by Nero Blanc
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You helped make the puzzles, right? You drew ’em out with your own fingers.”
“Don’t double-cross me, Jack. I know a lot more than you think I do.”
“Goody for you.”
“Like who killed Ryan, for one thing.”
Jack’s response to this statement was to open the refrigerator door. There was no indication he’d heard a word that was said. “I know there’s cilantro in here somewhere,” he muttered to himself. “Nothing better than fresh cilantro for a nice, fresh tang . . . found it . . . good . . . Well, so, enlighten me. Who killed the lovely Ryan? Was it you? Should I be shaking in my boots?”
“Is that part of your plan? To set me up as her murderer? You’d be better off killing me, too—”
Jack reached out and pulled his guest so close their faces nearly touched. “If you don’t know what you’re talking about, you’d be well advised to keep your mouth shut.”
“I saw you, Jack. I was there.”
“Saw me? Saw me what?”
“Let me go. I can’t breathe—”
“I thought that was how you liked it.”
“Well, I don’t anymore.”
Curry released his grip; the gesture was both defiant and all-powerful. “ ‘Don’t hurt me, Jacko. I don’t like it anymore, ’ ” he mimicked as he returned to his task, but his guest’s hurried words ignored the insult.
“Sunday night. I saw you slip out the back door of the Big House. It didn’t take a brain trust to put two and two together the next morning when Ryan turned up dead.”
Jack placed the knife on the cutting board. “You’re suggesting I killed Ryan? Is that it?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I know you did. But I don’t care. She’s gone, and we’re all happier because of it. But you’d better not buck me, or I’ll go to that Lever jerk with everything I know.”
Jack laughed. It was a hearty, self-satisfied sound. “You’re crazy. You’ve got no proof. It’s your word against mine, and we all know how much Pop C. admires me. Besides, if you saw me leave—or think you saw me leave—that places you at the murder scene, too, doesn’t it?”
“I was outside.”
“So you say. And you just admitted to being there—which I don’t.”
“You’re as low as they come—”
“Two peas out of the same pod, Jessie with an ie.” He slid the pepper into a frying pan and turned to the cilantro, holding it under running water while he grabbed a fistful of paper towel to dry it. “So, you figured out that puzzle, huh? Good for you. Very bright. But, you see, I’ve been busy, too. Doing some solo work. Working on a little insurance policy in the form of another couple of crosswords—”
“What do you mean ‘insurance policy’?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out. It’s amazing how similar our handwriting is, especially our printing. Have you noticed that? That’ll keep Ms. Graham guessing when she sees my latest creation. But I’m an easy-goin’ guy: I’ll give you a helpful hint about what I’ve been up to: The nice people at the post office are involved.”
The response to this was a snarling, “Well, if that Graham woman figures out what you wrote in that other puzzle, I’m going straight to the cops with everything I know about your involvement.”
“Oh, I sincerely doubt that. Besides, like I said, if you turn me in, you might as well be jumping straight into this frying pan here. And I’ll throw in the olive oil free of charge.” Jack grabbed the onion, cut it in half, then nicked the tip of his finger as he began dicing. He emitted a crude curse, followed by a tight-lipped, “Damn, that smarts. New knives, they’re like horses and women: ya gotta break ’em in.” He stuck his finger into his mouth and licked at the drop of blood that had formed on the end. “Hand me a bandage, will you? There’s some in that top drawer there.”
His visitor pulled the box of bandages from the drawer and tossed it to him. “Where’d you learn how to chop onions anyway? You do it like a scared old lady. Here, give me that knife. I’ll show you why I bought it for you.”
“So it’s kiss and make up? We’re back to Bonnie and Clyde again? Boy, you sure do like bein’ unpredictable.”
“This time I’ll be Clyde.”
“Gonna get kinky, are we? Well, take off your gloves. How clean are they?”
“They’re clean. I don’t want to get onion juice in my blisters. It’ll sting like crazy. Do you want me to dice up that thing for you or not?”
“Does this mean you’re sticking around for supper? That would surely get certain people talking, wouldn’t it?” He chuckled, handed over the knife and proceeded to open the bandage and fold it over his fingertip. He then opened a second bandage to hold the first in place. Another laugh escaped from his lips. “It’s a good thing I trust you. All of a sudden that knife looks awfully big in your hands.”
“Never trust anyone, Bonnie,” was the terse reply as the knife was plunged through Curry’s ribcage and into his heart.
Jack Curry only had time to create a surprised and quizzical glance before he sank in a heap onto the ceramic floor. His killer regarded the bulky, inert form for a second, then stepped over it in order to rinse the blood from the gloves and knife before walking into the living room and dropping the blade on the floor. There, Clyde stood for a long moment, pondering what the dead man had meant by “insurance policy.” Opting not to take any chances, Clyde began a search of Tulip House in earnest. But it only lasted for a few minutes, because a knock at the door and another voice calling Curry’s name brought the pursuit to an immediate halt. At that point nothing had been found.
Across
1. Tempe campus; abbr.
4. Existed
7. That guy’s
10. Question
13. Shadow
14. Malady
16. Middle grade
17. M for M thought, part 1
19. Jerry Lewis link?
20. ___ Na-Na
21. Taxi
22. Gravy problem
23. M for M thought, part 3
27. Marshal of Napoleon, and family
29. Exist
30. Calif. neighbor
31. Turkeys
35. Storage box
36. Music man, Coward
39. Following
40. ___ de Pascua
42. Vitamin jar letters
43. Singer, Turner
44. M for M thought, part 4
49. 7-Across, in Paris
50. Morning drop
51. Donkeys
53. Salty
55. M for M thought, part 5
58. Buck tail?
59. Turf
62. June honorees
64. Scooted
65. M for M thought, part 6
69. Stare at
70. California road
71. Maker of 68-Down
72. NASDAQ competitor
73. Explosive letters
74. Comedian, Louis
75. Absolutely
Down
1. “Much ___ About Nothing”
2. Scatter seed
3. Sound of disgust
4. M for M thought, part 2
5. Wine label
6. Hearst grp.
7. Bodybuilder
8. Port __ _, TX
9. Tax form info
10. Watchdog agcy.
11. Appear
12. Hold on to
15. Manhattan; abbr.
18. Bat wood
22. Letters on a Lucky pack
23. Rote
24. Notre Dame
25. ___ Park, CA
26. Portuguese city
28. Cheer
32. Elevator company
33. Hawaiian bird
34. Spanish women; abbr.
37. Author, Millay
38. Drops back
41. Sound track
45. Mil. rank
46. 70-Across; abbr.
47. Inner; comb.
48. Author, Deighton
52. Norms; abbr.
53. Chatter from 51-Across
54. Actress, Blakely
56. “The ___ Ape”
57. Singer, Fisher
58. Space
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
59. Editor’s mark
60. Be in debt
61. Time for 50-Across
63. Tennis segments
65. Many times, for M for M penner
66. Coffeepot
67. Singer, Charles
68. Coloring agent
CHAPTER
27
“I’ll tell ya, they surely do like their puncture wounds up there at Wenstarin Farms,” Lieutenant Lever observed with his customarily dry delivery. “It doesn’t make life easy for their cleaning woman.” He leaned back in his battered swivel chair as he spoke and would have hoisted his big feet onto his desktop if it weren’t for Belle’s presence. Abe and Rosco, who were also in the homicide detective’s office, shared a look. The next thing you know, the glance said, Lever’s going to push aside his overfull ashtray and pretend lighting up never entered his mind.
“At least this victim only got punched once,” Al continued with a grumbling sigh. “I must say Curry looked pretty peaceful lying there. Surprised, of course, and not real happy that someone had taken a major poke at him with a kitchen knife . . .” Lever moved the ashtray an inch, then slid it back to its original spot as though he were pondering a chess move. Behind the closed door to his office, the station house was humming with the noise of early morning and the start of a new day trying to safeguard the citizens of Newcastle—which made the almost chilly stillness of Al Lever’s office that much more noticeable.
“Of course, from my point of view,” he continued, “the guy was supremely lucky he couldn’t hear the hysterics going on around him after his untimely demise: Fiona screeching that Heather had murdered the love of her life out of jealousy; then Heather belting her big sis; hubby Michael getting in a huge ‘I sincerely hope you weren’t cheating on me’ lather; Dad trying to intervene and getting cocked in the head by both his loving daughters—accidentally it would have seemed, although Dr. Freud might have decided otherwise. And last but not least, Chip’s girlfriend, Angel, fainting dead away the second she arrived on the scene.” Al fiddled with his ashtray once again and shook his head.
“If that’s what having tons of moolah does for ’ya, I sure don’t want it. Give me the grief-stricken next of kin any time—unless, of course, that sad sack is the murderer. Anyway, besides the crossword that turned up, the reason I wanted our little pow-wow is this: I’ve got our Miss Heather locked up down in the hole, while the DA works up a murder-one charge, but the situation just seems too pat for me. Something else is in the air, and I can’t put my finger on it.” Lever paused briefly to gaze longingly at the mangled butts lying heaped in front of him, and Belle took advantage of the intervening silence.
“And where did you find the crossword, Al?” She was seated at the far end of the room, bent over a copy of the puzzle that had been retrieved from the crime scene.
It was Jones who answered. “Curry had it on him. It was folded in eighths in the rear left-hand pocket of his jeans—hanky-size. The place was torn apart, so consensus is that Heather was searching the house when she was interrupted by her husband. Was she looking for the puzzle? Who knows. But she was ticked off big-time; and that’s how we pieced together the scenario for the DA. However, I’m with Al; something’s fishy out there.”
“Has Heather admitted to the charge?” Rosco asked.
“She ain’t admittin’ to nothin’,” Lever said. “As soon as all fingers were pointed in her direction, the call went out to the family lawyer. She hasn’t made a peep since. The attorney’s on his way down from Boston now. Like we don’t have enough of them in Newcastle?”
Abe stood, positioned himself behind Belle and looked over her shoulder. “So, what’s the puzzle telling us? Anything?”
“I’m getting there,” Belle told him as she went back to work. “One thing I can surmise is that the constructor is a brainy individual. The step-quote’s from Shakespeare, and it’s cleverly worked into the scheme.”
“Or was ‘brainy,’ ” Rosco added, “if Curry created it.”
“Which we can’t automatically assume, Poly-crates,” Lever interjected. “Even if his fingerprints are the only ones we I.D. on the paper, the thing could still be a plant, or it could have been handed to him earlier in the day. Heather could have even transferred his prints, then hidden the crossword on him after she knifed him—”
“If she’s the guilty party,” Abe interrupted. “We’d love to believe that; it sure would make life simple, but the woman swore up and down that she found Curry already dead, the knife on the floor, and the house half ransacked—”
“While Palamountain insisted he discovered his wife alone with the body.” Al laughed. The sound was more like a bark. “Real loving duo, those two. Michael phones us, fingers his missus, summons the rest of the charming clan, then watches the fireworks explode while she gets the tender-loving-handcuff treatment and is stuffed into the back of a patrol car and genteelly ‘escorted’ off to my jail.” Lever shook his head. The chair creaked under his weight, while Rosco, in his own equally nicked and timeworn metal chair, hunched forward.
“Okay,” he said at length. “Give me the scene again: Fiona’s railing at her sister and accusing her of having an affair with Curry—which causes Heather to take a whack at her?”
“The only word Fiona used was jealousy, Poly-crates. I won’t venture a guess as to what she meant by that, but Palamountain apparently assumed affair is what his sis-in-law was referring to, because that’s when he joined in the shouting match.”
“But if Heather and Curry were romantically involved, why would she kill him?” Rosco continued. “The husband would have the stronger motive.”
“There’s the rub,” Al mumbled.
“And who’s to say Palamountain won’t prove to be our guilty party?” Abe tossed in. “Just because he claims he found his wife with the knife in her hand doesn’t mean she’ll wind up being guilty of murder one. It won’t be the first time NPD nabbed the wrong person.”
“And what about Orlando and Kelly?” Rosco asked. “Did they show up at Tulip House, as well?”
“No, but I had one of my officers bring them up. They didn’t have much to say. I think they were in a state of shock.”
Belle glanced up at this point. “And Angel fainted when she and Chip appeared at the scene?”
“Yup,” Al said. “Dropped like a stone. Her boyfriend didn’t even have time to catch her. Of course, he seemed half-crocked at the time. Why do you ask?”
“ANGEL is in this puzzle,” was Belle’s quiet reply. “And CHIP was in an earlier one I received. That crossword was well executed and symmetrical; but this one isn’t, nor was the one that was faxed to me at home the day before Ryan Collins was found dead. They were all constructed by the same person . . . or so I assume, as the handwriting seems to match. Or at least it’s very close. Do you have any samples of Curry’s?”
“My team is working on that,” Abe answered. “Mr. Collins has promised to get me some of Jack’s endorsed pay-checks, so I can make a comparison. But I’m not completely convinced that the handwriting on this puzzle matches the other two. And for a brainy wordsmith, Curry doesn’t seem to have put much else down on paper.”
“But these clues are printed,” she said. “Can you still make a match from a signature?”
Jones gave her one of his patented smiles. “I can do anything, my dear.” Then after a slight pause he added, “But you’re right; because everything’s printed, it makes the job a little tougher. Collins said that Curry might have drawn up some barn invoices, which would be printed.”
Belle returned his smile then tilted her head and stared at the completed puzzle. She read the step-quote aloud. “O, WHAT MAY MAN WITHIN HIM HIDE THOUGH
ANGEL ON THE OUTWARD SIDE. . . . Pretty creepy when found on a corpse, wouldn’t you say?” She looked at Rosco. “The word DAWN is here, too.”
Rosco nodded, but he didn’t look happy about the revelation. “Dawn and Angel aren’t unusual words. But if we’re looking for a bogus Dawn in the Gudgeon case, Angel certainly fits the bill size-wise. Give her a wig and some high heels . . . Then again, the appearance of both names could be coincidental.”
“I thought you told me that the boys in blue didn’t believe in coincidence when it came to criminal investigations,” was her amused reply.
“We don’t,” Al blustered. “On the other hand—”
“On the other hand,” Belle continued in the same easy tone, “when a dead man is discovered with a crossword stuffed in his pocket, it’s not a bad idea to pick apart each solution and clue. Of course,” she added, “this puzzle can’t possibly refer to Curry’s murder.”
“How do you figure that?” Al asked her. “The simple fact that it was found on his body is good enough for me.”
“But if he were the constructor, that would mean he knew who was going to kill him—which makes no sense. And I’m also wondering why would he have permitted a relatively small woman like Angel to stick a knife in his chest—if, in fact, she’s the guilty party? With no signs of struggle anywhere? That’s what you said, Al, isn’t it? Even Heather would have had a difficult time attacking someone Curry’s size.”
Abe raised his hands and shook his head. “Let’s get away from worrying about how big or small our killer is. This was a straight shot to the heart. The perp was facing Jack. There were no signs of forced entry, which means he recognized the person. They were in the kitchen together, supper was on the way, he had no reason to fear for his life. The knife went in. It was over before Curry knew it. So, no, there was no struggle involved. The way I see it, he was caught totally off guard.”
“And let’s not forget that this puzzle could be a plant,” Al observed. “And that our murderer could be Michael Palamountain . . . who might be purposely trying to stymie the investigation by verbally blaming his wife, whom he knows will be found innocent—and relatively painlessly, too, given daddy’s bucks and a fleet of high-end lawyers. So, Michael plants the puzzle and tosses in Angel’s name, simply to add to the confusion.”
