by Nero Blanc
“Please,” Belle begged. “We need to discuss—”
“Daniel Webster,” was the furious reply.
“A statesman,” she began. “An extraordinary orator, a member of the United States Senate—”
“Secretary of State under William Henry Harrison … Old ‘Tippecanoe and Tyler, too!’ The famous ‘log cabin and hard-cider’ campaign … Do you have this information at your fingertips, Annabella? No, of course you don’t. You may be facile with words; you may profess a love of poetry, but your knowledge is far from encyclopedic!” A laugh followed this outburst, after which the man hummed another garbled tune and finally commenced speaking again. “Dogs … Now, there’s another interesting subject. The harrier: that’s a breed of English hound that’s been around since Norman days … the Bouvier des Flandres; the Kuvasz, originally Hungarian … likewise, the puli: good at herding … the Mexican hairless.… Have you ever seen a Tibetan mastiff?”
Belle didn’t respond, and her caller again shifted gear, becoming even more bullying and demanding.
“Now, you know what I want you to do, little bell? I want you to make me a crossword … nice and symmetrical so’s I can fold it in quarters, eighths, even, and have each itty, bitty piece match. You got that?”
“You have to tell me where Rosco is first—”
“Wrong answer! Tit for tat, Bellisima. When you’re finished, you stick it under your doormat … No … better yet, put it on the porch floor with a leg of your wicker bench holding it in place. Got it?”
“Yes. But how will Rosco—?”
“It’s six o’clock or thereabouts. I’ll give you till eleven—”
Belle gasped.
“Not as good as you think you are, eh cutie pie? Okay, midnight’s your deadline. Like the song says … Gonna let it all bang out.… Oh, and a theme … What was my last puzzle? ‘Not Dreaming,’ right? Ole Papa Poe, E.A.P.… ‘Helen, thy beauty is to me’ … and all that other gobbledygook.”
Belle nodded soundlessly, then managed to whisper, “You want me to create a crossword?”
“Let’s call it ‘Stand By Your Man.’ You should have a whole heap of inspiration for that clever game! Oh, and let’s keep our little tricks to ourselves. For your sweetie’s sake … ‘All’s well that ends well,’ as the sages say. Don’t be late. Remember, your dead line is midnight.” The man sang what sounded like a dirge and was suddenly gone.
Belle replaced the receiver and sat staring at the phone one moment too long, because as she reached for the dial pad to trace the number, the phone rang. She jumped convulsively, then gritted her teeth. “Yes?”
“Belle, it’s Al. What happened? You sound terrible.”
The words came out before she could stop them. “Some crazy person has kidnapped Rosco! I was just about to try and trace the call.”
Lever remained silent for the merest second. “I’ll be right over.”
“No, the house is being watched!”
“I can’t let you—”
“You have to, Al.… Look, I’ve got to go. I have to construct a crossword for this nut case! He’s given me six hours.”
“Is there a drop—?”
“Al! I shouldn’t even be talking to you.” She groaned in fearful frustration. “Okay … I have to—” Belle stopped herself. “No, I can’t tell you—”
“I’ll order surveillance—”
“You can’t, Al! The guy’ll see you! He’s probably watching right now.… I’ve got to go.”
STAND BY YOUR MAN
Across
1. ET craft
4. Gov. shipping regulator
7. MD airport
10. ——to tango
13. Actor Mineo
14. Cheer
15. Turn bad
16. Owns
17. Philadelphia suburb
19. Faulkner haunt
21. “Three Dog Night” hit
23. Smell
25. Unscripted line
26. French city
29. French impressionist
31. Wind dir.
32. Type of cord
33. Florida city
35. Stuns with noise
37. Vietnamese city
38. Mark of a criminal?
39. Uncovers
43. New Hampshire capital
47. Climbing vine
48. “——for Two”
50. Prometheus’s brother
51. 18-Down, e.g.
52. Florida city
54. Logical beginning?
55. John B. Bogart news flash?
58. Everyone has one
60. New York campus
63. Towel word
64. Wind dir.
65. Three-match link
66. War stat.
67. Ran into
68. Ref. work
69. Water on the grass
70. Stitch
Down
1. Loc. of 43-Across and 43-Down
2. “Bad news travels fast and——,” Plutarch
3. Crank
4. “——Here to Eternity”
5. Klaus——Brandauer
6. New York neighborhood
7. Sulked
8. “Look Homeward, Angel” author
9. News tidbit
10. Skater’s woe
11. Existed
12. CIA predecessor
18. Picture of Olivier?
20. Seagal or Stallone, e.g.
22. ——& yang
23. Unusual
24. Some feds
27. Fire
28. Some Chicago trains
30. March King
32. Ms. White
34. Born
36. Tokyo once
39. Sprite
40. Caesar’s dozen
41. Seer
42. Soiled
43. Provincetown locale
44. Heirloom jewelry
45. Actress Charlotte
46. Brit. decoration
49. Hosp. employee
52. Butcher’s cut
53. Together
56. El——
57. Sketch
58. Resistance unit
59. Easy as——
61. Fib
62. “L.A.——”
To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords
CHAPTER 23
“But why did you do it, Al? The guy specifically told me not to share information with anyone. You set up a surveillance team. I just don’t see the rationale behind the decision.”
It was six-forty-five A.M., the sky beginning to glow blue and pink, but the two faces that stared across Belle’s desk looked far from glowing and healthy. Belle hadn’t slept a wink, but then neither had Al.
“If you’d informed me the drop site was going to be your front porch, I would have played the scenario a lot differently, Belle—”
“The guy told me not to—”
“Let’s get a couple of facts straight. One: I’m on your side, and I want to find Rosco just as much as you do. Two: I’m not going to let my best buddy’s fiancée wrestle with some psycho I have every reason to believe is stalking her—”
“It’s not me, he’s after.”
“You don’t know that, Belle! And besides, remember Rosco’s supposition was that you were the target, not him.”
“But a surveillance team, Al—”
“Undercover, Belle … Sewer repair trucks are out at all hours. This is an old city. The mains and secondary pipes break all the time—”
“I know this weirdo spotted something wrong, Al. I’m not blaming you for trying to help, but I’m convinced that’s why he didn’t show.” Belle ran her hand wearily over the unretrieved cryptic. Fatigue made her eyes water. She didn’t remember when she’d last eaten or even had a drink of water.
“You are blaming me, Belle. And you’re angry and upset … and worried. So am I. But this is police protocol. I made a decision based on facts. Incomplete, as it
turns out … But what have we got here? Homicide—a probable double—and a potential kidnapping.… Now, what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for this goon to strike again? Whoever nabbed Rosco would have no trouble tackling you—”
“Because I’m female?” Belle’s voice and jaw were tight.
“Because you probably weigh only a hundred and ten pounds. That’s not a lot of beef to throw against a male who’s attacking you.”
Belle was quiet for a long minute. “So, what do we do now?”
“Wait until you’re recontacted.”
“He won’t call if he knows you’re here.”
“I guarantee that’s not the case.” Al’s voice was calm, professional, kind. Belle found herself desperately wanting to believe him. “These sickos thrive on police attention. Trust me.”
Belle closed her eyes, then slowly opened them. “Do you want some coffee, Al?”
“Love some.”
As they headed for the kitchen, Lever picked up the crossword. “How do you do these things?” His manner had a false heartiness that tried to say, Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.
Belle tried to match the tone. “State secret.” She added an equally disingenuous, “I hope you like your coffee strong.”
“You know what they say? If a spoon stands up in it …” Al examined the cryptic. “‘Stand By Your Man’ … Oh, I get it, you put the word man throughout the puzzle.”
“18-Down,” Belle recited. “MARATHON MAN; 55-Across: MAN BITES DOG; 21-Across: FAMILY OF MAN … I can recite this thing in my sleep—”
“Which you didn’t get.”
“Which I didn’t get. Are you certain this guy will make another attempt with you here, Al?”
“I’d stake my badge on it. There was nothing you recognized in the man’s inflection? A regional dialect? Odd speech pattern?”
“Nothing other than what I already shared with you: a tin ear, and a disconcerting habit of switching from erudite to undereducated language and locution—”
“Which could mean a schizophrenic …”
Belle poured coffee into two mugs and looked at the clock on the stove. “It’s after seven.”
“He’ll call, Belle. Guys like this can’t stay away.”
As if on cue, the phone rang. Al banged his mug on the countertop, spilling a quarter of the black brown liquid on the surface. He held up a hand and motioned for Belle to wait until he reached the office extension.
Three endless rings elapsed before he shouted the all clear, and they picked up the receivers in unison. “Hello?” Belle realized her voice sounded hideously unnatural. If the mystery man didn’t already know she had company, he’d certainly guess from her tone.
“Annabella Graham?” The male voice was nervous. Belle had a difficult time pegging it as the self-confident caller of thirteen hours earlier. Schizophrenia, she reminded herself.
“The puzzle’s done,” she said, “but I … I … Just tell me what to do with it now.”
A tense pause greeted her. “This is Annabella Graham, isn’t it?”
Belle swallowed. “This is she.” She considered asking about Rosco but decided to follow the caller’s lead. “This is Annabella Graham.”
“I apologize for phoning so early.…”
Belle stretched the cord as far as she could but was unable to see past the door to the living room and beyond. “That’s all right.”
“But working folk have such nasty schedules—”
“Look, mister—”
“Oh! Russ Parrotti, here. I’m sorry; I should have introduced myself right off the bat. Russ Parrotti of the Boston Sentinel. Parrotti, not Perot, and Russ rather than Ross.” The man named Russ laughed. Belle did not. “Miss Graham, I’m fact-checking a story on you by one of our contributors, an Elise Elliott—”
“What?”
“I’m a fact-checker with the Sentinel. And, again, Miss Graham, I apologize for the inconvenience of the hour, but—”
“Look, Mr. Parrot—”
“Parrotti—”
“Mr. Parrotti. You have to get off this line. I’m expecting a crucial call.” Belle slammed the receiver down without waiting for a response. Lever joined her a moment later.
“Not him?”
She shook her head, then reflexively began mopping up spilled coffee.
“You’re sure?”
Belle turned horrified eyes on Al.
“I’m going to trace the call, just in case.” He pounded numbers on the dial pad, wrote down the results, called Boston information, and copied the Sentinel’s main number. “Looks like Russ Parrotti may be on the up and up.”
“What do you mean, ‘may be’?”
“Crazies often like to exist inconspicuously, working the quietest jobs. It’s like camouflage.”
“But Parrotti’s in Boston—”
“Which is an hour away, max.”
Belle’s shoulders sagged. She felt on the verge of tears. She was about to answer when the phone rang a second time. Al bolted toward the office extension, but before he was halfway through the living room, Belle grabbed the receiver.
“My number’s unlisted. Now, lose the cop.” Then came a loud and final click.
“That’s all right. No trouble,” Belle said as Al picked up, adding a falsely serene, “Wrong number” for his benefit.
Then she replaced the receiver in the cradle, affixed a determined smile, and greeted the returning Lever with a pleasant: “You know what, Al? We’re both starving, and the cupboards are bare. How about if I sit here by the phone while you visit the mom-and-pop store on the corner and get us some eggs?” She stopped herself as if a truth had suddenly dawned. “Darn it! They won’t be open this early. You’ll have to drive over to the supermarket—”
“I’m not leaving, Belle. And I’m not hungry.”
“But I am, Al. Look, I won’t answer the phone till you get back. How’s that?”
Al thought. “Takeout from Lawson’s would be easier and faster. Maybe some French toast … a mushroom omelette …”
Belle’s smile grew as she counted minutes in her head. Round trip to the café would take twenty to thirty minutes if the morning’s orders were light. “Sounds good to me.”
“What’ll you have?”
“You choose, Al. I’ve given up making decisions.”
When the phone rang again, Belle was ready.
“I’ll try,” she said in answer to the caller’s abrupt request. “It’s a newspaper, and I’m only the—”
A stream of oaths interrupted her, which was followed by another question.
“I’ll do my best. I promise.… But what about Rosco?”
“I’m still thinking, little Annabel Lee …
“‘In her sepulchre there by the sea—
“‘In her tomb by the sounding sea.’ Poe, again … You hurry on down to the Crier, and then we’ll powwow again, Annabel.”
CHAPTER 24
At first meeting, Kit hadn’t been sure about Rosco. To begin with, he was the only human being the dog had encountered who’d refused to respond, pro or con, to a friendly face-licking. He’d remained motionless when the puppy had run her wet tongue over his stubbled cheeks; never blinking his eyes or rolling his head to one side, let alone knocking her halfway across the room and shouting, “Get lost, will ya?”
The reason for this comatose state, a reason Kit was unaware of, was that Rosco had been fed a dose of methyl-morphine thirty-six hours earlier. But he wasn’t dead; in fact, despite the chill of the basement room, his body had retained its warmth, allowing the puppy to curl up beside him through two cold nights, which was lucky for both of them, as the building had been without heat for some time.
However, by eleven A.M., the sun was again high enough in the sky to begin filtering in through the only link to the outside world: a small, rectangular window at the juncture of the ceiling and wall. Looking up and out through the dirty glass would have required standing on a chair, but its position
in the wall didn’t impede the welcome light. In fact, it created a pleasant warm spot on the old dirt floor, and since Rosco was proving to be a decidedly dull companion, Kit had opted to take advantage of the radiant heat, curling up in a tight ball beneath the sun’s mellow rays. She’d just started to nod off when Rosco finally showed signs of life by letting out an extended and painful groan. Kit leapt to her feet, trotted over to him, and once again began licking his face.
“Arrrgh …” Rosco shook his head and made an aborted attempt to wipe the wetness from his face. The fact that his hands had been bound behind his back with duct tape, and that his ankles were also strapped together made the effort less than successful. Through the dense fog that was his gradually recovering brain, he imagined himself turned into a gigantic and bloated earthworm, one that felt bruised and sore all over. He pictured an enormous fishhook, himself as bait, and the cold plunge in the frigid ocean.
Rosco groaned again, slept again, then slowly reawakened. He rolled to one side, forcing himself to inch his way up the wall until he settled into a crabbed and uncomfortable sitting position. “Okay,” he muttered with his eyes shut tight. “I’m alive. Nice start.”
Kit took the words as a sign of good humor, jumping into his lap, placing her paws on his chest, and licking determinedly his face. Rosco opened his eyes briefly, stared at the dog, then closed them again, trying to remember how he’d come to be tied up in an icy and evil-smelling basement with only a dog for company. The two guys who tried to trash the homeless mission, he finally remembered through the haze, Belle’s mystery crossword, the empty rose box … and Freddie Carson. The picture gradually came into focus.
Rosco opened his eyes. “How are ya, Kit?” He blinked several times and shook his head in an effort to calibrate his thoughts. His head pounded fiercely. “I don’t suppose you have any coffee around here? Or a couple of aspirin?”
Again, she licked his face.
“A cell phone would be too much to ask, right?”
Kit responded with a low whimper, while Rosco’s chin dropped suddenly toward his chest. A wave of nausea attacked him, then receded little by little.
“How about a knife? Straight razor? Or maybe you could chew this tape from my wrists?”
Kit skipped from his lap, crossed back to the sunny spot, and barked, suggesting it might be a better place to spend the day.
