With This Puzzle, I Thee Kill

by Parnell Hall

  Cora looked for cars. All three parking lots were full, not just the church lot, but the county courthouse and the town hall lots as well. And there were cars all around the edge of the village green. But they were all parked. There were no more cars arriving. All the wedding guests were already here.

  Cora frowned. She stamped out her cigarette, and ducked back inside the church.

  “You went out to smoke?” Aaron said as she sat down.

  “Among other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “Praying for a miracle,” Cora muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, my God, it’s starting!”

  It was. The church organ had just struck up the unmistakable strains of “Here Comes the Bride.”

  Down the aisle came Mr. Wallenstein, with his daughter on his arm. Brenda looked lovely. Her white dress rivaled the one Cora had worn for rehearsal. Custom-made, exquisitely tailored, it made Brenda look anything but plump. The silk and lace train of the gorgeous gown streamed out behind her. Her hair was up, her wedding veil in place. Her makeup today was perfect, discreet, understated. Her face was lit up with a radiant smile.

  She looked beautiful.

  Cora’s shoulders heaved in a sigh of compassion.

  She felt terrible about what she was about to do.

  Brenda reached the altar. Her father handed her off to Dennis, and stepped aside.

  Brenda smiled at Sherry Carter, then turned to face the altar.

  Dennis smiled at Sherry too. The smile was quick, and Brenda didn’t see it. Dennis made sure of that. Then he, too, turned to face the altar.

  The Reverend Kimble opened his book.

  “Dearly beloved,” he intoned. “We are gathered here today to join together Dennis Pride and Brenda Wallenstein in holy matrimony. If there is anyone here who has any reason why these two should not be joined together, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace.”

  Sherry Carter fought down the urge to cry out, to stop the wedding, to save her friend. With all her heart she wished that someone would.

  Cora Felton stood.

  Sherry Carter’s mouth fell open. The shock of having her wish granted overwhelmed her. Was her aunt really going to speak up?

  She was.

  “I have a reason,” Cora said.

  57

  THERE WAS A STUNNED REACTION IN THE CHURCH.

  The Reverend Kimble, who in his own mind had moved on to the next order of business, froze with his mouth open and his hand raised, as if Cora had just pressed the HOLD button on the VCR.

  Dennis and Brenda both glared, Brenda in anger and bewilderment, Dennis in shock and apprehension.

  There was a brief time lag, merely an instant, then every head in the church swiveled to look at Cora. With all eyes on her, Cora made her way down the aisle, talking a mile a minute as she went.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “It’s merely a formality. The minister has to ask if anyone has any objections, and no one ever does. But I happen to have some, and, as people who know me know, I’m not the type to forever hold my peace. So I guess I gotta have my say now.”

  Cora stepped up between the bride and groom and next to the Reverend Kimble. “Okay, Reverend. Where am I supposed to do this? Of course, you don’t know, do you, because no one ever does. So why don’t I just take your place for the time being. Right here between the happy couple. Dennis. Brenda. Is that okay with you? It probably isn’t, but this is the one part of the ceremony where you don’t get to choose. Reverend, if you’d like to stand over there on the other side of the bride, I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

  The Reverend Kimble, utterly overwhelmed, gawked openmouthed from bride to groom to Cora, then did as instructed.

  “Fine,” Cora said, nodding. “Just for the uninitiated, in case there are any, let me bring you up to speed. I’m Cora Felton. This was supposed to be a double wedding, and I was supposed to be Bride Number Two. The reason I’m not is because the other bridegroom was murdered. And this bridegroom, Dennis Pride, has been arrested and charged with the crime.” She grimaced. “Now, I know it’s not kosher to bring up a bridegroom’s police record, but I don’t see how I can avoid it. Because this wedding is largely a vote of confidence on the part of the bride’s parents that Mr. Pride was in no way responsible for the murder.”

  Cora frowned, shook her head. “That strikes me as a rather poor basis for a wedding. I would think this marriage was premature, at best.”

  “Damn it,” Brenda fumed. “You’re the one who told us to go ahead.”

  “I know,” Cora agreed sweetly, “and it’s not the first time I’ve screwed up. Though usually my mistakes result in me getting married. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, your husband-to-be is accused of some rather dastardly deeds. Sending anonymous threats and murdering a couple of people. Neither of which are exactly what one would look for in a prospective bridegroom.”

  Brenda’s father pushed forward. “Have you lost your mind? I know you’re distraught. This would have been your wedding too. But there’s no excuse for such outlandish behavior. Unless you have proof. Do you have proof? Do you have anything to back up what you just said?”

  “That’s the problem. I really don’t. I don’t have anything at all.” Cora shook her head. “It’s embarrassing, really. Me standing up in front of you, prattling on like a fool, when I just don’t have the goods.”

  “So will you get out of the way and let us get on with it?”

  Dennis’s tone was most unpleasant. And the phrase he chose to refer to his marriage ceremony, get on with it, was unfortunate, at best. Brenda shot him a look. So did her father. Dennis was flustered, which only added to his irritation.

  Cora loved it.

  It was almost worth looking like such a fool.

  “I’m sorry. You do want to ‘get on with it,’ don’t you?” she said, rubbing it in. “I’m sorry to be prolonging things. I’m sure you’d like to rush this through before anyone finds any proof. So I will try to be brief.” She frowned. “Let me see, now. Where was I? . . .”

  “Den . . . nis! Den . . . nis!”

  The shrill sound cut through the hushed air of the church. It was a wonder none of the stained-glass windows shattered. The woman’s braying voice made Wendy Wallenstein’s sound like a whisper.

  To Cora Felton, it was the answer to a prayer.

  Not to Sherry.

  A chill ran down Sherry’s spine. A chill she had not experienced in some time. Except last week when Dennis had walked into the Country Kitchen.

  In the doorway of the church stood the two last people in the world Sherry Carter wished to see.

  The in-laws from hell.

  Randy and Gretchen Pride.

  Dennis’s parents.

  58

  THE REVEREND KIMBLE, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE IN CHURCH, gawked at the Prides.

  Tall and thin, with a nose like the beak of a wood-pecker, Gretchen Pride looked like a walking warning against cosmetic surgery. The skin on her face, tight as a drum, raised her eyebrows, lips, and pointed nose to such an extent as to give the impression she was actually a rather short woman, one who had been stretched on a rack into the monstrosity she had become.

  Her husband was the exact opposite. A short, pudgy man, on whom every ounce of fat seemed to be doing its best to reach his feet. His stomach spilled over his belt. His jowls hung down like a bulldog’s. A very old, very lazy bulldog. Who probably couldn’t be bothered to even scratch himself.

  The chance of these two incredibly unattractive people producing an offspring as handsome as Dennis had to have been about as likely as winning the Connecticut state lottery.

  Gretchen Pride strode down the aisle like a drill sergeant. Her husband waddled behind like a raw recruit. One destined for KP duty.

  Gretchen Pride hopped up next to the altar, practically elbowed Cora and the Reverend Kimble aside to get to her son. “Dennis. Whatever is the meaning of this? We could ha
rdly get in the door. It’s standing room only, and there’re TV crews outside. Apparently you killed someone and you’re getting married. Now, what is that all about?”

  Dennis was totally taken aback. “Mom! Dad! I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “Well, I should hope not,” Mrs. Pride declared. “That is not the way I brought you up.”

  Everyone gawked at her, rendered speechless by that monumental understatement.

  She glowered at her husband. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “Son—” Randy Pride began dutifully.

  “And look who’s here,” Gretchen Pride sliced in, wheeling on Sherry Carter. “I should have known. I suppose this is all your idea. Can’t you leave my son alone? He divorced you, for goodness’ sakes. Can’t you take a hint?”

  Sherry Carter was in no mood for this. “I beg your pardon.”

  Gretchen snorted. “Did you hear that, Randy? Do you hear the way the woman talks to me? No respect, and she never had any. Young lady, I thought we’d seen the last of you. And yet, here you are, horning in on your exhusband’s wedding, just because you happen to know his new bride.”

  “It’s not my idea,” Sherry said evenly.

  “Of course not. It’s that aunt of yours. Miss Puzzle Person.” Mrs. Pride wheeled on Cora. “That’s right, isn’t it? You’re the one who set this up.” Gretchen nudged her husband, indicated Cora. “She was going to marry the dead man!”

  “He was alive at the time,” Cora pointed out.

  “Is that funny? I suppose you think that’s funny. My son is charged with murder, and you’re to blame! And all you can do is make jokes!”

  “Leave her alone!” Sherry raged.

  “Oh, you again?” Gretchen stuck out her chin at Sherry. “Why don’t you leave my son alone? Here he is, marrying a nice, respectable girl from a nice, respectable family, and you have to horn in.”

  Sherry’s eyes blazed. “You think I want to do this? You think this is my idea? They asked me, for God’s sake!”

  Randy Pride opened his mouth. The layers of baby fat he spoke through suggested his message would be a conciliatory one of childlike innocence. Instead, in pedantic, petulant tones he whined, “Of course. You left them no choice. Threw yourself at them. What else could they do?”

  Gretchen couldn’t bother to listen to him. As usual when her husband spoke, she was already on to another subject. “Dennis!” she cried. “How could you do this to us? Are we such bad parents? So we disapproved of your first wife, is that a crime? You don’t even tell us you’re marrying again. What kind of a son is that?”

  Dennis could not have been more mortified. “Mom—”

  “And what’s this?” Gretchen had spotted the best man. “I thought you’d quit the band. Clearly you haven’t. At least I hope you haven’t. God forbid you know someone like this who’s not in a band.”

  “No, it’s me, Mrs. Pride,” Razor said with a sheepish grin.

  Gretchen, appalled at being addressed by the young man, hastily turned her attention to the bride. “And you, young lady. Do I understand you wish to marry my son?”

  “I don’t know,” Brenda replied gamely. She had grown very pale. “I hadn’t realized the ceremony would be quite so—complicated.”

  Gretchen smiled approvingly. “Well said. And you would be the father of the bride? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” Norman Wallenstein answered. “It was my understanding that Dennis was estranged from his parents.”

  “Oh, you know how children are.” Gretchen said it airily.

  “I’m not sure I do. Anyway, I’m Norman Wallenstein, Brenda’s father.”

  Randy Pride pushed forward. “Norman Wallenstein? Of Wallenstein Textiles?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’ve offered my son a job?”

  Norman Wallenstein coughed. “Perhaps we could discuss this in private?” he said icily.

  The Reverend Kimble ventured tentatively, “I take it this wedding is to be postponed?”

  “No!” Brenda all but stamped her foot. She turned to her father, her face twisting into the wheedling look she always used to get her own way when she was a little girl. “Da-ad-dy!”

  In all the confusion, Cora snuck off. She slipped down the aisle and fought her way to the door of the church. It was hard to do, as the crowd was pushing forward to hear what the bizarre newcomers had to say. Cora had to grab the doorknob just to keep from being shoved back in. She clung to the knob, dug her right foot into the molding six inches from the bottom of the door. With an effort, she managed to claw herself up, peer out over the crowd.

  At the far end of the village green, Jimmy Potter, the librarian’s son, was riding a bicycle. A tall, gawky boy of college age, Jimmy had always been a little bit slow. At the moment, he had his head down and was pedaling toward the church in dogged determination.

  Cora let out a sigh of relief. Her foot slipped from the molding. She slid down and was lost in the crowd. She didn’t care. She began elbowing people, battling her way out of the church.

  At the altar, the Reverend Kimble had nearly restored order. Dennis’s parents had run out of steam, and, aside from not liking Sherry, the pair seemed to have no serious objections to the match. Cora might have had some, but she was now nowhere to be seen. There was no reason not to proceed.

  The Reverend turned to a shaken-looking bride and groom. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  Brenda said it first. Dennis a half a beat later. Brenda looked at him. His smile seemed somewhat forced. But under the circumstances, it would be.

  “Are you sure?” Brenda asked Dennis.

  “Yes!”

  He said it almost irritably. Turned resolutely toward the Reverend.

  After a moment, Brenda followed suit.

  The Reverend cleared his throat. “If I may have quiet, please. Let us continue.” He consulted his Bible. “Do you, Dennis, take Brenda to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, from this day forward, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

  Dennis shot a look at Sherry Carter, seemed to implore her one last time, before his eyes returned to his new bride. “I do.”

  “And do you, Brenda, take Dennis to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, from this day forward, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and—”

  RING! RING! RING!

  All heads swiveled at the sound of the bell.

  It came from the back of the church.

  Down the aisle came Cora Felton, pedaling a bicycle.

  It was years since Cora had been on a bike, and she’d sort of lost the knack. She was wobbling back and forth, just trying to stay upright. Had the aisle been any narrower, she’d have bumped into the pews. As it was, she barely squeaked by. She was steering with one hand, and ringing the bike bell with the other.

  Cora pedaled up to the altar, stopped, and dismounted, like a Wild West hero riding up to save the day.

  “Hold it there, Rev,” Cora said. She stamped her foot on the kickstand, knocked it down, leaned the bike on it. Looked rather proud of the accomplishment. “Well, I finally got my proof. I know who set this whole thing up, and why. Would you like to know?” She turned to the wedding guests seated in the pews. “How about it, gang? Would you like to know what happened?”

  A rumbling swept through the mesmerized crowd.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Cora declared. “Okay, here’s the scoop. To begin with, you wanna know why Dennis had all those puzzles he got caught with?”

  Cora smiled and spread her arms. “It’s a no-brainer. He had ’em because he sent ’em.”

  Cora had to raise her voice over the din that greeted that announcement. She pointed at the bridegroom. “Dennis Pride sent the messages, and caused all the trouble. I have proof.”

  Brenda
looked up at Dennis in disbelief, waiting for him to dispute it, to deny it, to make it right.

  Dennis didn’t.

  Dennis stood there, egg on his face, stunned.

  “Just as I have proof who committed the murders,” Cora went on doggedly. “With this bike, I can prove who killed Daffodil Dirkson.” She looked out over the congregation. “Mr. Dirkson, will you come up here, please? This is your big moment. I’m going to prove who killed your wife.”

  Jack Dirkson was already out of his seat and climbing over people to reach the aisle. And when he did, he bolted for the back of the church.

  He might as well have flung himself at a brick wall. Before he could even attempt to get out the door, Dan Finley and Sam Brogan grabbed him from either side. Dan snapped the cuffs on, while Sam began the drone. “You are charged with the murder of Daffodil Alice Dirkson. You have the right to remain silent. Should you give up the right to remain silent . . .”

  59

  “DAMN IT, CORA,” CHIEF HARPER DEMANDED, “WHAT THE hell do I tell them?”

  “Oh,” Cora said, innocently. “Didn’t I make that clear?”

  “No,” the chief said, with heavy irony. “All you told me was to post Sam and Dan near the door to stop anyone who tried to flee.”

  “Worked like a charm,” Cora said. “I don’t know what more you could need.”

  “There are a few gaps,” Chief Harper pointed out dryly. “Would you mind filling them in?”

  “Not at all, Chief. What would you like to know?”

  “Practically everything. I have Jack Dirkson back there in a holding cell. His lawyer’s driving up from New York. Before he gets here, you wanna tell me why I arrested his client?”

  Cora groped in her drawstring bag, came out with a pack of cigarettes.

  “There’s no smoking in my office,” Harper snapped irritably.

  “Sorry to hear it.” Cora got up and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where I can smoke.”

  “Get back here.”

  “Sorry, Chief. I need a cigarette.”

  “I need an explanation.”

  “We seem to be at an impasse.”