Puzzling Ink

by Becky Clark

  “Watch it!” He yanked the puzzle away and blotted it with his napkin.

  Quinn stood by the beverage station and watched him sip his stale coffee and work the puzzle. Chief Chestnut was an odd duck. He did the downs before the acrosses. Quinn had never heard of anyone doing that before. Was it some sort of strategy? Was it easier that way? Harder? Does he just like going against the grain?

  She sauntered over with the coffeepot. “Interesting. You do the downs first.”

  “What of it?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just never seen anyone do that before.” She topped off his mug.

  “Just like changing it up.”

  Quinn stared at the answers he’d filled in and wondered if she should tell him 18-down was wrong.

  “Do you mind?” He shooed her away.

  “Can I ask you a question?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “When’s Jake getting out of jail?”

  “Never, if I have anything to say about it.” His lips disappeared as he smiled a joyless smile, showing his crooked teeth. “Oh, yeah. I do have something to say about it.”

  “Chief Chestnut, sir, you know Jake didn’t kill anybody.”

  “I know nothing of the sort.” He returned his attention to the puzzle and Quinn knew she’d been dismissed.

  She cleaned off tables and squared up corners. The diner was quiet except for her occasional scraping of a chair leg against the linoleum, so she was startled when Chief Chestnut mumbled, “Oh…eighteen-down was wrong.” She smiled to herself.

  That was the beauty of a crossword: There was only one right answer. If you made a mistake, you had several chances to fix it, as long as you weren’t completely pigheaded to think your first answer was always correct. The reason they said crosswords were good exercise for the brain was because they forced you to make connections that you might not normally make. Like, if the clue was cheers. You needed to decide if they meant the sitcom or a toast. Or if rib referred to a barbecue entrée, a body part, or teasing.

  And you always knew by a question mark in a clue whether the answer was going to be a pun or a little joke. Place for a retired soldier? Cot. Do business? Salon. Wheels of fortune? Limo.

  Exercise for the brain.

  Chief Chestnut was pigheaded about many things, but the crossword was not one of them. He could admit mistakes and change his thinking in a puzzle grid, at least.

  Change his thinking. Quinn’s eyes lit up. Of course! Chief Chestnut does every single one of my puzzles, but has no idea I make them. What if I sent him some subliminal messages through the crossword? What if I got him to think about investigating someone other than Jake?

  But who?

  * * * *

  Rico picked her up that evening and they finally escaped the hugs and knowing glances from Quinn’s parents. Quinn knew they’d wanted to see this date materialize for quite some time, but… sheesh.

  “I’m sorry about all that.” Quinn was relieved to be buckling herself into Rico’s Toyota rather than the backseat of the police cruiser.

  “About all what?” Rico winked at her.

  After insisting that he swing by the diner so she could check the locks and make sure everything was shut off, they decided on the busy Chinese restaurant out near the highway, usually filled with cross-country travelers who didn’t want fast food, but who also didn’t want to come the three miles into town. Quinn appreciated Rico suggesting it, wondering if he, like she, knew that few locals ate there. It wasn’t like she was embarrassed to be seen eating dinner with him, since they did that quite often. But it would be nice if nobody pegged them as being on an actual date, which they would if they saw Quinn in a sundress with her hair styled in something other than her struggle bun, and Rico wearing khakis and a dressy shirt.

  On the way to the restaurant Rico said, “How was work today? Are you managing okay?”

  “You too?” Quinn sighed. “Mom and Dad grill me constantly. I wish you guys would quit worrying.” He started to say something but she cut him off. “I know you mean well, but everything’s fine. Like I told them, I’m just trying to get my sea legs. As soon as I organize stuff better, I’ll be great. You should see how far Jake keeps the knives from the prep table. And none of the containers are marked! I’ll take my label maker over there tomorrow and fix it all up.” Quinn quickly chose a new subject and put this one to rest. “How are the Rockies doing?”

  “Terrible. No pitching, no fielding, no hits. They’re barely playing baseball.”

  Quinn let Rico bellyache about his team the rest of the way to the restaurant.

  After they were seated, Quinn glanced around. Rico noticed and said, “I don’t recognize anyone. Do you?”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “It’s nobody’s beeswax what we do.”

  “Except my family, of course.”

  “Of course. Should I have asked Fang for permission to escort you to dinner?”

  “You could have. But he probably wouldn’t give you a straight answer. He’s very koi.”

  Rico grinned. “It’s understandable. You know, he used to have a girlfriend but then he lobster.”

  “Sad.”

  “Yes, but then he flounder.”

  “He has a lox on his plate now.”

  “Some people don’t like fish puns, but these are kraken me up.”

  “If you think of any more, let minnow.”

  “Nah, I’ve been telling too many. I’ll have to scale down.”

  The server brought them both a Tsingtao beer, interrupting their pun war. She left them to peruse the menu.

  Rico raised his glass and Quinn clinked hers against it. “Here’s to first dates,” he said.

  “And fishy puns,” Quinn added before taking a sip. “Why’d you give me Fang, anyway? Was it really just to thank me or was it because of”—she waved her hand across the table—“all this?”

  “Flowers felt too personal, especially after all the times you turned me down, and I knew what would happen with your parents if I suddenly showed up with a dozen roses.”

  “Pretty much the same thing that happened tonight.”

  “Pretty much. And a kitten or a puppy seemed like too much work, but a goldfish seemed just right. Are you feeding him okay? Not too much, remember.”

  Quinn flushed at his condescension. She immediately let go of her annoyance, though, because she was, in fact, overfeeding Fang. And she knew it. It was difficult knowing he was only to receive twenty flakes, which she counted into her palm, then watch as so many of them drifted down, settling into the colored gravel she’d added at the bottom of the bowl. Did the fish food people know how many flakes would sink to the bottom and take that into consideration? Did they have a complicated algorithm that calculated flakes pinched minus flakes lost to equal the correct amount of food per goldfish? Was Fang normal for a goldfish? She knew he’d gorge himself on the new flakes she dropped in and probably hoover up whatever had fallen earlier, but the entire process was almost more than she could handle. What if she starved him? Why couldn’t he just eat the twenty flakes before they fell? Then they’d both be happy.

  “Fang’s fine.” Quinn picked up her menu, lightly touching each appetizer description. “What shall we order?”

  Dinner was delicious and she enjoyed herself, beginning with the egg rolls and wontons, all the way through the cashew chicken and kung pao beef. But when Rico ordered red bean buns and lychee ice cream for dessert, Quinn began to get nervous. This was a date, after all, not just dinner with Rico. All too soon it would be after dinner, with all the potential land mines to navigate. Quinn tapped each finger to her thumbs, once, twice, three times.

  Quinn realized Rico was getting nervous too because he dropped both his credit card and the leather check presenter, then practically gave the poor server a concussion when he dove for them.

 
She was ready to leave, but knew that meant driving home and some sort of awkward kiss. But maybe it wouldn’t be awkward, she thought. Maybe it would be perfectly natural, sparks would fly, and they’d end up happily ever after. They’d set up at Rico’s tiny house, give Fang his own room, and invite her parents over for Sunday brunch.

  Quinn tapped her fingers again. Once, twice, three times. Four.

  At a stoplight she watched a trickle of sweat run down Rico’s temple. He caught her looking and wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  Twice they spoke at the same time. Quinn held up her hand, stop-sign style. “You first.”

  Rico pointed at the park as they drove past. “I was just going to ask if you remembered when Carla Mason broke her arm there.”

  “Man, that was revolting. Elbows shouldn’t bend that way.”

  He turned a corner, tipping his chin toward the steps of the Catholic church. “And that’s where you made out with Jimmy for the first time.”

  “Also revolting. He was a wet one.” They passed the Tastee Q. “And that’s where you stalked that poor girl every afternoon when she was just trying to earn an honest day’s minimum wage scooping ice cream. Whatever happened to her?”

  “She couldn’t control herself in my presence. Finally her family had to move away to give her some semblance of normal life.”

  “Oh, I remember. Her dad sold their ranch and they moved to Denver.”

  “Isn’t that what I said?”

  Quinn relaxed her grip on the armrest, hoping Rico had calmed a bit as well.

  In the middle of the next block, he made an abrupt U-turn, flinging her against the car door.

  “Whoa. What are you doing?”

  He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t thinking and started driving to my house. But you probably want to—you don’t—your parents—”

  “I’m over thirty, Rico. My parents don’t get to—”

  “I know. I just…”

  “Me too. Yes, to my house.”

  Rico looked as relieved as she felt. She knew they certainly wouldn’t be getting intimate tonight, but it was definitely better not to be at his house, just in case. She popped a mint in her mouth and crunched it nervously, seven times, turning her face toward the window so Rico wouldn’t hear.

  They pulled up to the curb in front of Quinn’s house. The lights were out, but she wouldn’t put it past her parents to be sitting in the dark, watching for this moment. Hopefully, Mom wouldn’t come running out in her robe taking pictures she’d post on Facebook of “the happy day Quinn and Rico began their lives together.”

  She started to tell Rico about her mom’s hypothetical Facebook post, but the second she turned toward him, he leaned over and kissed her. Quinn let it happen at first, then joined in.

  It didn’t take long, though, before her brain took over in two-part harmony. The melody sang the words: I’m ruining everything. He’s too nice for me. We’re so different. We’ll fight about everything. This is more awkward than I anticipated. What do I do if his hands start moving? But then the bass began beating a rhythm: This isn’t good…this isn’t good…this isn’t good. All thrummed louder and louder until she closed her eyes and pulled away.

  Her breathing was ragged.

  His eyes were wide.

  In unison they said, “I’m sorry!”

  Rico scooted back toward the driver’s door. “Quinn, that was like kissing—”

  “My brother!”

  “You don’t have a brother.”

  “I know. But if I did, it would be icky — just like that. Probably.”

  “Icky?” Rico gazed at his hands.

  Quinn took them in hers. “No. Not icky. Not at all. Just not…for me.” The last thing she wanted to do was hurt his feelings. Her eyes welled.

  They locked eyes. Then Rico smiled sadly. “Not for me either.” He squeezed her hands. “No sparks over here.”

  “Oh, thank goodness! Rico, I was so—”

  Rico leaned in for another kiss, pulling away fairly quickly. “Nope. Nothin’. You?”

  Quinn shook her head. “Three out of five?” She leaned forward and they tried again. After a bit the kiss dissolved into giggles.

  “You can’t say we didn’t try,” Rico said.

  “We can both report back honestly to my parents.”

  They sat in comfortable silence.

  “I’m glad we tried, though.” Quinn spoke softly.

  Rico nodded.

  Quinn said, “I saw me ruining everything. Fighting constantly—”

  “About me being sloppy.”

  “And me being…me.”

  “And the logical conclusion?” he asked.

  “We’d have an ugly breakup and wouldn’t be friends anymore.”

  “And I’d cry,” Rico said. “You know how I hate to cry.” He looked her in the eyes. “You’ve come a long way, Quinn.”

  “Have I?”

  They sat quietly, watching miller moths flit around the streetlight.

  “I feel bad for you that things didn’t work out in Denver with the DPD like you wanted, but I gotta say, I’m glad you’re back in town,” Rico said.

  “I’m glad we decided to be friends and that this horrifying little experiment didn’t blow up in our faces.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. It was like kissing my grandma, my sister, and my cousin all at once.”

  “Your sexy grandma-sister-cousin, you mean.”

  “Ew.”

  “I’m glad I’m back too. I sure don’t miss waitressing at that skuzzy Denver truck stop or living in that awful motel.”

  “What? Places you rent by the week aren’t posh?”

  “Don’t tell my parents, but what finally sent me back here wasn’t Mom’s begging—although she had really upped her game—but when some junkie kicked in my door.” Quinn cut Rico a sidelong glance. “What am I saying? Of course you’re going to tell my parents.”

  Rico was quiet for a moment. “So what if you can’t be a Denver cop. Lots of people wash out in the early stages.”

  “Before they even get to the academy?”

  Rico didn’t answer. “Now that you know what’s expected to get into the academy, you could try again. I whipped you into good physical shape, didn’t I? Taught you all those tactical holds? You definitely should try again. Then apply here in Chestnut Station.”

  “No openings. Besides, that’s not my calling anymore.”

  “What is your calling?”

  “Working at Jake’s diner. For now.”

  “And apply to the Chestnut PD in the future?”

  “Chief Chestnut would never hire me.” Quinn turned sideways in her seat, glad Rico had swung the conversation in her direction. She’d almost forgotten about Jake’s investigation. “How ’bout I just help you with your cases? You’re always saying you need someone to bounce ideas off of since Chief Chestnut and Donnie aren’t interested. You could use my stellar skills.”

  Rico thought about Quinn telling him she needed something to obsess over that didn’t include her anxieties. He had noticed again at dinner she was doing the finger thing, so he asked her about it.

  “Yeah. That’s something new I started the other day.”

  “Is it subconscious?”

  “No. Absolutely not. I do it because it calms me. That’s what the compulsive part of OCD does—gives some control.”

  “But I thought you did the counting and the organizing for that.”

  “And now I do this too.”

  “Because of the Jake thing?”

  “Probably.”

  Rico tried touching his thumb to his fingers. It didn’t make him feel anything. He stopped and they stared at each other. Finally he said, “You did help me solve that bike theft when I was stumped.”

 
“It’s a deal, then. You tell me all about your cases and I’ll help you solve them.”

  “I can’t tell you everything, but I do have a tiny budget for freelance investigative work.”

  “You’re going to pay me? Awesome! What if Chief Chestnut finds out?”

  “I’m actually not going to pay you and the chief won’t find out, because you’ll do it pro bono and not tell anyone.”

  “Then why’d you tell me you had a budget?”

  Rico frowned. “Because I do. Let’s just hope nobody asks me anything about it.”

  “Why, Rico, I think that’s almost like telling a fib!”

  His nose twitched. “Don’t remind me.”

  Quinn held her pinky in the air. “Partners?” Rico caught it with his pinky. They finished their exchange by dancing their entwined pinkies while making the Three Stooges noise—woo woo woo up toward the roof, then nyuk, nyuk, nyuk coming down.

  They were both quiet for a moment, letting their brains catch up with everything that had happened this evening.

  Finally Quinn broke the silence. “Donnie told me he was given that plate with mushrooms by one of the cater-waiters, who he says he can’t identify.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, Jake hates mushrooms—”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “He never cooks with them, obviously never eats them, and I’m sure doesn’t know anything about them. If they were the poisoned kind, he’d never even know.” Quinn shifted in her seat, pulling her leg up under her so she was turned toward Rico. “We have to figure out who brought those mushrooms to the fundraiser.”

  “An anonymous caller said Jake did.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “No.”

  “Then we have to find out who did.”

  “Don’t you think we’ve been trying? They just came in a plastic bag you can get at any grocery store.”

  “Can you just buy poisoned mushrooms at a grocery store? Are they like those puffer fish that are such a delicacy in Japan that can kill you if they’re cooked the slightest bit incorrectly?”