$10,000 in Small, Unmarked Puzzles

by Parnell Hall

  “It was over a girl. Gina. From the Tropicana.”

  “Yeah. You killed her and framed him for the crime.”

  “He told you that? It was just the other way around. Gina was his girlfriend. She left him for me. He was furious and he killed her. That’s why I hound the son of a bitch. That’s why I make his life a living hell.”

  Cora shuddered. Realized why. It sounded too reasonable. Had Melvin really done that?

  Bill French grinned. “So. I’m not such a bad guy. I’m not going to hurt a child. We can work this out.”

  That snapped her back to reality. Not such a bad guy. Three people dead.

  It didn’t matter. Keep him talking.

  “How’d you know about the bodyguard?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I bugged your phone. I bugged the lawyer lady’s phone, too. Turned out to be a good move. Not only did I learn you hired the bodyguard, it made it easy to put the phones out of commission.”

  “How’d you come up with the crossword puzzles?”

  “What? Like it’s so hard? I thought it was a nice touch, involving his ex-wife. Did the puzzles drive you nuts? Trying to figure out what they meant? The first one was a warm-up. The sudoku. Just for practice. Limber up your brain. But the second one. The one in the Dumpster. I like that. I got a real kick thinking about you solving it. You have any problems with it?”

  “Why?”

  He chuckled. “Because it can’t be solved. Oh, the puzzle can. And the sudoku can. The answer is eight. But what’s it mean? That’s what drove you nuts.”

  “So what’s it mean?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t mean a thing. You could work on it forever and never get anywhere. Pretty neat in itself. But then you got the other two puzzles, and they gave you numbers that did mean something. Didn’t that make you think again? Didn’t you go back and try to figure out what eight meant?”

  Cora had done exactly that. She changed the subject, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “What about the blackmail? What was that all about? Or was that something else that didn’t mean anything?”

  “No, that was real. You didn’t know that? I thought it was obvious. I guess you don’t know what to believe anymore. Let me help you out. Call Melvin’s lawyer. The blond bimbo. Tell her you’re holding the blackmailer at gunpoint and ask her if you should let me get in my car and drive off.”

  Cora frowned. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’m holding every card in the deck. From the baby. To the photos. To the dope on your ex.”

  “Photos? What photos?”

  “The ones you’re paying the ten grand for. Boy was this one sweet caper. The first ten grand doesn’t get delivered, so I get to ask for another. And who do you think got the first ten? Go ahead, call her, see what she says.”

  “I don’t care what she says. You’re not walking out of here unless you put down that child.”

  “Here we are again. You know, the thing about this stalemate is, it really isn’t. Because you’re not going to shoot me while I’m holding the baby. I can go for my gun, and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me.”

  “Sherry,” Cora said. “Sit up straight. Get ready to catch the baby.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to shoot him in the knee. When he falls forward, catch the kid.”

  His eyes widened in alarm. His lips started to form the word, “No.”

  A shot rang out.

  His kneecap shattered.

  His leg buckled.

  He fell, but not toward the bed. Sideways, toward the door.

  Cora dived. Flung herself at the floor. Headlong and twisting onto her back. Reaching out with her left arm. Clutching …

  Cloth!

  Her fingers grabbing the infant, pulling it to her chest, even as she landed on her back, no hands to break her fall, her left hand clutching the baby, her right holding the gun. Wincing in pain from the shock of the fall as she rolled up on her left side just in time to see Bill French reaching in his jacket for his gun.

  Cora didn’t wait for him to get it.

  She shot him in the head.

  Chapter

  63

  Downstairs the little poodle was barking hysterically, but miraculously Jennifer was quiet. Sherry picked her up anxiously, but the baby was fine. She cradled and rocked her anyway, just as if she’d been crying, consoling herself as much as the child.

  On the floor, Cora was going through Bill French’s pockets.

  “What are you doing?” Sherry said.

  “Nothing,” Cora said. She pulled a set of keys out of his pants pocket and stood up. “Absolutely nothing. When the police ask you, remember that.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “I certainly hope so.” Cora tossed her gun on the bed. “Here. If he wakes up, shoot him again.”

  “Cora.”

  “He’s dead. Call the cops.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. Remember that. I didn’t go anywhere.”

  Cora ran downstairs, where Buddy was still barking hysterically. Bill French had locked him up in the breezeway. She wished she had time to let him out. She flung the door open, dashed outside.

  Bill French’s car was parked in the drive. Cora ran to it, zapping the doors with his keys as she went. There was nothing in the front seat. Nothing in the back. She opened the trunk. Inside was a suitcase and a briefcase. She unzipped the suitcase, flung it open, fumbled inside. A package stuffed in with the clothes seemed familiar. She pulled it out, opened it. It was full of money.

  Cora jammed the package in her purse, zipped the suitcase shut. She opened the briefcase. Inside was a spiral notebook. She flipped through it. The notations seemed to refer to gambling debts or outstanding loans, or something of that nature. Cora couldn’t care. She flipped it closed, continued looking.

  In a pocket in the top of the briefcase was a manila envelope closed with a clasp. Cora unclasped it, reached in, pulled out the contents. Heaved a sigh of relief. This was it. The blackmail photos.

  Cora closed the briefcase, slammed the trunk. She could hear a police siren in the distance. She ran to her car, popped the trunk, threw the package and the envelope inside.

  She ran back to the house, took the stairs two at a time, sprinted for the master bedroom, and bent over the corpse of Bill French to shove the keys back in his pocket.

  Cora jumped up, grabbed the gun off the bed, and sank to the floor in exhaustion, even as Chief Harper’s footsteps thundered up the stairs.

  Chapter

  64

  Melvin was contrite. “How can I ever repay you?”

  “How about leading a quiet, moral life and never getting into any trouble?”

  “Nah, pick something realistic,” Melvin said. “How about a nice roll in the hay?”

  “How about a nice rap on the head?” Cora said. “You’re lucky you didn’t get me killed.”

  “Yeah, right. Like I was the one who told you to accuse the guy in the newspaper. What a great idea. Wonder why I never thought of it.”

  “You can’t hide from a guy like that.”

  “You can try.” Melvin glanced around the front yard. “Nice little house you got here. Which room is yours?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Melvin. You’re not going to see it.”

  “That’s a rather unfriendly attitude. I come up here, no wife whatsoever in tow, hardly even a girlfriend on the horizon.”

  “You came up here for Becky Baldwin.”

  “She’s not interested. Says I’m old enough to be her father. That’s insulting. I’m old enough to be her grandfather. She’s not giving me enough credit.”

  “My heart bleeds for you.”

  “So, Bill French is out of my life. Hard to believe.”

  “Yeah, hard to believe.” Cora took a breath. “You know the story he was spreading about you.”

  “I’m sure there were several.”

  “The reason he hates you. He s
aid it wasn’t about money, it was about the girl.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah. Gina from the Tropicana. Your girlfriend. He stole her away. You were furious and you killed her.”

  “She was his girlfriend. He killed her when he found out she’d been with me.”

  “I thought that was just to make trouble for you. Because he was angry about the five hundred bucks.”

  “He was angry about me taking his girl.”

  “Was there ever any five hundred bucks?”

  “Oh, probably.”

  “Probably?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “You told me this was about the vig on a loan.”

  “I thought you’d find it more plausible than the jealousy thing.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “You’d never buy the jealousy thing. Hey, we were always cheating on each other. It was no big deal.”

  “I wasn’t cheating on you.”

  “What about that blackjack dealer?”

  “Are you always going to bring that up?”

  “If you’re going to start the holier-than-thou routine. I don’t care if he’s dead. Don’t give the son of a bitch the satisfaction of making trouble between us with one last lie.”

  “Oh, you smooth talker, you.”

  “Gonna invite me in?”

  “It’s a crime scene, Melvin. Everybody’s back in the old part of the house until the police sort it out. I’ve got a newborn baby down the hall. That sound like fun?”

  “No. That’s why we never had kids.”

  “That and a wide variety of birth control methods. Sometimes overlapping.”

  “Well, we both knew we shouldn’t have kids.”

  “That’s for sure. Hell, your marriages come with an expiration date.”

  “Let’s not spoil things by arguing.”

  “Particularly when we’ve had such a good time. Going to jail. Shooting someone.”

  “Aren’t you glad I taught you to shoot?”

  “It’s my fondest memory of you.”

  “That’s a little harsh.”

  “Actually, I remember it fondly.”

  “Me, too. Well, I guess I’ll be taking off.”

  “You going back to the city?”

  “Yeah, my business here is done.”

  “You mean your hot young lawyer wouldn’t cooperate.”

  “Well, she did the work. I just didn’t care about the work.”

  Melvin smiled. He climbed into his car and drove off.

  Cora watched him go down the driveway. A man she’d once loved. A man she’d once hated. A man she’d killed for.

  She’d done that, hadn’t she?

  Well, not just for him.

  Chapter

  65

  Becky Baldwin pushed the long, blond hair out of her eyes and spread her arms. “Well, it looks like you’re in the clear.”

  “Good to know.”

  “There’s every reason to believe you acted in self-defense. Even though, technically, the man had not actually drawn his gun.”

  “He was holding a baby.”

  “That’s not considered a deadly weapon in some states.”

  “I see you got your sense of humor back,” Cora said.

  “It’s so much fun having you as a defendant. Even when you’re innocent, you’ve usually broken several laws.”

  “Never mind me. What about you?”

  Becky’s eyes shifted. “What are you talking about?”

  “How’d you get Melvin out of jail? Last I heard, that wasn’t even a remote possibility.”

  “Oh.” Becky smiled. “Henry Firth and I cut a deal. I wouldn’t raise a stink about him suppressing the discovery of the murder weapon, and he wouldn’t contest bail.”

  “Nice.” Cora glanced around the office. She leaned back in her chair, said casually, “It must be a relief now that the blackmail’s over.”

  Once again, Becky had that guarded look. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I think we both agree Bill French was the blackmailer. Kind of goes without saying.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Good thing, since Melvin took his money back. I mean, we’d be hard-pressed to make a payment now.”

  Becky eyed her narrowly. “What’s your point?”

  Cora reached in her drawstring purse, pulled out the package, tossed it on the desk. “Here’s your ten grand. I figured Bill French didn’t need it anymore.”

  Becky’s mouth fell open. “You got the money back?”

  “I took it out of his car before the police got there. I figured it would only confuse them.”

  “I’ll be damned!”

  Cora lit a cigarette. For ten grand, Becky owed her. “So, Bill French was the blackmailer. Small problem. If the murderer’s the blackmailer, how does everything tie together so it makes sense? Well, it doesn’t. Unless Melvin’s the victim. If he is, it’s all part of the same thing. If he’s not, it doesn’t add up.”

  Cora blew a smoke ring. “The way I see it, here’s what happened. Bill French shows up, starts making trouble. Melvin never sees him, but he knows he’s there. He takes precautions. He protects himself physically. And he protects himself legally. He has a reason to consult you, which he’s been looking for anyway ever since you first met. He comes up here, hires you as his lawyer, makes a play for you. Bill French sees that, he starts trying to see if he can get something on you. You haven’t been practicing law that long, and everything’s been above board. As a lawyer, you’re squeaky clean. He’s gotta go back to college, see if there’s anything irregular about your degree. Like a course you should have flunked, if you hadn’t been a little too friendly with the professor. He can’t find anything like that, but what does he ferret out? Manna from heaven, the fatted calf, the blond bonanza.”

  Cora threw the manila envelope on the desk. “I took this, too. The blackmail photos. So you don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

  Becky unclasped the envelope, pulled them out. “Oh, my God!”

  Cora shook her head. “I couldn’t figure out who your client was. I thought it had to be Melvin, because it couldn’t be anybody else. I never knew until Bill French gave me a hint. He told me to call you, ask you if you’d like me to hold the blackmailer for the police, or let him walk away. That’s how I knew it was you.”

  Becky looked up from the envelope, met Cora’s eyes. “You have to understand. I was in college. Times were tight. I made money posing for art classes. Someone must have snuck in a camera.”

  “You don’t have to sell me. I just don’t understand why you paid off. These are nice photos. But they’re not worth ten grand.”

  “He threatened to put them on the Internet.”

  “So? If I looked like that, I’d put them on the Internet myself.”

  “Yeah, and it wouldn’t hurt you in the least,” Becky said bitterly. “I’m a young female attorney in a small town. It’s hard to get people to take me seriously, particularly looking like I do. I don’t want Judge Hobbs seeing this, or Henry Firth.”

  “I see your point. I just don’t agree.”

  Cora got up, flicked the cigarette butt out the window. “Anyway, that’s how I knew. Bill tipped me off. Bad move on his part. That told me he had to die. I couldn’t let him leave, and I couldn’t let him blab to the cops. That’s something that probably shouldn’t come up when you’re arguing self-defense.”

  Becky was incredulous. “Are you saying you shot him dead so he couldn’t blackmail me? Or hassle Melvin?”

  “Absolutely not. And you can quote me on that. Of course, you won’t, because it will never come up. Because I shot Bill French in self-defense. As everyone agrees.”

  Cora shrugged. “But if you want to think I did, hey, feel free. Like I say, you’re young, you haven’t got that much experience. You can’t tell anyone, but you’ll know. And it’ll buck you up when you’re feeling down and you need a lift. You have a real feather in your cap.
”

  “A feather in my cap? What are you talking about?”

  Cora smiled. She felt like the detective in a forties noir movie. She wished the scene were in black-and-white.

  “Hell, you got a killer off,” she said, and walked out.

  Also by Parnell Hall

  The KenKen Killings

  The Puzzle Lady vs. The Sudoku Lady

  Dead Man’s Puzzle

  The Sudoku Puzzle Murders

  You Have the Right to Remain Puzzled

  Stalking the Puzzle Lady

  And a Puzzle to Die On

  With This Puzzle, I Thee Kill

  A Puzzle in a Pear Tree

  Puzzled to Death

  Last Puzzle & Testament

  A Clue for the Puzzle Lady

  Edgar, Shamus, and Lefty finalist Parnell Hall is the author of the Puzzle Lady crossword puzzle mysteries, the Stanley Hastings private eye novels, and the Steve Winslow courtroom dramas. An actor, screenwriter, and former private investigator, Parnell lives in New York City. Visit his Web site at www.parnellhall.com.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.

  An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

  $10,000 IN SMALL, UNMARKED PUZZLES. Copyright © 2012 by Parnell Hall. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.thomasdunnebooks.com

  www.stmartins.com

  e-ISBN 9781250011459

  First Edition: January 2012