Death on the Diagonal

by Nero Blanc

  Todd Collins didn’t immediately answer. “I’ve been struggling and struggling with that one. I know Fee went off the deep end last night, accused Heather of all sorts of nasty things . . . but I simply can’t see her shacking up with Curry when she knew her sister was about to marry him again . . . let alone murder him.”

  “Would Curry have cheated on Fiona in that fashion?” Rosco prompted.

  “Well, that’s another story. I don’t hold with speaking ill of the dead, but I don’t believe I’m doing so when I say that Jack was a diamond in the rough. He had flaws that no amount of polishing was going to remove. Fee knew that. Hell, she’d been married to the guy once, and she’d also spent a sizable amount of time on the show circuit with him. There’s a lot of testosterone flying around out in those pony rings—and, believe me, it’s not just the stallions. People who engage in that type of winner-take-all experience need to put their pent-up energy somewhere. And let me tell you, the women trainers and riders are just as wild as the men.”

  Rosco nodded while Collins continued, “I’m going to miss Jack Curry, I’ll tell you that much. I’m going to miss the heck out of him. He was one fine trainer, and a good friend. And he was also the only man who could keep Fiona in line. It was the one good thing Ryan did, insisting I bring him back here, and I never regretted my decision for a minute.”

  Rosco made a mental note of the fact. “How long ago was that, again? That you rehired him?”

  “Shortly after we were married. Ryan thought it would be good for the stable, as well as for Fiona—even though Fee was already hitched to that jackass Whitney Applegate. Of course, I never explained to my daughter that her love life had played a part in my decision. I just said I was damn glad to have Curry back working the Wenstarin horses. And if you have a child who’s unhappy with a spouse, a parent has an obligation to shake things up a little, get them back on the right track.”

  “So your wife was interested in making your daughters happy?”

  Collins didn’t immediately respond. “I don’t know about other occasions, but she was then, yes. And, yes, I also realize people suspected that she and Jack had been an item when they were both kicking around in the smaller southern circuits a few years back. But I hadn’t met her then, and I never asked about her history. Call me blind, if you want. One thing I do know: Orlando may have been shagging my wife, but Jack was too loyal to pull a stunt like that. And too grateful that I’d brought him back into the big time. I guess you could say I rescued him. I sure as hell saved him from himself. He’d had money problems and so forth when he and Fee were first hitched, but from what I’d heard he’d finally gotten himself in debt big-time, and was starting to hit the sauce in earnest. But he cleaned himself up before he came back to Wenstarin Farms, and that was good enough for me.”

  Again, Rosco nodded in thought. “I appreciate your talking to me so candidly, Mr. Collins. And I also realize that this isn’t an easy conversation for you to have.”

  Collins allowed himself another wan smile. “I told you, Polycrates, I’m glad to unburden myself. It’s kind of odd, but I haven’t had a soul to talk to since Ryan died. Oh, my kids, sure, but . . .” He took a deep breath. “It hasn’t been easy knowing how, and why, that damn fire started. And what happened afterwards . . .” Tears choked his voice. He leaned back in his chair and seemed to visibly force himself into self-control again. Then he released a hollow laugh. “I guess this interview means that you’re going to help me find my wife’s killer. Now that your concerns about arson are resolved, I mean.”

  Rosco hedged his response with a noncommittal, “If your son and daughters knew about the situation with your barn manager and your wife, did Kelly know as well?”

  Collins thought. His frown deepened. “You’re not suggesting Kelly killed Ryan, are you?”

  “Jealousy’s a powerful motive, Mr. Collins.” Knowing that the emotion worked both ways, Rosco closely watched Todd’s face, hoping the statement would bring on some reaction, but it didn’t.

  “Little Kelly? Kill Ryan? Why, Ryan was a good three inches taller than Kelly . . .” He shook his head from side to side. “No . . . that’s just not possible. Kelly’s like a doll. Scurries around here like a tiny mouse. She wouldn’t have it in her. Besides, she was thankful as all get-out when my wife hired her. They were more like best buddies than employee and employer.”

  “Which would only add to a sense of betrayal if she discovered her friend was moving in on her husband,” Rosco observed.

  “I don’t buy that. No, you’re barking up the wrong tree with Kelly. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”

  Collins drained what was left of his drink, appeared to consider pouring himself another, then put the glass firmly on a nearby table. “I’ve got to lay off of this stuff,” he muttered, then added a reasoned, “Maybe I can imagine Kelly getting angry with her husband for cheating on her, but never Ryan. Not in a million years. Those women were really close. Of course, Kelly would have a tough time beating up on Orlando. She’s too petite, and he’s pure muscle. She’d move out if she knew, but I can’t see her trying to resort to physical violence.”

  “But your daughter’s not a big woman, and yet she’s in custody for killing Jack Curry.”

  Collins covered his face with his hands. “Oh, my poor Heather . . . I told you I’ve been wrestling with this . . . I simply can’t believe there’s any truth to that, either.”

  Rosco gave him a moment to calm down. “Tell me about Michael Palamountain, Mr. Collins.”

  He released a long sigh and looked up. “Not much to tell. He’s an investment guy. Quiet, reserved—at least, I believed he was until last night.” Collins thought for a moment. “But then, those were highly unusual circumstances, and no one was behaving well.” He paused again. “Michael handles the farm’s financial transactions.”

  “And you trust him?” The statement was more question than comment.

  “I’m a businessman, Polycrates. A fancier of good horseflesh, absolutely, but I couldn’t indulge this very, very expensive habit if I didn’t also run a lucrative corporation—and then try to make the farm into a moneymaker as well. Yes, I trust Michael not to cook the books, if that’s what you mean.” He let out a small chuckle. “But don’t think I’m not looking over his shoulder every minute.”

  “Palamountain also sent your daughter—his own wife—to jail, sir. It was his word that put her there.”

  Collins groaned again and again stared at his empty glass.

  “Heather insists that she found Curry already dead and his house in disarray,” Rosco continued with a little more force. “Michael, on the other hand, claims that he discovered his wife holding the murder weapon, and, I gather, looking pretty darn guilty, having already washed the knife. What kind of a husband would cause his wife to be arrested, Mr. Collins?”

  Todd made no response other than to lower his head in thought again.

  “Is there a possibility, sir, that Michael Palamountain’s convinced she’ll be found innocent? That, in fact, he knows who the guilty party is and realizes that a good lawyer can easily get your daughter acquitted—?”

  “Wait. Wait up there. You’re suggesting Michael killed Jack? Or Ryan? Or even both?” Disbelief echoed through Collins’s voice. “He’s a money manager and venture capitalist, not a thug. Even if he knew for a fact that his wife was cheating on him, no way would he resort to killing one of the best damn horse trainers in the country!”

  “Somebody did, sir. And if you want to be absolutely certain your daughter didn’t kill Curry, maybe you need to figure out who else did.”

  Rosco stood. As Al had said, the situation at King Wenstarin Farms was looking both far too simple and way too complicated—which was what happened when a bunch of people started lying to protect one another. And no matter how disgusted Todd’s kids might have been at the introduction of Ryan into the household, the Collinses were still a family; and families, as Rosco knew, could go to desperate me
asures to save one of their own.

  “I’m sorry Belle didn’t figure out your anagram for King Wenstarin, Mr. Collins. Truthfully, she wasn’t looking for a word game like that, even though you shared the clever names of some of your horses. She’s been kind of preoccupied with several peculiar crossword puzzles she received—which, until now, she assumed were connected to the stable fire.”

  Collins sat up straighter. His cautious eyes grew brighter. “You don’t say.”

  “The name Chip was in one of them, as was that nearby pub, The Horse With No Name.”

  If Rosco was hoping for a reaction other than a careworn disinterest, Collins didn’t provide it. The relaxed face of an experienced businessman or seasoned poker player is all that Rosco observed, and “Crossword puzzles, huh?” was all that Collins said.

  “That’s right. And the last one had Angel in it.”

  “You mean Chipper’s new girlfriend?” He shrugged. “But what does she have to do with anything?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, sir.”

  Across

  1. Rocker’s equip.

  4. And so on; abbr.

  7. Switch positions

  10. Guy’s date

  13. ___ Lanka

  14. Gone, in Scotland

  15. Army bed

  16. Persian Gulf grp.

  17. Hoity-toity set

  20. Gun grp.

  21. Canadian capital

  22. ___ about

  23. With 47-Across, Sandy Dennis film

  26. Slugger, Tony

  27. Pyle portrayer

  28. Pub offering

  29. Hurler, Warren

  30. Buddy

  33. French salt

  36. Architect, Saarinen

  37. Confuse

  38. Whine

  39. Reading and B & O

  40. Arab leader

  41. Star of 17-Across

  42. Green or brown tack-on

  43. Yogurt option

  44. Sparkle

  47. See 23-Across

  50. Star of 53-Across

  51. Student often

  52. Tone or metric lead-in

  53. Wanted poster request

  58. Help wanted letters

  59. Equip

  60. Relative

  61. Mr. Charles

  62. Biochem. prefix

  63. Travel aid

  64. Disease fighting org.

  65. Took in

  Down

  1. Cigar residue

  2. Medical scan; abbr.

  3. Oinker

  4. Toward the dawn

  5. 12 pts., in football

  6. Chocolate source

  7. Indian or Arctic

  8. “Ask ___ ...”

  9. Home for 3-Down

  10. USMC NCO

  11. Slugger, Hank

  12. Study

  18. Santa’s laugh

  19. Wobbly grp.

  22. In debt

  23. Racing family

  24. Pulp product

  25. Some ski lifts

  26. Day-___

  28. Ripen

  30. Summer drink

  31. MMMI I ÷ II

  32. Type

  33. ___ drug

  34. Namesakes of Ms. Fitzgerald

  35. Philippine island

  37. Sigh of relief

  38. Flag on a lance

  40. Bygone flyer; abbr.

  41. Japanese neighbors

  42. Stopover spot

  43. Oxide or acid lead-in

  44. Composer, Edvard

  45. Popular cleaner

  46. Vowel jumble

  47. Proof of postage payment

  SOCIAL CLIMBER

  48. Slugger, Williams

  49. Buddhist king

  53. Block

  54. Pitcher’s stat

  55. Retirement acct.

  56. Barrel

  57. Stare down

  CHAPTER

  30

  Because of the poor cell phone connection Belle couldn’t quite determine if the quavering she heard in Bartholomew Kerr’s voice was the result of excitement, anticipation, or plain old-fashioned fear. Whatever the cause, his insistence that she drop everything she was doing posthaste and drive directly to the Crier’s offices possessed more than a touch of panic. His request resembled an order, so she did as he asked. The fact that she was five blocks from the building made it difficult for her to rationalize fabricating any lame excuses.

  When she stepped off the elevator on the third floor she was embraced by the same afternoon hysteria that existed on any given day, but since this was a Monday, and not her routine Friday stopover, many employees stood dead in their tracks the moment they spied her. And as she walked down the hallway toward Kerr’s corner office her astonished coworkers greeted her with a collection of sarcastic comments like: “Is the world coming to an end?” or, “Now I’ve seen everything,” or, “Is the week over already?” or, “That’s not Belle Graham, is it?” while others simply shook their watches questioning whether their timepieces were suffering a communal malfunction. She graced all these antics with a knowing smile then tapped on the frosted-glass panel of Kerr’s door.

  The door was flung open as if the tiny man had been lying in wait on the other side since the moment she’d agreed to see him.

  “Finally,” he gushed. “What in blazes took you so long? I feel as though I was about to go into cardiac arrest.”

  “Seven minutes, Bartholomew. That’s how much time has elapsed since you called. What’s all the excitement about?”

  “Seven minutes? The Hindenburg went up in seven seconds!”

  She laughed. “The Crier building seems to be in one piece.”

  “Hah! That’s a debatable issue, but beside the point. The reason I positively, absolutely needed you here on the QT is because I have received a crossword puzzle, and it’s entitled ‘Social Climber’!”

  “Well, you are the society editor.” Belle sat in the chair opposite Kerr’s desk as she spoke. “Possibly someone is suggesting a combination of our two sections of the newspaper? Although I think I might have entitled it ‘Words in Boldface,’ or ‘Clues for the Parvenu’ . . . or maybe one of your gossip-loving spies is pulling your leg.” She looked at Bartholomew’s intent and worried face and forced herself not to smile. “Does the puzzle have a theme, perchance? What are some of the solutions?”

  Kerr sighed mightily. “Oh please, dear Bella, I have no patience for these word games. This is why I phoned you the second the mail boy tossed the thing on my desk. And I do mean tossed. One would think that child believes he’s handling Frisbees rather than serious journalistic correspondence.”

  “So you haven’t completed the crossword, then?”

  “Mais, non. I can only suspect that it has something to do with the horrible situation out at King Wenstarin Farms. Situations in the plural, I should say.”

  Belle nodded although she had her doubts. The world of “Biz-y-Buzz” was a long way from the homicide division of NPD. “Well, let’s have a look at it.” This time she did smile, but the expression was indulgent.

  Kerr opened the center drawer of his desk as though he expected it to be booby-trapped. With tense fingers he removed a piece of graph paper and walked it over to Belle who perused it, sat bolt upright, and dropped her fatuous grin.

  “Well, I have to admit, it does look like the same handwriting as the other three . . .”

  “Ah-ha, I thought I was on to something!”

  “We’ll need to get this copied, Bartholomew. If I’m correct and it’s the same constructor who did the others, then it may fall into the category of evidence.”

  “I anticipated as much, mia Bella.” He reached into the drawer again, retrieved a Xerox of the original, and with a smug and seraphic smile handed it to Belle.

  She didn’t respond; instead, she leaned toward Kerr’s jar of pens, grabbed one, and began filling in the grid. When she was almost half finished she said, “Do you have Abe Jon
es’s telephone number at the NPD forensics lab?”

  “Oh, please dear girl, I have everyone’s phone number.”

  “Silly me. Of course you do. Abe has the three previous puzzles on file. Could you ask him to fax them over? And while you have him on the line, see if he’s authenticated the handwriting of the constructor. The last one was found in Jack Curry’s pocket.”

  “Oooohhh . . . The Case of the Puzzling Corpse.”

  “There’s no evidence he created it, however. And besides, you just received this.”

  “A plant, then! I amend my offering to The Case of the Killer Creator.”

  “Do you want me to solve the clues or gab?” Belle chuckled.

  “Oh, solve, solve . . . resolve, absolve, dissolve . . . I will turn mum as a mummy. I need to curry favor with you, after all, Bellisima.”

  “You’re incorrigible, Bartholomew.” Belle laughed again and went back to work. By the time she’d completed the puzzle the fax had arrived with a note reading, Handwriting as yet unconfirmed. Keep us posted. We’re here late today. Surprise. Surprise.

  “Jack Curry . . .” Kerr uttered as he paced the room. “One would not have thought he had the brains required for these lexical leaps, but if he is your mystery constructor—or was—then I’ll be forced to eat my inky words.” Bartholomew peered at the puzzle.

  “There’s a structural problem with this one, too,” she said. “But I guess this is no time to nitpick over details.”

  “What problem?”

  Belle pointed at the paper. “Well, you see how the crossword is broken into three sections . . . and there are no interconnecting words that flow from the center section to this part in the upper left, or to lower right? That type of flaw is a big no-no in the puzzle world.”

  “Perhaps the mistake was done on purpose?”

  “Not likely. The other puzzles had problems, as well. But what’s interesting is that the constructor dropped the Chip and Angel business favored in the other puzzles and is now focusing on Ryan and Kelly; albeit Robert RYAN and Grace KELLY . . . but the fact that the film titles associated with each actor are DEAD OR ALIVE and HIGH SOCIETY seems more than a simple coincidence.” Belle stood and spread the crosswords across Kerr’s desk. He positioned himself beside her.