by Parnell Hall
“Actually,” he said, “you’re not supposed to make a speech before you cross-examine a witness.”
Cora Felton waved this away. “But you lawyers always do, don’t you? Though you’re awfully good at pretending that’s not what you’re doing. Look at Perry Mason.”
Before Arthur Kincaid could protest, Cora Felton had hopped up to the bench, sat in the judge’s chair, and picked up the gavel. “Overruled,” she growled. “And let me warn you, another outburst like that, and I will clear the courtroom.”
“Miss Felton—”
Cora banged the gavel. “Silence! Order in the court!”
“Cora …” Sherry warned, pointing over her shoulder.
Cora banged the gavel again. “What’s the matter, didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Judge Hobbs said dryly from behind the bench.
Cora Felton turned with a start. “Oh, Your Honor, I didn’t realize you were there.” She got up from the chair. “I hope I’m not in contempt of court. No, that’s silly. Court’s not in session. Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t you? Sure you do.”
Judge Hobbs countered Cora Felton’s babbling with an impassive stare. “Arthur, wha1C;ight=t’s going on here?”
Arthur Kincaid shrugged helplessly. “It’s the Hurley will. Old Emma Hurley’s got the heirs on some weird treasure hunt, and one of the clues appears to lead here.”
“Here? To the courthouse?”
“Yes. And Miss Felton’s been appointed judge of the contest. I’m afraid she took her role too seriously.”
“Well, no harm done,” Judge Hobbs said. “But what do you mean the clue leads here? I don’t really want the heirs swarming over my bench.”
“I assure you that won’t happen. We’ll keep them out of here. It’s just, if there is a clue, we have to find it. So the others won’t have to look.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Cora interjected. “Suppose the heirs have to come in here? Suppose the next clue is painted on the ceiling? And the only way they can find it is if they come in here, sit down in the chairs, and look up?”
“Nonsense,” Judge Hobbs said. “I assure you there is nothing painted on the ceiling.”
“Of course not,” Arthur Kincaid agreed.
In spite of these assurances everyone looked at the ceiling. There was nothing there.
“Let’s check out the witness stand,” Cora Felton said. “Is there any chance Emma Hurley would have been on the witness stand?”
“Not as a juror,” Arthur Kincaid said.
“Too bad,” Cora Felton said, undaunted. “There’s something attractive about the witness stand. Let me see. If I were to sit here …” Cora Felton sat on the witness stand, looked out over the courtroom. “And if I had something to hide …” She looked around. “I would be hard pressed to do so.” She peered under the chair. “And it doesn’t look like anyone has.”
“Of course not,” Judge Hobbs told her. “That’s utterly ridiculous. You expect to find something scrawled in lipstick on the bottom of my witness stand?”
“We don’t know what we expect to find,” Cora said. “We only know we need to look. Let’s try the jury box. There should be twelve chairs, right? For the twelve jurors.”
“Sixteen,” Judge Hobbs said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“There’s sixteen chairs, for the twelve jurors and four alternates.”
“Yes, I see,” Cora said. She batted her eyes at the judge. “Thank you for pointing that out.”
Sherry Carter suppressed a smile. Her aunt had been marr har pied several times, and Judge Hobbs was not all that elderly.
Sherry Carter began inspecting the bottom of the wooden chairs in the jury box. They were attached together and bolted to the floor. The seats flipped up, which made them easy to inspect. Sherry Carter started at one end of the first row, and Cora Felton started at the other. They met in the middle.
“Nothing here,” Sherry reported.
They moved to the second row.
It was under the third chair.
Sherry flipped the seat up, and there it was.
“Got it,” she said.
Cora Felton, Arthur Kincaid, and Judge Hobbs crowded around to look.
A manila envelope was taped to the bottom of the seat. There were strips of masking tape across all four corners. One corner had pulled free and was hanging down. The other three still held in place.
“Okay, this is obviously it,” Cora said. “So what do we do? Leave it in place, or remove it from the seat?”
“We’ve already settled that,” Arthur Kincaid said. “Judge Hobbs is not going to allow his courtroom to be used for any scavenger hunt. If this is what I think it is, we are going to take it outside.”
“Great,” Cora said. “Sherry, take it off the seat.”
Sherry pulled the masking tape off the bottom of the seat, and held up the envelope. It wasn’t sealed, it was fastened with a metal clip. Sherry straightened the clip, opened the flap, reached in, and pulled out the sheets of paper.
“More puzzle clues?” Cora asked.
“Take a look,” Sherry said. She passed the pages over.
It was indeed another set of puzzle clues.
ACROSS DOWN
10. Pod dweller 10. Place to go after
15. Going, going, gone leaving skating rink?
18. Norway capital 11. They (fr)
21. Idle talk 12. Love
24. “I shot_____” 15. Desert succulent
(“Standup Comic”) 22. Entertain
28. Swallow up 29. Bites
31. Side order 33. Secondhand
32. Enjoyment 34. Loch_____ monster
38. Exact 39. Hansoms
43. High pair
46. Sticks in
“It’s another set of clues, all right,” Cora said. “Apparently for the next quadrant of the puzzle.”
“What about these new clues?” Arthur Kincaid asked. “How long will it take you to decipher them?”
“I won’t know till I try.”
“Can you do it now?”
Cora shook her head. “I can’t work with people looking over my shoulder.”
“If we leave you alone—”
“No!” Cora said sharply.
Arthur Kincaid frowned.
Cora Felton smiled contritely. “I’m sorry,” she said. She lowered her voice confidentially. “I’m just a little embarrassed. I forgot to bring the grid. So I really can’t work on these clues till I get home.”
“But you can solve it, can’t you?” Arthur Kincaid asked.
Cora Felton smiled, the trademark smile from her crossword-puzzle column photo, and patted him on the cheek.
“Piece of cake.”
The answering machine was blinking when they got home. Sherry Carter walked over to the shelf next to the kitchen wall phone and pressed the button.
Beep.
“Hello? Cora Felton? Is that you? It’s not your voice. Is that the other one? The woman who came with you? Is this the right number? If it is, this is Philip Hurley. And I solved the puzzle. It’s three-seventeen P.M., please make a note of that: Philip Hurley is done at three-seventeen. Give me a callback and let me know what I’m supposed to do next.”
Philip Hurley repeated his phone number twice just to be sure. “Please call me right away. I’ll be standing by. And if for some reason this is not Cora Felton’s phone, please call and tell me that too, so I can get the right number.”
“Uh oh,” Cora Felton said.
“Yeah,” Sherry said. “Wanna bet right now the man is driving Information crazy trying to verify the number?”
“It’s in my name,” Cora pointed out.
“Even that may not satisfy him. The guy sounds frantic. Wanna give him a call?”
“No, I wanna solve the puzzle.”
“Be my guest.”
Sherry handed Cora the manila envelope.
Cora looked betrayed. “Sherry. Don’t be silly. I mean, I want you to
solve the puzzle.”
“Thought it was a piece of cake,” Sherry teased.
“Well, if you’re going to quote every little thing I say. But if you wanna start solving the puzzle, I’ll be happy to look it over while you work.”
“It’s a deal,” Sherry said.
The phone rang.
Cora Felton’s face fell.
Sherry walked over to the wall phone, scooped up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Hi, Sherry. It’s Aaron.”
“Oh, hi.”
“Listen, I just heard from Chief Harper. It’s official. The Jeff Beasley case is a homicide.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He finally got the medical report. Which confirms it couldn’t have been an accidental death.”
“Does he have any leads?”
“If so, he didn’t say. The fact it’s a murder is all he’s giving out.”
“I see.”
“You getting anywhere with the puzzle?”
Sherry waited a beat. “Cora’s working on it.”
“Then I guess I should be asking her. But you must know. What’s the deal? You got anything for publication?”
“What’s the matter? Isn’t a homicide enough?”
“It would be if I had any facts. I got Chief Harper saying it’s a homicide. I got Barney Nathan saying that’s his finding. And I got Henry Firth saying something should be done about it. All of which is mighty thin, even if the victim had been someone of importance. The fact he was the town drunk doesn’t help.”
“You’re saying all citizens don’t have equal rights under the law?”
“Give me a break. Who’s talking equal rights? Celebrities sell papers. As it is, it’s a toss-up whether my managing editor picks the Beasley murder or the Hurley will for page one. So, if you had something to tip the scale …”
“You must know we can’t.”
“Does that mean you do?”
“Aaron.”
“Sorry. It’s the reporter in me.”
“Sherry,” Cora said. “Stop flirting and get off the phone.”
Sherry quickly covered the mouthpiece. “Aunt Cora!”
“Any other time, dear. Right now, you’re busy.”
“Aaron, I gotta go. Call you later.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Sherry Carter hung up the phone, turned around to glare at her aunt.
Cora Felton put up her hands. “I’m sorry. Any other time. Right now we’ve got work to do. We got the puzzle, plus we got this doofus on the answering machine I gotta call back.”
“Right. What are you going to tell Philip Hurley?”
“I don’t know. By rights, I should give him the next part of the puzzle. But I don’t want to give it out when you haven’t even solved it yet.”
“But as soon as I do, you will?”
Cora Felton frowned. “Not quite. This is why I get the big bucks. What’s that lawyer’s number? Let’s give him a call. Before someone else calls us and ties up the phone.”
Cora Felton looked up Arthur Kincaid’s number, punched it in.
The lawyer was surprised to hear from her so soon. “You mean you solved it already?”
“No, I haven’t, thank you very much. But I’ve had a phone call from Philip Hurley, claiming he’s solved the first part. Which is all well and good, but I don’t intend to have these people traipsing over to my house at all hours of the day and night. So here’s the deal: Would you kindly inform the heirs that I will meet them all in your office at ten o’clock tomorrow morning? At that time, any of them who present me with the correct solution to the first set of clues will receive the next part of the puzzle.”
“Philip Hurley is not going to like that,” Arthur Kincaid said.
“No, I don’t imagine he will,” Cora Felton retorted. “Which is why I thought I’d let you be the one to tell him.”
“Thanks a lot,” Arthur Kincaid said. “Any reason for this decision?”
“None that I’d like you to give out. But if the rest of the puzzle is the same, that is, if the solution keeps telling us where the clues are hidden, I don’t want any chance of anyone solving it first and beating us to them.”
“Good point.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where the next clue was hidden, would you, Mr. Kincaidu, and be?” Cora asked sweetly.
“Of course not. How could I?”
“It’s rather obvious Emma Hurley didn’t tape that envelope to the bottom of the seat in the jury box. Someone must have done it for her. I’m wondering if that was you.”
“Then let me set your mind at rest, Miss Felton. Emma Hurley did not entrust me with any such mission. The puzzle came as much a surprise to me as it did to anyone. As soon as you solve it, I’m dying to know the answer. So don’t wait till ten o’clock tomorrow, give me a call.”
“And you’ll contact the heirs?”
“I’ll call them,” Kincaid promised. “Which doesn’t mean they won’t call you. They’re not going to be happy. You might let your answering machine pick up.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Cora said, and hung up the phone. “You get the gist of that?” she asked Sherry.
“Kincaid didn’t plant the clues?”
“So he says. Whether I believe him or not is another story. Anyway, we stall on giving out these clues until tomorrow morning. Which gives us time to solve the puzzle and find the next set of clues before anybody else does. Arthur Kincaid suggests we let the answering machine pick up from now on, and I think that’s a pretty good plan.”
The phone rang.
Sherry and Cora looked at each other.
“Fine,” Sherry said. “We’ll let it pick up.”
The machine answered on the second ring. Sherry Carter’s voice said, “You have reached 555-4827. We’re not in right now, but please leave a message after the beep.”
Beep.
“This is Chief Harper. Please call me right away. I got the autopsy report on Jeff Beasley, and—”
Sherry Carter snatched up the phone. “Hi, Chief. We’re here. We’re just screening calls. I hear Jeff Beasley’s a homicide.”
“You hear right. How’d you hear so fast?”
“Aaron Grant called.”
“It’s a wonder the boy has time to write. Is your aunt there?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Put her on, willya? I gotta ask her something.”
Sherry handed the phone to Cora.
“Hi, Chief,” Cora said. “We got us another murder?”
“I hav&e another murder,” Chief Harper corrected. “But I could use your help.”
“Sure thing, Chief. You need me out at the crime scene?”
“No, but I want your help with one of the witness statements.”
“You got it, Chief. Who we gonna grill?”
“You’re not gonna grill anybody. The questioning’s already been done. I need your help with something someone said.”
“What’s that?”
“Prodigal son.”
“Huh?”
“Prodigal son. That’s what the witness said. Jeff Beasley used the term prodigal son, so I need to know what it means.”
Cora Felton waved her hand, and her eyes flashed distress signals to Sherry Carter. “You want me to define the term prodigal son?”
“That’s right.”
Sherry mouthed a word, but Cora couldn’t catch it.
“I thought you wanted me to interrogate a witness,” Cora said, stalling for time.
Sherry Carter grabbed a piece of paper, wrote wasteful, extravagant on it, and handed it to Cora.
Cora squinted at the scrap of paper. Frowned. “Prodigal means wasteful or extravagant, Chief.”
“Wasteful or extravagant?”
“That’s right.”
“So a prodigal son …?”
“Is a wasteful, extravagant son.”
“That’s less than helpful.”
Sherry drew a halo around the top
of her head with her finger, then pantomimed opening a book.
Cora gawked at her.
Sherry grabbed the paper, scribbled Bible.
“Excuse me, I think I hear the doorbell,” Cora said.
“What?” Chief Harper said.
Sherry scrawled parable under Bible.
Cora squinted at the paper. “Yeah, could you hold on. I think there’s someone at the door.” She buried the receiver in her stomach, glowered at Sherry. “I can’t read that.”
“It’s a parable from the Bible,” Sherry hissed. “The prodigal son losodieight="es all his money, then returns home, and his father takes him in and kills the fatted calf.”
“What?”
“And his brother’s jealous,” Sherry added.
Cora looked at Sherry, then at the phone, then back at Sherry. Cora’s mouth was open and her eyes were wide. She blinked, then reached up on the wall and pushed the button on the phone, breaking the connection.
“Oops,” Cora said. “Oh, what a shame. The Chief got disconnected.” She glared at Sherry. “Don’t ever get a job as a mime.”
“Don’t ever get a job as a linguist,” Sherry countered.
“Never fear,” Cora vowed. She released the button, was rewarded by a dial tone. “Now, before the Chief has a coronary, fill me in on prodigal son so I can call him back.”
“Okay, I got it,” Sherry announced.
“Have you really?” Cora was nursing a tall gin and tonic. “I was close to it myself. As a matter of fact, I had narrowed ten across, pod dweller, to either pea or man.”
“Man?”
“You know, like in a space capsule.”
“It’s pea.”
“So, what’s ten down? Place to go after leaving skating rink?”
“Post office.”
“Post office?”
“Sure. It’s another terrible pun. Post is after, and leaving skating rink is getting off ice.”
“Post office. Of course. So that’s where the next clue is. Of course it’s probably closed by now.”
“I would imagine,” Sherry said. “It’s nearly seven.”
“No wonder I’m hungry. Pity I never learned to cook. Do you suppose that’s why I could never hold a husband?”
Cora kicked her feet off the couch. “Come on, let’s see the grid.”
