A Crossword to Die For (5 page)

Belle sank down on a sea green couch covered with a flowery chintz throw and an armful of matching pillows. She regarded the ultrafeminine decorating scheme with dismay. The Dr. Graham she'd known had held no truck with such “boudoir-appropriate blandishments”; and they made Deborah Hurley's status as “assistant” seem even more specious and peculiar.

“Besides, she must be several years younger than I am,” Belle found herself muttering. She shook her head; her brain clanged louder. Then she realized it wasn't Deborah's age that bothered her, but the fact that she'd never known of the woman's existence.
Why didn't my father tell me?
her thoughts demanded—to which another part of her mind replied with an equally insistent:
Why didn't you ask? Why didn't you bother to visit?

Belle stood and walked to the kitchen, purposefully ignoring the spreading view of blue lagoon and tranquil air. Another group of pelicans hovered in the distant sky; she averted her eyes and instead set the tea kettle on the stove. At least, the stainless steel container was a familiar sight, as were the teacups: the remnants of her great-grandmother's Blue Willow pattern and the only visible evidence that her father had once had previous attachments—and an existence prior to Sanibel and
Mrs
. Deborah Hurley. Belle stared at the aged blue and white china; again, she felt tears swimming into her eyes.

The kettle boiled. She carried her tea past the dining area, past the screened veranda, past her father's bedroom, and into the shuttered room he'd obviously used as a study. She hoped his collection of books and scholarly pamphlets and treatises might provide solace—or at least familiar surroundings in which to begin to gather her thoughts.

But again, she was surprised. As she switched on a lamp, what arrested her glance was not her father's beloved books but a grouping of photographs that nearly covered the wall above the desk. They were pictures Belle hadn't seen before: her parents in their youthful prime, then her father alone in middle age surrounded by academic types draped in university robes or accoutered in somber jackets and ties. And then there were a number of him as an older man in the company of people whose backgrounds and livelihoods were impossible to discern.

In one photo her father looked as if he'd been deep-sea fishing. He was standing shirtless and uncharacteristically tanned and fit in the back of a large power boat. In another, he sat at an open-air restaurant dotted with palm trees; several empty beer bottles littered a stained tablecloth while the backdrop was a blur as if a large number of people were dancing. The shadow of the photographer lay across the table while her father gazed up in apprehension, his expression the dismayed scowl of a man who's been caught where he shouldn't be.

Belle drew back and dropped her eyes as if she'd glimpsed some unsavory part of her father's life, then she returned to her perusal of the portrait gallery. Among the entire collection, there was not one picture of Theodore A. Graham's only child; the framed photo Belle had sent of Rosco and herself on their wedding day was nowhere visible.

A knock at the front door disturbed whatever unhappy thoughts this discovery might invoke. Belle stifled an impatient groan, crossed the living room, and opened the door to find Deborah on the threshold. She looked as if she'd been crying hard.

“Can I come in … Belle?”

Reluctantly, Belle stood to one side. She knew she should attempt to be gracious and consoling, but thoughtfulness wasn't in the cards at the moment. Instead, her tone turned irritable. “You wouldn't know where my father put a picture taken on my wedding day, would you?”

Deborah shook her head, drew in a quavering breath, then added a sorrowful: “Ted could be a pretty secretive person … I mean, there were lots and lots of things I didn't know … But I do remember him saying you were married …”

Belle raised her eyebrows. She was tempted to utter a snide and probably withering comment, but counted to ten, opting for a more subtle: “Well, I gather there's a good deal of information that wasn't shared with me, either.”

Deborah walked to the couch, automatically replacing a ruffle-edged pillow Belle had tossed aside. “I can't believe he's gone …”

“He is.” The words were more unkind than Belle had intended.

“I mean, Ted was so … so vital, and … and energetic and everything …”

Belle found herself gritting her teeth. “Just what did you do for my father, Deborah? If you don't mind my asking—”

“Please … call me Debbie … That's what your … I mean, that's what everyone calls me …”

“Okay. Debbie.” Belle struggled to maintain a civil tone. “And what precisely was it my father hired you to do?”

“Oh, this and that … answer letters, you know … stuff like that …”
Debbie
sniffled and drew in another grief-filled breath while Belle's heart hardened. “And I helped research that paper he was writing—”

“Ah, yes … Father's monograph on the Olmec civilization.” Belle didn't believe a word she was hearing. Her spine grew straighter, her jaw tighter.

“That's why your dad hired me … On account of my research capabilities … He said I was real good at digging up facts. When I was at Rutgers, you know up in New Jersey—”

“You met my father back in New Jersey?” Surprise made Belle's voice turn even more brittle. “When he was a professor at Princeton?”

“No. No. Of course not, silly! I was just a little kid when he was up there doing his teacher thing. Ted and I met down here. After Mike was transferred T-A-D from the Bayonne facility—”

“Mike? T-A-D?”

Debbie Hurley tilted her head to one side and studied Belle. “My husband. Mike Hurley. T-A-D: Temporary Assigned Duty.” Then she changed the subject, adjusting her demeanor to simulate a chatty, hostess mode. “This view's really fabulous, isn't it? I mean, Ted just loved to stare out the windows or hunker down on the veranda out there. I'd catch him goofing off almost every day …”

The idea of her disciplined father “goofing off” or gazing vacantly into space was as troubling as the nickname “Ted”—and nearly as upsetting as his hiring a “research assistant” whose grasp of language was so slovenly and imprecise. Professor Graham had never been a charitable soul—especially when it came to educational standards.

“But I guess that was on account of the birds—”

“The birds?”

“Yeah … You know … 'Cause he liked counting all the birds … He had those huge binoculars of his with him all the time—”

“My father was a bird-watcher?” Here was another piece of information that didn't jibe with the parent Belle remembered. In fact, in her recollection, he'd been the very opposite—“neophyte ornithologists” was the term he'd employed to dismiss those whose hobby was “birding.”

“Oh, big time! I mean, that's why he kept that notebook with him every living second … Like, you know, to count the anhingas and turkey vultures and bald eagles and stuff. I swear, he never went anywhere without it … I mean, he even packed it when he went off to see you. Said the migratory ospreys would be—”

“It wasn't among his effects.” Belle's tone remained perplexed and flat.

“One of those cardboard-covered composition books? You know, the kind school kids use … with the sort of black and white marbly cover? ‘A Murder of Crows,' that's what he wrote on the outside—”

“What?”

“You know, like a name for a bunch of critters: a ‘siege of cranes,' a ‘rafter of turkeys'—”

“Yes, I'm aware of those phrases—”

“Well, Ted told me neat stuff like that … a ‘cast of hawks,' a ‘skein of geese,' and other stuff … He knew everything about ‘ornithology.' That's when you study—”

“I know what it is.” Belle could only stare at her father's assistant.
Migratory ospreys
, she thought,
anhingas, turkey vultures: Who was this man Debbie knew as Ted?
After a long and silent moment, Belle produced a baffled: “The notebook wasn't in the suitcase the police returned to me.”

Debbie shrugged. “Hey, no biggie … Maybe the cops swiped it or it fell out of his bag … Like I said, he only used it to—”

Belle stiffened. “Members of Massachusetts police forces are not in the habit of stealing possessions from the dead—or from anyone else. Especially composition books.”

Debbie's sad face finally brightened. “Oh, golly! Sorry about that! I should have my head examined. You married an ex-cop! Ted did tell me that. I can see why you'd be sensitive on the subject.”

When Deborah Hurley had finally babbled her way off into the sunset, Belle returned to the kitchen and made herself another cup of tea. She wasn't hungry in the slightest—not even for the deviled eggs that were her favorite treat. She knew that reasonable people ate meals at regular hours, and that her body was probably experiencing extreme deprivation. But reasoning was of little use today; Belle's psyche felt too battered to handle the cheery world of welcoming restaurants and friendly waitresses.

Instead, she opted to take her chances on what she could scrounge in her father's kitchen. She opened a cabinet, spied a lone can of celery soup, and began hunting down a can opener, pulling open drawers that contained a few paper napkins, a set of flatware that looked brand new, a few mismatched knifes—or nothing. Both her father and her mother had lacked any interest in the domestic sciences.

Belle shook her head. “No wonder I can't cook,” she muttered under her breath.

Finally, she unearthed the target of her quest. It was in the drawer of a side table in the dining area. Beside the opener, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, was an object she recognized as a picture frame. Belle picked it up and began to unwrap it, imagining she'd found her missing wedding photo, but discovered, instead, a very different memory.

It was a crossword puzzle she'd created for a long past Father's Day: an homage to famous Princetonians—Dr. Theodore A. Graham among them. She'd conceived the gift cryptic as an amusing diversion, something to be enjoyed and then tossed away. Instead, the man who'd been so disparaging of her choice of work, who'd been so sparing with compliments, who'd been so
unknowable
and aloof, had not only saved it, but framed it.

FATHER'S DAY

Across

1.  Cheer from 48-Across

4.  Cleverness

7.  Yours and mine

10.  “To___is human”

13.  Burton co-star in “Look Back in Anger”

14.  Fuss

15.  Simian

16.  “___for Two”

17.  Famous class of 1965 Senator

19.  Famous class of 1939 dropout

21.  Begat

22.  Lamenter

23.  Pride of 48-Across

29.  Born

30.  Cupid

31.  Prickleback

32.  Part of UCLA

34.  Picasso's homeland

37.  My Dad!

41.  Spoiler

42.  Pinch

43.  Col. sports grp.

44.  JFK arrivals

45.  ___alai

48.  Orange and Black Cats

54.  Composer Edward

55.  Mr. Lanza

56.  Famous class of 1932 Actor

59.  Famous class of 1771 President

61.  Fate

62.  Get a gander

63.  R-V man?

64.  Superlative ending

65.  “___or no?”

66.  Aves.

67.  Gosh

68.  ___Hoo

Down

1.  Roasts

2.  Show up

3.  Court call

4.  “Coming Home” writer Salt

5.  Chemical suffix

6.  Diversion

7.  Woodier

8.  Whomp

9.  Library option

10.  Summer in Salses

11.  Mr. Buttons

12.  Mr. Charles

18.  Calendar abbr.

20.  Gun grp.

22.  Title for 37-Across

24.  Courage

25.  Arab chieftain

26.  Wife of Jacob

27.  Ms. Horne

28.  Put-down

32.  Army bed

33.  Summer cooler

34.  Discharge

35.  34-Across Mrs.

36.  Bud

37.  Snare

38.  Rime

39.  Needle case

40.  Env. letters

44.  Washington and Virginia

45.  See 49-Down

46.  Melodic

47.  Gets it

49.  With 45-Down, home to 48-Across

50.  Teacher's pets?

51.  Shore bird

52.  Gambler's lament

53.  Godard's “Le___Savoir”

56.  Fox feature

57.  One of ten

58.  Aliens; abbr.

59.  NYC arena

60.  Dined

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

CHAPTER 7

Waking the next morning, Belle experienced a jolt of confusion as to her locale. She'd slept on the office couch—a foldaway she hadn't bothered to transform into its bed position; and she realized before she'd even lifted her head from the pillow that she was in alien territory. As her eyelids popped open, she found herself staring at her father's rogues gallery of photos, and cognizance swiftly returned. She was on Sanibel Island for the first time in her life; she was there to pack up her father's books and papers, and place the apartment on the market.