Dead Man's Puzzle
Page 19
“She wants to know if she can fax me a puzzle.”
“I knew it.”
“Relax. How long can it take?”
“I’m not missing those lion cubs.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll solve it when we get back.”
“You promise?”
“That’s what I’m text-messaging her. I’ll solve it when we get back.”
Sherry sent the message, poured some coffee. Nibbled some toast.
The phone vibrated.
“Now what?” Aaron said.
“ ‘It’s already solved, I just want your input,’ ” Sherry read. She began typing.
“I can’t win, can I,” Aaron said.
“Do you ever?”
A monkey dangling from the flap of the tent seemed to be eyeing Sherry’s cell phone.
“Serve you right if he steals it,” Aaron said.
“Eat your breakfast.”
“Eat yours.”
“I am, I am,” Sherry said. She made a show of eating a few bites of her eggs before getting up.
She went out to the alcove, where battery packs and computers and cameras were hooked up to charge.
At the end, a fax machine was clacking.
Sherry retrieved the puzzle, studied it on her way back.
“Anything jump out at you?” Aaron said.
“You mean like a monkey?”
“I mean like anything you can tell Cora.”
“Not really.”
“Fine. Take it with you in the Jeep. You can read between the lions.”
Sherry groaned, laughed, swiped at him playfully. She scanned the puzzle. Smiled. “You’re right. Let’s not let it ruin our day. I’ll just drop her a hint, and we can forget about it.”
Aaron frowned. “You got it already?”
Sherry shrugged. “Not much to get.”
“What is it?”
“Look.”
Sherry typed in the message. Held it up for Aaron to see.
“How come it doesn’t rhyme?”
Chapter 57
Cora stared at the puzzle and called Sherry names. Of all the nerve. She asks her for help, and what does she get? Nothing but cryptic nonsense, no better than the puzzle. “Why doesn’t it rhyme?” indeed! It did rhyme: “At noon I can not be done. So I should try to at one.” In what language didn’t that rhyme? Maybe if you translated it into Swahili. Was that Sherry’s problem? Too besotted by the safari, not to mention the honeymoon, to be able to think straight?
Even so, didn’t Sherry realize she wouldn’t be asking for help if she didn’t need it? Here she was, half a world away, all alone, sorting out the last wishes of an insufferable little man who couldn’t just say what he wanted—though not eating poison was probably fairly high on his list—a guy who bombards her with idiotic puzzles with meaningless rhymes, and—
Cora blinked.
A silly grin spread over her face.
How about that!
It didn’t rhyme!
Sherry was right. Cora would have to make it up to her for all the horrible things she’d been thinking about her.
So, the puzzle didn’t rhyme, and Overmeyer was a diabolical genius. Still a moron and a major pain in the fanny, but a diabolical genius nonetheless.
It occurred to Cora, damn, she should have asked Sherry if the puzzle had anything to do with computers. But that wouldn’t work. If you ask someone to find computer clues, they’ll find computer clues. The only true test is not to ask. Of course, then they don’t know to look.
Cora knew to look. She was going over that puzzle from top to bottom. She picked it up, started in the upper-left-hand corner.
Okay, anything about computers there?
No, and—
Cora’s mouth fell open.
Staring up at her from the puzzle were the words poker and dogs. And the second puzzle had been behind a picture of poker-playing dogs. The first puzzle was meant to send her to the second puzzle. The fact that the clue was so obscure that it hadn’t worked didn’t matter. It was clearly Overmeyer’s intention. Luckily, Cora had uncovered the second puzzle on her own.
So. The first and second puzzles were linked. The first puzzle meant something. So the second puzzle should mean something, too. Sherry had figured out the secret of the first puzzle. But she’d solved the second puzzle without noticing anything special. She had no suggestions, no hint of any hidden meaning. Presumably, there was none.
And yet.
Cora picked up the second puzzle.
“Flip me over. Onto my back. Upside head. Take a whack.”
Okay, Cora thought. That rhymed. And there was no way it meant anything else by not rhyming. So what about the verse itself?
It should be “upside my head.” But she’d learned that Overmeyer wasn’t too precise when it came to puzzles.
Or was he?
Was the lack of the word my a necessity of construction?
Or intentional?
“Flip me over. Onto my back.”
Cora picked up the sheet of paper, turned it over.
There were numbers scrawled on the back. Random numbers that could mean anything. She’d originally thought Overmeyer had done his puzzle on the back of a sheet of scratch paper. “Onto my back.” But suppose the puzzle was on the front? “Flip me over onto my back.” It would mean that the numbers were important. But they weren’t. Just scattered random numbers.
Or were they?
Cora studied the back of the sheet.
Oh, my God!
She reached into the top drawer, took out a ruler and a pencil.
Using the ruler as a straight edge, she began drawing lines.
A sudoku!
One good thing. If it was a sudoku, she knew how to solve it.
There was one way to find out.
If it was a sudoku, it would have a unique solution.
Cora snatched up the pencil.
Solved the puzzle.
Okay. She’d solved the sudoku. So what? What could it possibly mean?
Nothing.
Unless you combined it with the verse from the crossword puzzle.
Okay, she’d flipped it over on its back. Now what?
“Upside head.”
Head would be the first row.
But not the first row across.
The first row up and down.
The first column.
Down the first column?
No. Upside.
Up the first column the numbers read: 973 486 152.
What could that be?
Cora had no idea.
Well, great.
Instead of a meaningless puzzle, she now had a meaningless nine-digit number.
She turned the paper over onto its back or front or whatever, where the crossword puzzle was.
Cora scanned the puzzle, looking for another clue. But nothing jumped out at her the way poker dogs did. In the bottom left was Mata Hari and I Spy, certainly a theme, connected by the word trap. Had Overmeyer been involved in espionage and trapped by a cunning seductress? Somehow it seemed unlikely.
As Cora finished the second puzzle, something she told Becky Baldwin occurred to her. When do you stop looking for something? When you find it.
Cora had found poker dogs in the first puzzle and gone straight to the second. She hadn’t finished going over the first puzzle.
She did so now. She picked it up, scanned the words.
She found nothing until she got to the bottom of the page. The computer terms still looked like computer terms. But Cora knew they didn’t have to be. The screen could be a window screen. A mouse could be the type that squeaks and eats cheese. A net could be a net to catch a mouse in. No, you didn’t catch a mouse in a net. You caught a butterfly in a net. You caught—
Cora’s eyes widened.
She snatched up the second puzzle.
There, at the bottom, connecting Mata Hari to I Spy.
Trap.
That infuriating little man.
&n
bsp; You had to put the puzzles together.
Mousetrap.
Chapter 58
Cora killed the headlights down by the road. The last thing she needed was Brooks spotting her. If Brooks was even there. Had he returned home yet, or was he still at the B&B? With his lights out, it was impossible to tell. Was his car there? The top of the driveway was on the other side of the house. It didn’t matter. She had to be quiet anyway for fear the neighbor to the north would hear her. Not that he was apt to, on the other side of the wood.
Cora’s mind was racing, and she knew why. Because nothing made sense yet. Because all the facts she was amassing were a jumble of information that added up to nothing. Clues within clues within clues. Did this irritating man whom she had never met really mean for her to follow them? Or were they a figment of her imagination? Was she, like the computer nerd, duped into reading something into the puzzles that was not in fact there?
Did the first puzzle really refer her to the second? Poker-playing dogs indeed. So the words were in the puzzle. Big deal. There weren’t even as many of them as there were computer clues. Why latch on to one and not the other?
Unfortunately, Cora had the answer. Because the computer did not exist.
And there were poker-playing dogs.
If the first puzzle sent her to the second puzzle, could the two puzzles, taken together, be sending her back here? In the dead of night? With a flashlight? Well, the flashlight and the dead of night had nothing to do with it. That was just when she figured it out. But could the puzzles want her to return to the cabin?
What else could they want?
Cora crept up the driveway in the dark, not wanting to risk the flashlight. She wondered if the front door was locked. Had the cabin been searched since she’d broken in? Sure it had. By every heir within a hundred miles. It should be locked up tight.
It was. The doorknob did not turn. Too bad. She wasn’t really up for climbing in the dark. But there was no help for it.
Cora went around to the back of the house, pushed up the kitchen window. It wouldn’t move. Someone had locked it, too.
Cora ascribed to the window private practices still illegal in some states. She fumbled in her purse, pulled out her gun, rammed the barrel through the windowpane just above the lock. She unlocked the window, pushed up the bottom. Brushed the glass off the sill and climbed through.
It wasn’t easy. There was glass on the counter. Cora had to be careful where she put her hand. She wriggled through, squirmed across the counter, dropped to the floor.
She risked the light, shading the beam with her hand. Her fingers glowed red.
Cora crossed the kitchen, opened the basement door. She slipped in onto the top step, closed the door behind her. Took her hand off the beam and shone the light.
The basement was, as Chief Harper had described it, merely a crawl space. Cora, recalling what the chief had looked like when he emerged, wasn’t keen on going down there, but there was no help for it. She crept down the three steps. She could feel the cobwebs clinging to her skin, smell the stench from the broken plumbing. She shuddered, pressed on. Reached the bottom.
The floor was loose dirt that gave beneath her weight, creating the uneasy feeling that at any moment it might give way and plunge her into a bottomless pit. Cora gritted her teeth, shone the light.
There were the mousetraps she and Becky had found, arranged in a loose semicircle, curving away from the bottom of the stair. Leading to what?
There was nothing on the ground. Even the broken bike was outside the arc.
Cora raised the light.
The beam picked up the electrical wires Chief Harper had mentioned. Edison himself might have installed them.
Farther on was the shiny metal conduit of a heating duct. Installed in response to a building ordinance.
Stamped with a serial number, Chief Harper said.
Where would that be? Probably right at the joint. The pipe was joined by a two-inch metal strip wrapped around and fastened by a bolt and wing nut. There was printing on the pipe near the joint: “US Patent.”
And the serial number.
973486152
Cora pulled the paper out of her pocket, compared the number.
Son of a bitch!
Her pulse raced.
Cora examined the joint. The bolt and wing nut were scratched, as if by a pliers and screwdriver. Someone had taken the pipe joint apart.
She didn’t have a pliers and screwdriver. She took out her gun and began banging on the wing nut. The nut wouldn’t budge. She began pounding the pipe itself, bending it in, away from the joint. It was rough going, because the crawl space wasn’t high enough for her to stand. Cora sat on the floor, swinging the gun like a hammer. When she had the pipe bent enough, she raised her leg and kicked.
The pipe flew apart.
Something dropped out, fluttered to the dirt floor.
It was a piece of paper.
Cora picked it up, unfolded it.
It was a crossword puzzle.
ACROSS
1 Megastars
6 French friend
10 “Gee!”
14 Bushes can be found here
15 Tailless cat
16 Utah ski center
17 Kayak user for thousands of years
18 Start of a message
20 Dryer fluff
21 Ziegfeld’s nickname
22 Fleet of Spain, once
23 Pink, in a steak house
25 Et ___ (and others)
26 Rip off
29 “Seems I was wrong”
33 Part 2 of message
35 Classic Welles role
36 B&O stop
37 4:00 P.M., perhaps
40 “A mind ___ terrible thing to waste”
41 Highly diluted
43 Part 3 of message
45 Bookstore section
48 Idiot boxes
49 Concert hall section
50 C minor and others
51 “Likewise”
54 Smelly black stuff
55 Puts two and two together
59 Part 4 of message
61 Bashar Assad’s land
62 Annapolis inst.
63 Bygone Mideast leader
64 Bad-guy role
65 Mason’s wedge
66 Winston Churchill, e.g.
67 Beats by a hair
DOWN
1 Biased type, briefly
2 Cold cut store
3 Conestoga haulers
4 Toulouse-___
5 Grounded flier
6 Go easy?
7 Lubricant for subs?
8 S&L earnings
9 Get rid of hot air
10 It could be a lifesaver
11 “The Three Sisters” sister
12 Ear piercer
13 1985 U.S. Open winner Mandlikova
19 Camera diaphragm
21 Member of la famille immédiate
24 ___ above the rest
25 Tax filer’s dread
26 Punchers
27 Shop tool
28 Spam, for example
29 Advice to a sleepyhead
30 Easily fooled
31 Beginning
32 Glum drops
34 Jet black
38 Cut at a 45-degree angle
39 It’s a sin
42 Bills, e.g.
44 Made an effort
46 Filly’s foot
47 Diva, traditionally
50 “Misery” Oscar winner Bates
51 Hosp. areas
52 Child’s portion?
53 All, as a prefix
54 The first one ruled 1547–84
56 Schlep
57 Jackknife, e.g.
58 Behaves like Simon
60 P, in Greece
61 That boat
Chapter 59
Harvey Beerbaum opened the front door in his pajamas and robe. He’d clearly been in a deep sleep and looked utterly bewildered.
“Cora! My God! What’s happened?”
“Nothing, Harvey. I need your help.”
“You need my help?”
“Yes, I need you to solve a puzzle.”
“You need me to solve a puzzle?”
“If you’re going to repeat everything I say, this is going to take a long time.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s puzzle time, Harvey. Are you going to ask me in?”
“I’m in my pajamas.”
“Of course you are, Harvey. It’s the middle of the night.”
“What?”
“Harvey, trust me. I’ve lived through scandals in my day, and this doesn’t measure up. The police could catch us doing crosswords at the kitchen table, and it wouldn’t even rate the National Enquirer.”
“National Enquirer?”
“You’re doing it again, Harvey. Come on. You wanted in on the big time. Chief Harper brought you a puzzle. It was gibberish. I got one that may be the real deal. If it is, I’ll give you credit. Come on, whaddya say?”
“You want me to solve a puzzle now?”
“At last, a meeting of the minds. Yes, Harvey, I want you to solve a puzzle now.”
“Why?”
“Because Sherry and Aaron are chasing lions.”
“What?”
“Wanna risk a light, or are you afraid the neighbors will know you’ve got company?”
“It’s none of their business.”
“Attaboy!”
Harvey flicked on the light. Cora swept ahead of him to the dining room table, sat in one of his rattan wicker-back chairs.
“Here you go, Harvey. It’s a fifteen-by-fifteen. I’m giving you six minutes because you’re not awake. Whaddya think?”
Cora spread the puzzle out on the table.
“Where did you get this?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
His eyes widened. “Really?”
“Sound a little more interesting? Come on, let’s solve this sucker.”
Harvey got a pen, rested the puzzle on a magazine so as not to harm the tabletop.
“You do it in pen?”
“Of course. Don’t you? Oh, that’s right.”
“Go on, Harvey, do your stuff.”
With Cora watching, Harvey whizzed through the puzzle. He was done in four and a half minutes. While he was finishing up, she had already read the theme answer.