With This Puzzle, I Thee Kill

by Parnell Hall

  Cora slid into a chair next to him and said, “How are you doing?”

  It was as if there was a time lag before he realized she was talking to him. His head swiveled, and his right hand snaked up to push the stringy hair off his forehead. Cora could see white roots, realized the man must dye his hair. That seemed out of keeping with the hippie garb.

  A bleary eye fixed on her. Dull. Bewildered. Uncomprehending.

  “Sorry,” Cora said.

  The man said nothing, stared back down at his sandaled feet.

  “You should go home,” Cora told him. “I stopped by your house, but you weren’t there. I figured you might be here. Actually, I couldn’t think of anywhere else to look. Even so, this is no place to be. Why don’t you go home?”

  After a moment, Jack heaved a ragged sigh. “Got no wheels.”

  Of course he didn’t. Too late, Cora remembered his VW bus was parked in front of the church. He didn’t have a car because his car was now part of a crime scene. No one had thought to drive him home.

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Cora told him. “Would you like that?”

  He shrugged, uncaring.

  “Come on. My car’s outside.”

  Cora took him by the arm, led him through the automatic sliding doors, down the marble steps, into the parking lot. The large, modern Bakerhaven Memorial Hospital seemed too big for such a small town, which indeed it was. It served the entire county. Cora guided Jack to her Toyota, installed him in the front seat. She buckled his seat belt to make sure he’d stay there.

  Cora resolved to get out of the parking lot before she made another attempt at conversation, but Jack beat her to it, even if his contribution was only a whine. “I told her,” he moaned. “I told Daffy to keep out of it. She wouldn’t listen. Not that she knew anything. That’s the irony. Daffy didn’t know anything. But somebody thought she did.”

  “What could she have known?” Cora asked. “I mean, what could someone have thought she knew?”

  “They thought she saw something. But she didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Daffy would have told me.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Jack looked at her numbly. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You were very negative.”

  “I didn’t want her to get hurt.”

  Cora made no comment, drove several blocks. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You were out on the porch, though, when we all went in the house.”

  “So?”

  “So you saw us go in. Dennis and me and Brenda.”

  “Big deal. Everyone knows you went in. You all saw each other go in. Why involve us?”

  “Witnesses lie,” Cora said.

  Jack’s ravaged face hardened instantly. “Are you saying Daffy lied?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just saying people aren’t always accurate. Dennis, Brenda, and I saw each other go into Raymond’s house. We don’t seem to remember it the same way. Maybe your wife saw something we didn’t.”

  “That got her killed?” he said incredulously. “You mean she saw something that got her killed?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Was that the only time you saw Dennis that day?”

  Jack hesitated. “I saw him with you. And what’s-his-name. With Raymond. Gettin’ the dude a ride.”

  “Yes. In front of the bed-and-breakfast. But aside from that. Did you see Dennis enter Raymond’s house at any other time?”

  “No way.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “I told you. No.”

  “Too bad.”

  Cora turned off the highway just past the Mobil station. It was a route she’d traveled many times to Raymond’s house. In minutes Jack would be out of the car. “How about the reporter? Aaron Grant? Do you happen to know him?”

  “Why?”

  “Just wondered. You’re relatively new in town. I don’t know who you know.”

  “No, I don’t know him. I think Daffy mentioned him, though.”

  Cora almost drove off the road. “Really,” she said, casually. “And what did she say?”

  “I don’t remember. It wasn’t important.”

  Cora heroically restrained herself from saying, I’ll be the judge of that. “It must have been a while ago.”

  “Dunno.”

  “And you have no idea what it was?”

  “No, I don’t,” Jack said, irritably. “Who cares what it was?”

  It appeared the police had not been forthcoming with the details of his wife’s demise. Cora wasn’t about to enlighten him.

  “You didn’t see Aaron Grant around your house the day of Raymond’s murder, did you?”

  “I don’t even know what this Aaron Grant dude looks like.”

  “Then you can’t be sure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure!” Jack exploded.

  Cora gave him a moment, then asked gently, “How are you so sure?”

  “Because I didn’t see anyone!” Jack Dirkson’s bloodshot eyes were wild. His cheeks were red and caked with tears. “Just what I told you, lady. No more, no less. I can’t help you.” A sob racked his body. “And you can’t help me.”

  Cora said nothing as she pulled into his driveway.

  She was pretty sure she couldn’t help him, either.

  44

  NORMAN WALLENSTEIN LOOKED TIRED. HE’D SENT WORD down with Mrs. Trumble, the red-haired landlady, that he wasn’t up to seeing anybody. Cora Felton had sent word back that if Mr. Wallenstein valued his only child’s health and happiness he damned well better dance himself down to see her. Now Norman stood on the front steps of the bed-and-breakfast, leaning against the rail. He wore no jacket or tie. His Brooks Brothers shirt was open at the neck. His sleeves were rolled up.

  As Cora had expected, the businessman was not one to mince words.

  “All right, what the hell’s so damn important?” he demanded. It was the longest sentence Cora had ever heard him say.

  “The wedding arrangements,” Cora told him.

  Wallenstein blinked. “Huh?”

  “Your daughter and I were having a double wedding, remember? My wedding’s off. Is hers still on?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “No, I came over here after my fiancé was murdered just to yank your chain.”

  “You want to know if the wedding’s on?”

  “Yeah. Have you decided yet?”

  “It’s not my decision.”

  “No, but you’ve got clout. I doubt if Brenda would marry if you forbid it. On the other hand, I wonder if Dennis would marry into the family if he figured you were cutting Brenda off.”

  Wallenstein frowned. “Where did you get that notion?”

  “If my daughter were marrying Dennis, I’d cut her off. But that’s not the way you wanna play it, is it? You, with the show of solidarity, bailing the kid out. Though, I suppose you felt you had to.”

  Wallenstein took a breath. “I’m sorry for your recent loss, Miss Felton. But that doesn’t give you the right to insult me.”

  “I don’t mean to. I’m actually sorry for you. You’re in a bit of a bind. You have to back your daughter’s choice, which you don’t wanna do, or dump him in his time of need, which will turn your kid against you. Definitely a lose-lose situation.”

  Wallenstein pondered that. He eyed Cora with new interest. “What do you know about it?”

  “I know Dennis. I know what he’s like. Sherry hates him. I suppose you know he beat her?”

  “Dennis swears it wasn’t like that.”

  “I’m sure he does. The point is, Sherry thinks he’s dirt. But even she doesn’t think he’s a killer. She gets protective of him when he’s threatened. And he knows it, and he plays off it. He knows all the angles.”

  “You don’t paint a very pretty picture.”

  Cora shrugged. “At least I’m not accusing him of murder. Frankly, I don’t think he did it.”

  �
�Then what’s your point?”

  “Just what I said: Do you intend to go through with the wedding?”

  “Do you think I should stop it?”

  “No, I think you should encourage it. I think the wedding should take place exactly as planned.”

  Impassively, Norman Wallenstein studied Cora’s face. “Why?”

  “Because,” Cora told him, “someone’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to see that it doesn’t.”

  45

  SHERRY WAS IN THE KITCHEN, MAKING HERB-CRUSTED PORK tenderloin, spinach, and new potatoes. The meal was one of Cora’s favorites, and Sherry hoped to tempt her with it. Cora had shown no signs of letting the tragic demise of her intended ruin her appetite, but Sherry was taking no chances. She had the pork roast in the oven and was concocting a red pepper and hazelnut sauce to go with it when the doorbell rang. She rinsed her hands off and went to answer the door.

  Dennis had cleaned himself up since she had last seen him. His slacks were creased. His sherbet-colored polo shirt was tucked in. He was shaved and his hair was combed. Only his eyes betrayed him. They were glassy and bloodshot.

  “Oh,” Sherry said.

  She stood there with her hand on the doorknob. She didn’t invite him in, but she made no move to close the door, either.

  “Sherry—” Dennis said.

  She put up her hand. “You don’t have to tell me. I know you didn’t murder Daffodil.”

  “That isn’t it.”

  “Oh? What is it, then?”

  “May I come in?”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Dennis, there’s a restraining order.”

  “As if that matters now.”

  “Dennis—”

  “I want to discuss the wedding.”

  “Wedding? You’re going ahead with the wedding?”

  “Saturday, as planned. May I come in?”

  Sherry stepped back. That was all the invitation Dennis needed. He pushed by her into the house.

  Sherry stood there for a moment, then closed the door.

  Dennis stepped aside to let her precede him into the living room. Everything in his manner was polite, restrained.

  Except for barging in the door.

  But he hadn’t really done that.

  She’d invited him in.

  Dennis sat on the couch, gestured for her to do the same.

  Sherry hesitated. She couldn’t stand there talking to him while he sat, but she didn’t want to sit on the couch with him, either. Instead, she sat in the chair opposite. Dennis did not protest. In fact, he acted as if that was exactly what he’d intended.

  “So,” Sherry said. “You say your wedding’s going forward?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Whose idea is that?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about. It seems to be your aunt’s.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Apparently she spoke to Brenda’s father, convinced him it would be a good idea. He’s called the wedding back on, and what Norman Wallenstein wants, Norman Wallenstein always gets.”

  “You don’t want to marry Brenda?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I know you didn’t say that. That’s why I asked.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to marry Brenda. It’s just that under the circumstances . . .”

  “What circumstances?”

  “Well, with everything up in the air.”

  “What’s up in the air? There’s been a murder. Two murders. But they have nothing to do with you. If you want to get married, nothing’s stopping you.”

  He shook his head. “It was to be a double wedding, Sherry. The other groom is on a slab in the morgue. Don’t you think that might cast a certain pall over the festivities?”

  “So you don’t want to get married?” Sherry said.

  Dennis frowned. “I think I made my feelings clear. What isn’t clear is your aunt’s motivation. Why is she pushing the wedding?”

  “You’re asking me? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  Dennis sniffed the air. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, the pork loin!” Sherry wailed.

  She jumped up, raced into the kitchen. She grabbed pot holders, jerked the oven open. She took the roast out, stuck in a meat thermometer.

  Dennis had followed her into the room. “That smells good,” he said. “You always were a fantastic cook.”

  Sherry didn’t answer, instead inspected the thermometer.

  “I don’t think you ever made that, though. Is it a new recipe?”

  “Something Cora likes.”

  “It’s hot in here. You got anything to drink?” Dennis swung the refrigerator open. “Hmm. Diet Coke. You on a diet?”

  “No. I just don’t need the sugar rotting my teeth.”

  “Come on. You always had great teeth.”

  Sherry flushed, embarrassed that the conversation had turned personal.

  The doorbell rang.

  Sherry left Dennis in the kitchen, went to answer the door.

  “Hi,” Aaron Grant said. “I see you’ve got company. Whose car is that?”

  Dennis stepped into view behind Sherry. He was smiling and casually holding his glass of soda, right at home. “Oh, hi there, Grant. Don’t mind us. We’re just having drinks while the pork tenderloin is cooking.”

  Aaron scowled and his face turned red.

  Sherry had never seen him like that before. It threw her, made her hesitate a moment before she could think of what to say.

  “I guess I’m intruding,” Aaron said stiffly.

  He turned, stomped back toward his car.

  “Aaron, wait!” Sherry cried.

  She followed him a few steps down the drive, then stopped, hopelessly torn between wanting to run after Aaron, and not wanting to leave Dennis alone in her home.

  While she vacillated, Aaron’s Honda sprang to life. It backed up, and tore down the drive, sending up an angry cloud of dirt.

  Sherry heaved an exasperated sigh, then turned back to Dennis. “You have to leave. Now.”

  “Because some reporter throws a jealous snit?” Dennis smiled, condescendingly.

  “No. Because I say so. Come on. Get out. Get out.”

  “I haven’t finished my Coke.”

  “Yes, you have. Chug it down, or give me the glass.”

  “Sherry, look what you’re doing here. I haven’t done anything. That reporter’s flippin’ out, so you’re taking it out on me. We were having a drink together, calm, social, and suddenly you’re throwing me out of the house. Does that seem right?”

  “Dennis, I don’t have time for this.”

  “You don’t have time for me?” Dennis said incredulously. “I’m charged with murder, but you don’t have time for me?”

  “No, you’re right. You don’t have time for this.”

  “I’ll always have time for my maid of honor.”

  Sherry shuddered. Calmly, she said, “You better go look after the bride-to-be.”

  “Brenda’s not here. Her mother took her to pick up the wedding dress.”

  “She doesn’t have a dress yet? What’s the matter? Didn’t she think you’d go through with it?”

  “Sherry—”

  “No. I don’t want to talk about it. You have to go.”

  “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

  “No.”

  “Because you don’t have a car. You’re kind of stranded here, aren’t you?” Dennis looked around. “No near neighbors.”

  Sherry felt a chill. She suppressed another shudder, kept up a bold front. “I gotta get back to work, Dennis. With all this I’m behind on the column.”

  “I thought you were cooking dinner.”

  “I am. I can do both.”

  “Yeah,” Dennis said. “And nobody knows it.” He pointed down the driveway. “That reporter. Does he know? That you’re the Puzzle Lady? He does, doesn’t he? You really ought to be mor
e careful who you tell.”

  A car pulled up the driveway. A red Toyota.

  Sherry had never been so happy to see Cora in her life.

  Dennis didn’t look thrilled. He hopped in his rental, backed around, and roared down the driveway, before Cora was even out of her car.

  “Well,” Cora said. “What the hell was that all about?”

  The dam finally broke. Sherry flung herself into her aunt’s arms, weeping uncontrollably.

  46

  CORA GOBBLED UP THE LAST SLICE OF PORK LOIN, THEN greedily sopped up the gravy with a biscuit. “This is fantastic. Simply fantastic.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  “Like it? I love it. You should open a restaurant. Or teach cooking classes.”

  “Then we’d each have a career,” Sherry said.

  “Oh, low blow,” Cora said. “You must be in a particularly rotten mood.”

  “What gave you your first clue?”

  “I haven’t heard that expression in years. Are you sure you’re younger than me?”

  “Younger than I. Stop trying to humor me, Cora.”

  “I’m not trying to humor you. I’m just trying to find out if you’re calm enough to talk about what happened.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “I thought Aaron caught you making out with Dennis.”

  “I wasn’t making out with Dennis.”

  “Don’t tell me. Tell Aaron.”

  “His cell phone isn’t on.”

  “What about his office phone?”

  “No answer.”

  “Gee. Maybe he isn’t there.”

  “A brilliant deduction.”

  “He probably went looking for a story. Of course, Dennis wasn’t available. He was making out with you. So Aaron’s probably talking to his lawyer. That’s the first thing men do when they get jealous. Run to another woman.”

  “Are you enjoying this?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You seem to be.”

  “Do I? I can’t imagine why. Could it be the years of listening to you needle me about one man or another? And now the shoe’s on the other foot. . . .”

  “Dennis says you’re the one pushing the wedding.”