The Crossword Connection

by Nero Blanc

  CHAPTER 17

  “What a mess you’ve made!” The voice was gravelly and gruff, any inherent kindliness muted by fatigue and fear. “You gotta go outside to do your business! I told you that before I left. That’s how come there’s a hatch in the door over there.”

  A whimper greeted the words, followed by the sound of four small paws treading on soaked and scattered newspaper. A single light fixture dangling on a long, brown cord swayed slightly, throwing a harsh reflection at the greasy window and the black night beyond. Aside from the light, the room was furnished only with a sink, a chair, and a square table that looked none too clean.

  “Peeughh … It surely does stink in here. Lucky thing we don’t have to worry about neighbors.” There was a laugh here, a bray of brief bravado. “That nice middle-class ideal: neighbors, kids playing outdoors, washing machines, bikes on every porch, dogs underfoot.” The cynical tone devolved into one of vitriol. “What am I gonna do with a damn dog?”

  Sensing danger, little Kit Carson made no sound.

  “A damn dog! And here, of all places! I’ve always been too friggin’ soft-hearted. A dog! Who knew that bum had a dog with him? And a puppy, no less. A full-grown stray I could have left. It would have taken care of itself, just like all the others slinking around the damn city. But a pup, that’s what I got! A friggin’ puppy!”

  Kit whined and flattened herself on the sodden paper.

  “Shut up, you! I gave you food, didn’t I? Water … a roof over your head … And what have you done? Made a pigsty of my place!”

  Tired hands reached down and began cleaning up the mess. “You trash your fresh water like you did these newspapers, you’ll have nothing to drink. I’m not your damn nursemaid. I’m not gonna spoon-feed you. Give you sips of sweet water. You don’t eat and drink, you die. That’s the law of nature. Survival of the fittest.” The tough talk was now etched with panic.

  “If I’d known that stupid guy had a dog …!”

  The chore of picking up after the puppy continued. The sounds were loud and aggressive: the clump of boots, the crash of chipped bowls that had contained food and water.

  “You ate all the canned stuff, I see. Learned expensive tastes from your loving master.… No cereal and filler for her highness, here.” Water was sloshed into a bowl; a can was opened and its contents plopped into another, then both containers were slammed back on the floor.

  “If that damn woman hadn’t come after me like she did …” The voice mimicked a high-pitched whine. “‘I’ll call the authorities!’ she tells me. ‘I’ll have you evicted!’ The bitch had it coming, didn’t she? She friggin’ had it coming!”

  Instead of approaching her food, Kit crept under the table. “You’re damn right to keep out of my way! If it hadn’t been for your damn owner, I’d be sitting in clover right now.” A near sob broke through the tirade. “What am I gonna do with a friggin’ dog? I can kill a person. I can’t snuff a friggin’ puppy. I have to make some adjustments here.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Tuesday morning arrived with “a mixture of clouds and sunshine,” just as the weatherman had predicted. Belle took her mug, with its treasured dregs of stone-cold coffee, and wandered into her home office. The nervousness she’d experienced with the delivery of Sunday’s unsettling crossword was beginning to fade. That was the good news.

  The bad news was that Rosco had failed to beam in with an update, let alone give her a late-night sleep-tight call. Her assumption had been that he’d arrived at his apartment at some hideous hour and had deemed it much too late to phone her. That same regard for an uninterrupted night’s sleep was what filled Belle’s own head at this moment. Seven-twenty A.M. was far too early to call anyone, especially if that anyone hadn’t gone to bed before three or four in the morning. These thoughts only served to focus Belle on her wedding: a day that would signal the beginning of life as part of a couple, a day when Rosco’s often problematic schedule would produce even greater apprehension, because he’d be arriving home to her.

  Belle set her coffee mug on her work desk, dropped herself into a black and white canvas deck chair, let out a long sigh, then glued her eyes to the telephone. “Maybe, if I stare at it long enough, he’ll wake up and give me a call.…”

  After another thirty seconds, the phone rang. She jumped in her seat and grabbed the receiver. “If I’d known it would be that easy, I would have pulled this trick an hour ago. What did you learn?”

  “P-p-pardon me?”

  Although the voice seemed shaky, Belle easily recognized it as Rosco’s sister Cleo.

  “Cleo?”

  “Belle, hi … um … Listen, is Rosco there?” The tension in her tone was palpable.

  “No, he’s at his apartment … Are you all right?”

  “I called his apartment, his office … and his car phone. There’s no response anywhere.”

  Belle’s initial reaction was bewilderment. Where was Rosco? But the larger issue was his sister’s obviously urgent need to find him.

  “Is there anything I can help you with, Cleo?”

  Cleo remained silent for an uncomfortable minute. When she spoke, her tone was a staccato burst, interspersed with anxious and irate sighs. “Somebody just phoned here.… I don’t know why my husband’s always out of town when these creepy things happen. He drives me crazy sometimes—”

  “Who called? What was it in reference to?”

  “Some man … About ten minutes ago. Actually it could have even been a woman, now that I think about it. The voice was really odd.”

  “What did this person want, Cleo?”

  “He said he was going to call back.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No, no … First he asked how the wedding plans were coming along. It was really bizarre. I mean at seven-something in the morning? Who’s thinking about a wedding? I was getting Nicky ready for school … Effie’s got a cold or something … so I was wide awake. Then he asked to talk to Rosco.”

  “Rosco?”

  “I told the guy to wait until nine o’clock and call Rosco’s office, but he said he’d already tried his office, home, and car phone. So, I told him to call you. He said Rosco wasn’t there either. Did this guy contact you, Belle?”

  “No.”

  “Then how’d he know Rosco wasn’t there?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Belle began to pace her office, the long telephone cord following her like a pet snake.

  “I tried all of Rosco’s numbers after he’d hung up,” Cleo continued, “but there was no answer.…”

  Belle thought for a moment. “And that was the extent of your conversation?”

  “No.… After telling me he’d call back, the guy said, ‘Rosco’s missing in action,’ just like that. Real deadpan. It was impossible to tell if it was a question or a statement. I asked what he meant, but the line went dead. I hate it when my husband goes out of town like this.… It’s as if someone’s watching to see when he leaves the house.”

  Belle took a deep breath. “Listen, Cleo, I’m going to drive by Rosco’s apartment and office.… Then I’m coming over to your house. I want to be there when this person calls again, okay? It shouldn’t take me much more than an hour.”

  “Thanks, Belle. I’ll get someone to take Nicky to school so I don’t miss you. I won’t ask you to hurry, but …”

  It was Effie who opened the door. The five-year-old was not attired as a ballerina this time; instead, she’d draped herself in a collection of oversized garments obviously borrowed from her mother. The cold that was keeping her home from school didn’t seem to be affecting her sense of style. “I’m a princess,” she said, eyeing Belle with her customary mixture of mistrust, jealousy, and fascination. “Are you wearing a white dress and a veil on Saturday?”

  “No, I’m not, Effie.”

  “Why not? Aren’t you supposed to be a bride?”

  The subject of remarriage and glowing white felt too complex for a pint-sized princess. “Is your mom a
round?” Belle said in an attempt to change the subject. “I told her I’d come over—”

  “Mommy does the same thing when she won’t tell me something,” Effie announced coolly, then added an equally unemotional “She’s at the vet’s. Geoffrey’s baby-sitting, ’cause I’m too sick to go to school.” The cabinetmaker’s name was pronounced with a regal flourish as if her highness was considering a knighthood for Geoffrey. Wright.

  “But …” Belle began, but Effie had already raced off in a trail of multicolored silk.

  Belle heard a squeal, a crash that sounded like a door slamming hard, and a shout of “Give it back, you stupid dog!” She left the house and entered the garage.

  “Hiya, Tinker Bell,” was Geoff’s brief greeting, then his focus immediately returned to the wood panel he was laboring over. A can of cherry-colored stain sat on the workbench beside him, as well as a variety of sandpapers, wads of steel wool, and a selection of paintbrushes. “Good news,” he added without looking up. “I talked to Sharon last night. She’s on her way down from Vermont this afternoon. Even if the dishwasher doesn’t arrive, she and I can hang some of the cabinets—”

  Belle interrupted with a hurried, “Effie said her mom’s gone to the vet’s?”

  “Emergency with one of the dogs … the basset, I think. She told me to tell you—”

  “We spoke an hour ago; there was no mention of a problem with a dog.” Missing in action, Belle thought, Rosco’s missing in action. Tension made her throat tight, and her tone high-pitched and edgy.

  Geoffrey glanced up briefly. “Hey, Tinker Bell, relax! You’re a pretty lady. I hate to see you get so—”

  “Cleo called me … She said I should hurry.…”

  “What can I say? Emergencies happen.” Geoff lightly brushed the cabinet’s surface with steel wool while Belle frowned in confusion.

  “What happened to the dog?” she said at last.

  “Ate something nasty, I suppose. Cleo came out here to talk to me and found the basset on the lawn out there, curled up in a ball and crying. She assumed it had been poisoned on account of it’s barking all the time and driving the neighbors bonkers. You know how Cleo is; likes the dramatic.… But I think the pooch got into a garbage can somewhere. Bassets will gorge on anything and everything, you know.”

  Belle’s frown increased. Something about the recitation sounded wrong, but she wasn’t sure where the problem lay. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice the dog was ill before Cleo did.”

  “When I’ve got that electric sander revved up, I wouldn’t hear a military helicopter landing in the driveway.”

  “And you’ve no idea when Cleo’s expected to return?”

  “Not a clue—”

  “Or the name of the animal hospital?”

  Geoffrey Wright looked at her, his expression suddenly stony. “I’m a cabinetmaker, Belle. I’m working in this house as a craftsman, not a chamber maid … or a babysitter.”

  Belle’s face grew hot; she was about to respond when the phone rang.

  Geoff picked up the receiver, cradling it against his neck while both hands continued to work. “It’s for you,” he said.

  “But nobody—” Belle began as she reached for the phone. “Belle Graham speaking.”

  The voice was not as mechanical as an automated directory assistance announcement, but it was eerily devoid of expression. “… on the dashboard,” it insisted.

  “Hello?” Belle answered. “Hello?”

  “… quotation,” the voice added. “Our little secret … I think you’ll like it.”

  “Who is this? Where’s Rosco?” Belle demanded, but the reply was an impassive:

  “One hour … Identify the quotation, if you dare.” There was a firm click on the other end of the line.

  Belle replaced the receiver and unconsciously looked at her watch. It was eight-forty-five.

  “Bad news?” Geoff asked the question as he dipped a brush into the can of wood stain. He couldn’t have seemed less concerned.

  “Just a crank call. I get them on occasion.”

  “I’m surprised someone phoned you here,” was his blasé observation. “Your own home, sure. But not your future sister-in-law’s place.”

  “The price of fame.” Belle’s laugh was thin and forced. “No one’s safe.” She walked toward the garage’s open doors. “I’m going to step outside for a minute.”

  Geoffrey was so intent on applying the stain that he didn’t realize Belle was gone when he said, “You should move to Vermont. Forget the celebrity bit …”

  Belle sauntered across the drive, pretended to stretch, then walked toward her car. The crossword puzzle wasn’t on the dashboard as the caller had promised. Instead, it lay upside down on the driver’s seat. Belle glanced back at the garage, then reached for the hand-drawn cryptic. Across its top were crude block letters inked in heavy black: “Not Dreaming.”

  NOT DREAMING

  Across

  1. Groom without an E?

  6. Butts

  10. “The——of War”

  14. Mr. Chekhov

  15. Theater org.

  16. Opera solo

  17. Chars

  18. Stratagem

  19. Drug fed

  20. “Can we——?”

  21. Certain strangler

  22. “Each man——the thing he loves,” Wilde

  23. Quote, part 1

  27. 67-Across, e.g.

  28. Old Rough and Ready

  31. Quote, part 2

  34. Part of A&P

  35. Jazz job

  37. March 15th, e.g.

  38. Quote, part 3

  40. Opera d’——

  41. First lady

  42. Shoe size

  43. Quote, part 4

  45. Demand

  48. Took a dip

  49. Quote, part 5

  54. Where Macbeth kills Duncan

  57. Purchase

  58. To be in Paris

  59. Kidnapper’s payoff, slang

  60. Mil. branch

  62. Show the way

  63. Mil. branch

  64. Check out the web

  65. Actress Sharon

  66. Classic Altman film

  67. Stack part

  68. Aides

  Down

  1. Selassie worshiper

  2. Hoopster Shaq

  3. “——for time”

  4. Source of a bottleneck stopper

  5. Switch positions

  6. “In Cold Blood” author

  7. Husband’s sister

  8. Bygone Pontiac

  9. “Do as I——”

  10. Mr. Webster

  11. Spoken

  12. “My——,” Temptations’ hit

  13. Certain plant parts

  21. Most pleasant

  22. “The Glass——”

  24. Garden tool

  25. “——Brute?”

  26. Hoard

  29. Monster

  30. John & Paul’s meter maid

  31. “——on a Grecian Urn”

  32. Sitarist Shankar

  33. British gun

  34. Lincoln or Burrows

  36. Diamond, e.g.

  39. Son of 41-Across

  40. 4-doors have 4

  44. Pop

  46. Bait &——

  47. Certain Richard

  48. Murders

  50. Some supports

  51. Beliefs

  52. Ain’t right?

  53. Ponds, across the Pond

  54. Astringent

  55. ——Nostra

  56. Sever & Smothers

  60. Mil. branch

  61. Take to court

  62. Mil. branch

  To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

  CHAPTER 19

  ROSCO. Sitting alone in Cleo’s second-floor guest bedroom, Belle stared at the letters she’d just added to the crossword grid. 1-Across: Groom without an E?

  �
�ROSCO,” she said aloud. “ROSCO.” Her spine tingled in fear. Who was this mystery constructor, and what did he—or she—want? Belle glanced at her watch; “One hour,” the peculiar voice had ordered. “Identify the quotation, if you dare.”

  She returned to the crossword, carefully filling in solutions with her red pen. PLOY was the answer to 18-Across; KILLS was at 22-Across: “Each man KILLS the thing he loves”—an adage from Oscar Wilde.

  “ROSCO,” she repeated aloud. Could it be that he’d been the target all along? Had the florist’s box been a ruse, and the hand-made puzzle she’d received Sunday merely a means to bring him in contact with a killer?

  Belle tried to sort through the chain of events: A onetime resident of the Saint Augustine Mission had been murdered, then a nameless woman found dead near the bus depot. Father Tom’s shelter had been vandalized, after which had come a sinister cryptic in an empty flower box, a peculiar call to Cleo stating that Rosco was “missing in action,” and now another cryptic.

  “Each man KILLS the thing he loves.” Belle repeated aloud as she picked up the telephone and punched in the number of Rosco’s mobile unit, hoping against hope that he would finally answer. At the same moment, Effie barged into the room.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Calling Uncle Rosco.”

  “Why?”

  Belle plastered on a falsely sanguine smile. “Because I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

  Rosco’s phone rang and rang. He was obviously not in his car. Belle redialed his office, but with no success. The answering machine picked up immediately, indicating there were a stack of messages. She added another to the list.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Effie suggested calmly. “Like my dad. My mom says hiding is Daddy’s favorite thing. I think he’s hiding now. That’s why he’s not here.”

  Belle gazed at the little girl, but no further family secrets were forthcoming. Instead, Effie waltzed off, bossily scolding one of the dogs as she meandered through the upstairs hall. Belle glanced at her watch. Nineteen minutes were left in the hour she’d been allotted.

  A quote in five parts, she told herself as her pen raced over the paper. NARC, she wrote at 19-Across; SNUFFS was the solution to 48-Down: Murders. 55-Down was COSA Nostra. Belle felt her skin prickle; her forehead was damp; her palms wet. PLOY, she wrote. KILLS.