The Puzzled Heart

by Amanda Cross

  More praise for Amanda Cross and The Puzzled Heart

  “Part of the art of being a successful mystery writer is the ability to create a leading character who remains as compelling in the twentieth outing as he or she was in the first. Moreover, a new reader should be able to pick up any book in a series and get enough information about the sleuth to be able to follow the plot without saying, ‘Huh?’ Amanda Cross does this brilliantly in The Puzzled Heart.… What makes this book a delight is the literate dialogue with characters quoting everyone from Marmee in Little Women to Wendy Steiner’s The Scandal of Pleasure: Art in an Age of Fundamentalism.”

  —Los Angeles Times

  “No one has a sharper eye than Amanda Cross.”

  —The Washington Post Book World

  “Cross is wise in the ways of academe, and her figures speak in literate, complete sentences, which surely is a requirement for nuanced ambiguity.”

  —The Boston Globe

  “A new Kate Fansler mystery … is always a treat for her longtime fans.… Cross clearly hasn’t lost her touch.”

  —Minneapolis Star Tribune

  “Cross again displays her virtuosity, wit, and keen intelligence in this vintage performance—as strong and satisfying as Kate’s cherished single-malt scotch.”

  —Houston Chronicle

  “Amanda Cross creates a lovable, if acerbic, always credible amateur sleuth.… Much of the fun of the novels, twelve to date, issues from her always astute commentary on the horrors of contemporary academe.… Her immediate response to the ransom letter—and this is why I love Kate Fansler—is: ‘I hate people who use contact as a verb.’ … Better than those observations, however, is the elegance with which Cross constructs and then solves the mysteries. In The Puzzled Heart, a St. Bernard puppy may be the most important clue, or the most adorable red herring, in the history of the mystery genre. As I said, The Puzzled Heart may be enjoyed on its own, but treat yourself to some of the best mysteries around, and read all the Kate Fansler novels. You won’t be disappointed.”

  —Bay Area Reporter

  “A comprehensive tour of contemporary feminism’s enemies that makes this Kate’s most stimulating outing since The Players Come Again.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “In the twelfth of this successful series, Kate is challenged as never before by the kidnapping of her husband. Suddenly her safe world of intellectually examining questions of literary interest is turned upside down as she must analyze every clue with new depth.… Just how she goes about this task is the framework for this enjoyable mystery.”

  —The Dallas Morning News

  “Literate and witty … The book raises some relevant issues about dangerous forces and movements active in society today.… [Cross’s] insider knowledge enlivens her descriptions of academia, and the character of Kate is delightful.”

  —Winston-Salem Journal

  “[An] entertaining intellectual puzzle.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  By Amanda Cross:

  THE THEBAN MYSTERIES

  POETIC JUSTICE

  DEATH IN A TENURED POSITION*

  IN THE LAST ANALYSIS

  THE JAMES JOYCE MURDER*

  THE QUESTION OF MAX*

  SWEET DEATH, KIND DEATH*

  NO WORD FROM WINIFRED*

  A TRAP FOR FOOLS*

  THE PLAYERS COME AGAIN*

  AN IMPERFECT SPY*

  COLLECTED STORIES*

  THE PUZZLED HEART*

  *Published by Ballantine Books

  A Ballantine Book

  Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group

  Copyright © 1998 by Carolyn G. Heilbrun

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Grateful acknowledgment is made to Harvard University Press and the Trustees of Amherst College for permission to reprint an excerpt from Poem #43 from The Poems of Emily Dickinson, Thomas H. Johnson, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.

  www.randomhouse.com/BB/

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 98-93527

  eISBN: 978-0-307-80339-9

  v3.1

  To the very young cousins, Penelope and Matteo, happily puzzled by almost everything

  Could go from scene familiar

  To an untraversed spot—

  Could contemplate the journey

  With unpuzzled heart—

  —FROM POEM #43

  EMILY DICKINSON

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  One

  KATE FANSLER’S arrival on Leslie Stewart’s doorstep was thoroughly uncharacteristic.

  Leslie Stewart was, at the moment the doorbell rang, trying to persuade one grandson not to pull out the cat’s hair in handfuls and the other grandson, happily ensconced in a high chair, to put his applesauce to internal rather than external uses.

  “Will you see to the door, Jane?” she called in what she hoped were plaintive rather than irritable tones. “I’m rather tied up here.”

  And indeed, Leslie thought, I would far rather be literally tied up or in almost any other situation but this. Grandchildren she cherished, but only, it came to her with sudden clarity, at their more adorable moments and in anticipation of departure, either theirs or hers as the case might be. Today, unfortunately, the case was neither.

  “Jane,” she called again. She could hear, then, a growl of acquiescence and Jane’s footsteps as she crossed the loft to the front door, whose bell had again sounded, this time with urgency.

  Jane Berlin had long liked to point out that she had remained childless for good reason and had fallen in love with Leslie when she too seemed well past the possibility of childbearing. It was the likelihood of grandchildren that she had failed to take into account. Apparently, having passed one’s genes on to one generation, one felt impelled to encourage, even to assist, in the flowering of those genes into yet another generation. Jane felt, in a word, betrayed. Outraged was another word that might, without exaggeration, be employed. The strength of her feelings was in no way mitigated by Leslie’s assurance that she agreed with her, and that this particular occasion was unavoidable and not likely to be repeated.

  Jane’s far-from-rapid progress was, toward the end, and at the bell’s second ring, hastened by the happy thought that perhaps this was the boys’ parents returning. She was almost smiling when she threw open the door.

  Kate Fansler stood on the doorstep, looking so harassed that Jane did not even think to mention her disappointment in Kate’s failure to be the retriever of the children.

  “Are you all right?” Jane asked, somewhat rhetorically, since Kate looked far from all right. “Leslie’s in the kitchen preventing cruelty to animals and swathed in baby food.” Concerned, Jane followed Kate to the kitchen.

  Leslie looked up in surprise. “What is it?” she said, clearly expecting the worst. And with reason. For Leslie, Kate’s closest friend, knew that, in the first pla
ce, Kate never dropped in, never appeared unannounced, considering such behavior uncivilized; and, in the second place, would certainly not have chosen this afternoon to change in this respect since Leslie had told Kate of her, Leslie’s, obligation to babysit for her grandsons. Kate was notorious for her lack of delight in the very young.

  These thoughts were the matter of a few seconds. Abandoning the children, she went to Kate and pushed her into a chair. “I’ll make some tea,” she said. “Strong and sweet, for shock.” And she did move toward the kettle.

  “I’ll do it,” Jane said. “Unless you two would rather be alone.”

  “Reed’s gone,” Kate said.

  “Left you?” Jane asked. Leslie glared at her.

  “Not left me. Gone, vanished—kidnapped, if you insist on an exact description.”

  Even the boys were quiet, as though sensing the tension. Then the baby began to cry, his mouth turned down in the image of tragedy, his eyes scrunched up. The eyes of the older boy, as though in sympathy, welled up; a tear rolled slowly down his cheek. The cat departed, not caring for the atmosphere.

  Jane put up the kettle and waited for the water to boil. Personally, she would have recommended brandy, but perhaps Leslie was right. Leslie, being older and subject to more frequent familial perils, had dealt with crises more often than had Jane.

  “Start at the beginning,” Leslie said. She and Kate had seen each other through many trials, though it seemed to Leslie that laughter more often marked their conversations. They would begin in despair and end in laughter—that was about the size of it—but nothing, not even Leslie’s losing her husband and taking up with a woman, had seemed as daunting as this. Pray heaven that Reed, the most unlikely man for it, had not had one of those male life crises and run off with a younger woman or, she suddenly thought, a man. Good God.

  “We were to meet at a restaurant at six-thirty; we were going on to a concert at Lincoln Center. Reed is never late, or never really late, so after a time I called the lobby of our building to ask the doorman if perhaps Reed had forgotten and was planning to meet me there. The doorman said he hadn’t seen Mr. Amhearst all day.”

  By this time the tea was ready, but Kate could barely be persuaded to take even a sip. “It’s hot,” she said.

  “That’s the point,” Leslie said. “Do sip it at least.” Kate, obeying, sipped.

  By this time the boys had become more vocal in their sorrows. Jane gathered them up; holding the baby on one arm, the older boy by the hand, she left the room with them.

  Grateful, and terribly worried about Kate, Leslie nonetheless had the horrible thought that she would have to pay for this. I am becoming a monster, she told herself. “Go on,” she said to Kate.

  “Then I called the law school. His assistant Nick, a pleasant young man whom I’ve met, seemed surprised to hear from me. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I watched Reed go, from the window; he had said he was going to a concert with you, and I thought how nice, when I would have to spend the evening studying. Then he got into the limousine and drove off.’

  “ ‘What limousine?’ I naturally asked. Reed calls limousines only for rides to the airport. Nick said he thought the men in the car had been waiting for Reed and were giving him an arranged-for lift. He didn’t recognize the men, and when I told him that Reed was supposed to have met me at the restaurant, he became silent. ‘Don’t make too much of this, Kate,’ he said, ‘but now that you mention it, I did notice that the men got on either side of him and seemed to be, well, helping him into the limousine. It wasn’t obvious, or I would have done something. I just think, looking back, that it was, well, funny. Can I do something, Kate?’ I told him to hold off for a while and say nothing at all to anybody. He very nicely said he would be home all night if I needed him, he would go home instead of to the library.”

  Kate almost automatically sipped again at the tea. “After that call I went home. It was now perhaps seven-thirty. I didn’t know what to do; every idea I had seemed less practical than the last. By nine o’clock I had about decided on some more telephone calls, when a message was delivered. That was a whole twelve hours ago; I still haven’t thought what to do. The letter told me to be at home tonight at seven. Meanwhile,” Kate concluded, “I’m here. I didn’t know where else to go. I was afraid if I stayed home I would call the police or feel compelled to do something, anything, and I thought I’d better talk it through first. But maybe I should get back.”

  Leslie had never seen Kate so worried, so indecisive, so panicked. “I’d better go,” Kate said. “I ought to be where someone can reach me. It was silly of me to come, but if I had to do something sudden and idiotic, this seemed the best choice.”

  “It was,” Leslie said. “We’ll go back together. I’ll just have to get my daughter and her husband to come for the kids.”

  “It’s all right,” Jane said, appearing at the kitchen door. “They’re changed and dressed now and can hang out with the less experienced of their two grannies, as Leslie’s daughter calls us.” Here she smirked. “It occurred to me while changing and dressing them that if Leslie’s daughter were homophobic, she wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving her little ones with us. Enough to make a cat laugh, isn’t it? You two go ahead to Kate’s house, after Leslie calls the parents. I’ll stay here till they come, trying to prevent serious injury to animals and children.”

  “Jane,” Leslie began.

  “Never mind Janeing me,” Jane said. “Just call the parents and tell them to get on their bicycles and pedal over here.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kate said. “You must have taken the kids for a good reason. Don’t let—”

  “And I’m giving them back for a good reason,” Leslie said. “Nobility has its limits, and they’ve just been reached. Listen,” she added, as Kate looked dubious and worried, “after a certain time in life, friends come first. Perhaps they should always come first. I was just trying to give the harried parents some much-needed time off, remembering my own years of child raising. But Jane hasn’t taken my offer well, to put it mildly, so Tony and Sarah might as well find out how the land lies now as later. Actually, you’re doing me a favor, giving me a good reason to back out now. Jane comes before grandchildren too, any day. Just let me have a word with her. Try to drink a bit more of the tea.”

  Dutifully Kate dropped back into her chair and tried to sip the tea, now cooler but still overpoweringly sweet. She too remembered from somewhere, English novels perhaps, that sweet strong tea was good for shock.

  * * *

  “Was that all the letter said?” Leslie asked when they were in a cab on their way to Kate’s apartment. “Just to be home at seven?”

  “For another message, I supposed,” Kate said. “Letter or telephone. The other letter was hand-delivered. I asked the doorman, who said it was given him by a boy—obviously hired for the job, no connection to the kidnappers likely.”

  Leslie paid the cab and hurried after Kate into her apartment house. Kate was interrogating the doorman, who said that nothing had been delivered for her except the usual mail. Hurrying upstairs, they found the “usual mail” on the doorstep. Kate flipped through it; there was nothing unexpected or pertinent.

  “Let’s sit down,” Leslie said. “I think you’d better start at the beginning. Have you the slightest idea why anyone would kidnap Reed? Some disgruntled criminal from Reed’s D.A. days, out of prison and bent on revenge? An angry student; a disappointed client from one of his law school clinics; what?”

  “It’s me,” Kate said. “It’s because of me.”

  Leslie looked dubious.

  “I’ve been warned,” Kate said. “I guess you could say I’ve been picked as the feminist who’s being taught that feminism doesn’t pay. I’ve had warnings from some right-wing group, with one of those names—you know, the Institute for Family Values or something, the League for the Protection of Men. I forget what they were called. Anyway, they sounded crazy; I didn’t take them seriously.”

  “These pe
ople shoot doctors who perform abortions,” Leslie said. “They say God told them to do it.”

  “I know. I thought the warning was about me, they were going to do something to me. And I couldn’t think what they could do except murder me, and I could hardly prevent that. As to whispering campaigns and false information to the media—that sort of thing—well, I wasn’t going to stop living my life on that account. I never dreamed.…”

  “Of course you didn’t. How many warnings were there?”

  “Several. I didn’t pay that much attention. Something called the League of Right-Wing Women wrote diatribes against everything I’ve worked for. They seemed to be in favor of sexual harassment, battering women, date rape, and child abuse. Perhaps that’s a bit strong. But they certainly don’t believe any of these things happen on a large scale, and saying they do is all a plot to harry men. Leslie, I just thought they were crackers. In addition, I thought they were probably sending those warnings to many women. I didn’t take it all that personally. The letter last night made it very personal.”

  “Let me see it,” Leslie said.

  Kate, who had held on to her purse, now took the letter from it and handed it to Leslie, who read it aloud:

  We have taken your husband. If you do not publicly recant your insane feminist position, he may come to harm. Be at home tonight at seven when further more detailed instructions will reach you. Do not contact the police or anyone else if you hope to see your husband alive again.

  Leslie let the letter drop into her lap. “Kate, don’t hit me, but is there any chance this is a joke? A stupid joke, in frightfully bad taste, but a joke. Some of those academic types you work with might think this was sort of funny; you know, the types who go off in the woods, pee against trees, and pretend to shoot each other.”

  “There’s nothing I haven’t thought of during the night,” Kate said. “I don’t think it’s a joke, and the reason I don’t is the two men Nick saw putting Reed into the limousine. Some of the guys I work with might try to frighten me, but they would find a time when Reed was away, or they’d think up some other prank. I can’t believe they would actually force him into a car, that they would go that far, and then send this letter.”