’s fine for rentals. Of course you’ll want to buy. Judy’s the best.”

  Harvey Beerbaum, left standing with romantic egg on his face, excused himself and bought a cup of coffee, as if that were what he’d really come into town for.

  Cora watched, but her mind was elsewhere. She and Raymond hadn’t discussed buying a house. As opposed to renting a house. As opposed to staying in the house he was renting now. If the truth be known, Cora hadn’t thought much beyond the honeymoon, and before Raymond had mentioned that, she hadn’t thought much beyond the wedding ceremony. Cora had a problem when she fell in love of not thinking of much of anything. Except that this time it was different and this time it would work. And what a wonderful man she had found.

  It didn’t occur to her she had felt that way about Melvin.

  Or Henry.

  Or Frank.

  A shriek from Mrs. Cushman roused Cora from her musing. She glanced up to see Harvey Beerbaum had spilled his coffee all over the counter. The poor man was clearly distressed.