by Parnell Hall
“So, the kids are young enough the parents are generally still together.”
“That’s cynical even for you. I wasn’t suggesting you make a play for the kids’ fathers. But, seriously, you met anyone yet? Or seen anything you liked?”
“Brenda, you’re awful.”
“So, shoot me. I’m a bad person. But I worry about you out in the sticks.”
“I’m just fine.”
“Oh, really? But you’re afraid Dennis might be phoning you?”
“I admit it’s a stretch. Still, I’m happy to hear he’s not around.”
“You’re glad he’s on tour and not strangling young girls?”
“She was hit with a blunt object.” Sherry sighed. “What a mess. I just hope the police solve this soon and leave us alone.”
The front doorbell rang.
“Uh-oh. I think that’s him now.”
“Who?”
“The cop. He called before, looking for Cora.”
“I thought she wasn’t there.”
“She isn’t.”
“Then why would it be him?”
“He probably didn’t believe me.”
The doorbell rang again, long, insistent.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Oh? What’s he like? Young?”
“He’s middle-aged and married.”
“Too bad.”
“Brenda, behave yourself. I gotta go.”
Sherry hung up the phone, hurried to the front door to let Chief Harper in.
Only it wasn’t Chief Harper. It was a rather good-looking young man in tan slacks and a blue sports jacket. His shirt collar was unbuttoned, his tie was pulled down. His brown hair was wavy and carelessly combed, falling down on his forehead. He had a jaunty air.
“Hi,” he said. “How’s it goin’? Is the Puzzle Lady in?”
“Who are you?”
“I called last night. Remember? You told me Miss Felton wasn’t in.”
“That was you?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re a reporter?”
“Yes, I am. I left my name and number. Did you give it to her?”
“I didn’t see her.”
“Oh?”
“She got in late. I’d gone to bed.”
“And this morning?”
“I haven’t seen her this morning.”
“Is she here?”
“No, she’s not.”
“Did you leave my name and number where she would find it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Oh?”
“It’s on the message pad. If she looked on the pad, she would find it.”
“Would she look on the pad?”
“I can think of one way to find out.”
“Oh?”
“Go back to your office and sit at your desk. If the phone rings and it’s her, you’ll know she got the message.”
He smiled, cocked his head, looked at her. She wore no makeup, and her hair was mussed. Her blue jeans had holes in the knees. Her red cotton pullover was loose, deemphasized her figure. And yet, he found her quite attractive.
Perhaps it was the fire in her eyes.
“That strikes me as somewhat hostile,” he said.
“Oh, does it now?” Sherry Carter said. “Well, why would you get that impression?”
“Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there’s a small problem. It’s on the front page of the Bakerhaven Gazette. Though, I suppose that has nothing to do with you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. I take it you are what’s-his-name who wrote the story?”
“Aaron Grant.”
“Oh. Thanks for your byline. You ever think of checking your facts before going to press?”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I tried to call Miss Felton last night. Too bad I wasn’t able to reach her.”
“So you just went right ahead.”
He frowned, then smiled and shrugged. “Hey, pardon me, but what’s the problem? The Puzzle Lady and I both write columns. We both want them printed. We both want them widely read. Are you telling me she doesn’t want publicity?”
“There’s good publicity and bad publicity.”
“No, there isn’t. All publicity is good publicity. You get your name out, it’s good. You get your picture out, it’s better. Now, nobody’s gonna see my face, but they sure will see hers. And trust me, that can’t hurt.”
“And if the killer comes looking for her?”
“Give me a break. You must know that’s not even a remote possibility. Not that I wouldn’t love to play that angle up, but it’s really a stretch.”
“You’d love to play that up?”
“Yes, of course. What, you want me to lie and tell you what you want to hear? I would love a sensational angle like that. Not that I want to put her in any danger. But if she were in any danger, you think I wouldn’t want to report it?”
“Am I supposed to find your candor refreshing?”
“Are you a writer too?”
“Why?”
“The number of people who use the word candor is somewhat limited.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“I don’t think a number can be limited. I think a group can be limited. I think a number of people can be few. I think a group of people could be limited, or simply small. But then, I’m not a reporter.”
Aaron Grant found himself looking at her with interest. “What are you?”
“I’m a schoolteacher.”
“Oh? Why aren’t you in school?”
“I’m a substitute, actually. I only teach when they call me.”
“I see,” Aaron said. He cocked his head. “That’s interesting. A teacher. You must be good with words.”
Sherry frowned. “What’s your point?”
“You must know a lot of them. Your vocabulary must be infinite.”
“What is that, sarcasm? Irony?”
“No, just a simple statement of fact. Isn’t your vocabulary infinite?”
“I’m sure yours is.”
“No. I know only a limited number of words.”
Sherry found herself blushing. “Oh, yes. A limited number. I should have known. You’re very competitive, aren’t you?”
“I’m a reporter. Getting the story first is my job.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You scored with limited number. You’re right and I’m wrong. You also get credit for making your point subtly, instead of hitting me over the head with it. Now, you wanna take your aloof, arrogant, highly competitive—You got any other good adjectives for me?”
“How about handsome and charming?”
“That gives me conceited and smug.”
“Not to mention supercilious.”
“Supercilious?”
“I thought I told you not to mention that.”
Sherry smiled in spite of herself. “All right, look. I know you have a job. But I don’t think dragging us into the murder is a particularly good idea.”
“Us?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was dragging you into the murder. I thought we just met.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. In what way am I dragging you into this?”
“I’m not going to tell you, because you’d write it.”
“You mean there’s something to write?”
“Absolutely not.”
He grinned. “Then what is it that you won’t tell me because I might write it, although it is nothing to write?”
“Off the record?”
He winced. “Oh, I hate that expression. It’s like saying, here, let me show you something you want that you can’t have.”
“Then forget it.”
“No, no, no. I didn’t say that. It’s just off the record is such a dangerous phrase if someone wants to abuse the privilege. They say, Off the record, and then tell you everything they don’t want you to print. A lot o
f which you would have found out anyway. Are you then obligated not to print it? Even though you could have found it out from another source?”
“Boy, are you paranoid.” Sherry shook her head. “What’s the matter, are you afraid I’m going to say, Off the record, I’m the killer? And then you find yourself in an ethical quandary, like the hero in some godawful TV Movie of the Week.”
“Quandary?”
“Don’t start with me. You want something off the record or not?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“Okay, off the record: Cora Felton happens to be my aunt. Now, that is not particularly newsworthy, and has no bearing on this murder. And I would not like to read about it in tomorrow’s paper.”
“You’re her niece? How about that.”
“Can I trust you not to report that fact?”
“As long as it’s irrelevant to the murder. If your relationship itself became newsworthy …”
“How could it?”
“I don’t know. But if it did, that’s another matter.”
“And just who would determine that?”
“Circumstance would determine that.”
“Circumstance is not a who.”
“All right,” he said. “I’m a who. And I will not abuse your confidence. Unless I have a reason even you would find hard to dispute.”
“Can one dispute a reason?”
“I’m sure you can.”
“Fine. You’re not going to report the relationship. Now how about easing off the Puzzle Lady angle altogether?”
“That again would depend on circumstance.”
“Such as?”
“Give me a break. If the clue turns out to mean something—”
“I would be very surprised. Look, we gave the police chief help because he asked for it. Not because we think there’s anything to it. The idea that this is a crossword puzzle clue is Chief Harper’s idea. Not ours. If you must know, Aunt Cora doesn’t even think it’s a crossword puzzle clue at all. She thinks a much more likely explanation is that it stands for the fourth grave down in line five.”
Aaron Grant blinked. “What’s that?”
“Count four graves down from where the girl was murdered. Then line five would be the grave in the fifth row.”
“Are you serious?”
“No. That’s the whole point. A theory like that has as much validity as the theory it’s a crossword clue—i.e., none at all. Now, we can treat this as a crossword clue, and Aunt Cora can supply all kinds of solutions, like the ones you reported in your paper, but you and I both know it isn’t. So why don’t you cut us a little slack?”
Aaron Grant frowned. “I think I made myself perfectly clear. If I can give you a break, I will. But I still haven’t met Miss Felton. If I could talk to her, get her reactions firsthand—no offense, but you have to go to the source—well, then, I might be in a position to do what you want.”
“In short, you’d like us to cooperate, and you can’t promise a thing.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I know.”
Sherry took a breath. “You’re not amusing me.”
“Not even a little?”
“In your dreams.”
While Sherry and Aaron were talking the red Toyota pulled into the driveway and Cora Felton and Chief Harper got out.
Aaron Grant’s grin was enormous. “Well, well, well,” he said. “The gang’s all here.”
“Aunt Cora. Chief Harper,” Sherry said. “What are you doing?”
“Dodging reporters,” Cora replied happily. She spotted Aaron Grant. “And who might this be?”
“Funny you should ask,” Chief Harper said sourly. “This is the reporter I told you about. The one who put you on page one.”
“Sherry?” Cora Felton said.
Aaron Grant put up both hands. “I’m not going to pretend this isn’t wonderful. I came out to see you, Miss Felton. I’m glad you’re here. Your niece and I were just discussing how much of the puzzle angle I should print. But I must confess, the headline POLICE CHIEF DODGES REPORTERS is just so catchy that—”
“Very funny,” Chief Harper said. “I’m not dodging reporters. The news crews showed up at the cemetery, and I didn’t feel like giving them a quote.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“And as for you, Aaron, I didn’t know you were running the crossword puzzle piece. I wish to hell you’d checked with me before you did.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s an angle I’d like to play down. As far as the public’s concerned. If it really is a clue, I’d like to frustrate the killer by not publicizing it. You see what I mean?”
“It’s a little late for that,” Aaron Grant said.
“He means if there’s another one,” Sherry said.
“Another one?” Aaron Grant said. “Is there another one?”
“No, there isn’t,” Chief Harper said. “But if there was, we would keep it to ourselves. One, like I said, to frustrate the killer. And, two, to make sure it’s a genuine clue, and not some nut copying what he read in the paper.”
“Are you offering me a deal?” Aaron asked.
Chief Harper blinked. “What?”
“It sounds like you’re offering me a deal. If I won’t print the next crossword puzzle clue, you’ll let me know what it is. Is that what I’m hearing here?”
Chief Harper opened his mouth to say, No, it isn’t, but Cora Felton came in with, “It most certainly is.” She crossed to Aaron Grant and looked him up and down, approvingly. “You seem like an intelligent and reasonable young man.” She cocked her head at Sherry. “Handsome too. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t get along.” She took Aaron by the arm. “Now, then, young man. Are you telling me if I share the next clue with you, you’ll keep it out of print? And avoid mentioning me altogether?”
“Is that what you want?”
“It would be nice.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Chief Harper interrupted. “What’s going on here? Are you making a deal without me?”
“You can certainly make your own deal,” Cora Felton told him. “There’s no reason why this young man and I shouldn’t have an understanding.”
“I thought we had an understanding,” Chief Harper said.
“We do. I’ll assist you in any way possible, and try my best to avoid publicity.” She smiled. “I’m trying to avoid it now.”
“Yeah,” Aaron Grant said. “And here I am, sitting on this wonderful story about you riding around in her car because you’re dodging the press.”
Chief Harper snorted in disgust. “This is getting out of hand. I’m sorry I ever asked about the damn clue. I’m beginning to think it isn’t a crossword puzzle clue at all. Frankly, I need to get on with the case. Can I count on your cooperation in this matter? I’m talking to all of you. Can I count on all of you helping me out here?”
The cellular phone rang. Chief Harper reached in his jacket pocket, jerked it out. “Harper here.” He listened a moment, said, “Okay, I’ll be right there.” He flipped the phone closed, stuck it back in his pocket. “Can you run me back to the cemetery?” he said to Cora Felton. “I gotta get my car.”
“Certainly. Why?”
“This has been a lot of fun, but I gotta get back to work.”
“Come on, what’s up?” Aaron Grant asked. When Chief Harper hesitated, he added, “You got something else you’re not giving out?”
“No, I guess not,” Chief Harper said.
“So what is it?”
“They’ve ID’d the body.”
14
The ladies didn’t get much bridge played that night, either.
“A runaway,” Iris Cooper said. “Can you imagine that? All the way from the Midwest.”
“Indiana,” Vicki Tanner said. “That’s what I heard. Muncie, Indiana.”
“I thought it was Indianapolis.” A large woman with a broad flat face, Lois Greely was Iris�
�s bridge partner.
“No, it was Muncie. Where did you get Indianapolis?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do,” Iris Cooper said. “You made it up. You hear Indiana, the first thing you think is Indianapolis. It even sounds the same. So that’s what you think. You even think you heard it.”
“I did hear it.” Lois Greely’s voice was tinged with annoyance. A person of import, Lois was not used to having her opinion questioned, even by the first selectman. Lois and her husband Alan were well off by virtue of owning a most successful general store on the south side of town just over the covered bridge. The rickety, red, wooden, one-lane bridge—nicknamed McCreedy’s Folly, after the farmer who had built it in 1845 to get his cows to pasture—was a major tourist attraction, and visitors to Bakerhaven tended to shop at the Greelys’ store just for the sake of crossing it. “Of course, whoever told me could be wrong,” Lois conceded grudgingly.
“Right,” Iris said. “And they’re the ones who think they heard it. Isn’t that right, Cora?”
Cora Felton smiled patiently.
The women were playing bridge in the bar of the Country Kitchen, a popular, homey restaurant on the outskirts of town. At least they were supposed to be playing bridge. Only Cora Felton minded that they weren’t. She sipped her drink, considered asking Lois to deal again. “I don’t know about that, but I did hear it was Muncie.”
“And she would know.” Vicki Tanner said it triumphantly. “After all, she’s cooperating with the police.”
“Not anymore, I’m not,” Cora said. “They asked me about one clue. It was really nothing. I’m sure they know that now.”
“And the reporter who wrote the story,” Lois said.
“The Grant boy,” Iris said.
“That’s the one,” Lois said. “I thought he was still in school.”
“No, I’ve seen him around,” Vicki said. “Quite a handsome young man.”
“Oh, you’ve seen him around?” Iris exclaimed. “Does your husband know that?”
“Oh, stop,” Vicki said. “But he is good looking.”
“Rather,” Cora Felton agreed.
“Oh, so you’ve seen him?” Iris said.
“Of course she’s seen him,” Lois said. “He wrote the story.”
“Actually, he wrote it without talking to me,” Cora said. “I saw him today, told him he was all wet.”
“What do you mean, all wet?” Iris asked. “Did you tell the police that or not?”
