A Puzzle in a Pear Tree (19 page)

34

AARON GRANT BURST INTO THE GYM, RUSHED UP TO SHERRY, grabbed her shoulders. “Sherry! Are you all right?”

“Relax, Aaron. I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah? Have they charged you with this one yet?”

“Not yet,” Sherry answered. “I think they may be having a little trouble with the motive.”

“Oh, no problem there,” Doddsworth said blandly. “Clearly the poor bloke was killed to cover up the first murder.”

“I’m glad that’s clear to you,” Cora said. “I’d be tickled pink to have it pointed out to me.”

Chief Harper had had enough. “Well, I wouldn’t. This case is not going to be argued in the press. Aaron, you can’t stay. The morning paper’s already printed. You’ll get everything you need for your story tomorrow. So get on home. And do me a favor: Take Miss Carter with you. She’s had enough excitement for one day. If you could drive her home, I’d be very grateful.”

“Why can’t Miss Felton take her?” Doddsworth asked.

“I need Miss Felton here.” Chief Harper shooed Aaron and Sherry out. “Go on. Get.”

Aaron reluctantly walked Sherry out.

Doddsworth watched them go, then cocked a bushy eyebrow at Chief Harper. “Do you really think having Miss Felton here is wise?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. But I’m not having any more people murdered in my town. So I’m talking to you, I’m talking to her, I’m talking to anyone I can. You may not like each other, but you happen to be the best minds I got. So bury the hatchet and help me out.”

“Very well.” Doddsworth said it grudgingly.

“Can you do that, Miss Felton?”

“Of course,” Cora said unconvincingly. She and Doddsworth eyed each other like two dogs contesting a chunk of meat.

“Fine,” Chief Harper said. “Now, let’s forget for the moment we’re on different sides and solve this damn thing.” He gestured to Doddsworth. “You say this murder was done to cover up the first crime. How do you figure?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. The tech director is not important in and of himself. A lonely man painting scenery, who could really care? With a previous crime, there must be a link.”

“That’s your only reason to think so?” Cora said. “The fact you have no other theory?”

Doddsworth bristled. “Have
you
another theory?”

“I don’t even have the facts. Though my theory’s sure to differ from yours, since you are so confused as to who committed the other crime.”

“Hang on,” Chief Harper interposed irritably. “Now, that’s just what I don’t want. Stick with issues, please. If this Jesse Virdon is killed to cover up the first murder, how is that possible? When did he play Joseph?”

“From nine-fifteen to ten-fifteen.”

“And when did Dorrie play Mary?”

“From eleven to twelve.”

“See? It doesn’t work. When the crime happened, Virdon wasn’t even there.”

“How do you know?” Cora asked. “Maybe he hung around.”

“Couldn’t have done,” Doddsworth said. “He had to go change. To leave his costume for the next Joseph. They were only rotating two, as you recall.”

“You’re arguing against your own theory?” Cora observed.

“Not at all. I’m merely pointing out what must have happened. When relieved, Jesse Virdon must have changed. Leaving his costume in the town hall. Where it was worn at eleven-fifteen by Lance Ridgewood. But that doesn’t mean Virdon left. He could have been there in street clothes when Dorrie Taggart came on at eleven.”

“Big deal,” Cora snorted. “Suppose Jesse Virdon
was
hanging around the Nativity. What could he have possibly seen?”

“How about the killer putting his hand on Dorrie Taggart’s neck?” Chief Harper suggested.

“Then why doesn’t he tell the police?” Cora said. “If he had such direct evidence, he surely would.”

“I quite agree,” Doddsworth said.

“Then how do you support your theory?”

“The young man didn’t know what he’d seen. Or didn’t understand its importance.”

“Interesting,” Cora said.

“It follows that Virdon went to the killer purely out of curiosity, with no notion the killer might
be
the killer,” Doddsworth said. “The poor chap had merely observed something he wished explained. Something he thought could easily
be
explained.”

“That’s obvious.”

“It’s also obvious the killer was someone he never would have expected. Someone he would have felt totally comfortable with. The techie Alfred Adams fits the mold. He relieved him playing Joseph. He was in the crèche when Dorrie took her place.”

Cora nodded. “He seemed unduly nervous when I talked to him.”

“He’ll be questioned,” Harper assured them. “Now, how about this. So far we’ve found no clue. No puzzle poem. Do you think we will?”

“No,” Cora and Doddsworth said together.

“Interesting,” Chief Harper said. “And why is that?”

“Because we took Miss Carter’s envelopes,” Doddsworth said, “leaving her with none.”

“Because the envelopes were planted in her house,” Cora corrected, “leaving the killer with none.”

“Assuming the availability of envelopes, would you or would you not expect a puzzle poem?”

“Difficult to say,” Doddsworth mused. “But I would lean toward no. The other rhymes were devised in advance. They were used in connection with a well-laid scheme culminating in death. The killer had no poems planned beyond the first murder, because the killer did not anticipate making a mistake. This crime, being improvisational, off-the-cuff, and committed for the sole purpose of covering up the other, would involve no puzzle. First, because no such puzzle would be ready. Second, because the elimination of such a one would involve no vitriolic verse.”

“Is that your opinion also?” Chief Harper asked Cora.

“I’ll go along with the fact the killer’s not prepared. But he still might leave an uncoded message, just like the Becky Baldwin one.”

“How about that?” Harper asked.

Doddsworth shook his head. “Miss Baldwin is without question part of the original equation. Part of the killer’s plan. As such, she must needs be explained. Gloated over, even. But this young fellow has nothing to do with anything. No one cares about him. He is merely an inconvenience to be removed. Not worth tuppence.”

“You expect no clue at all?”

“That’s the ticket.”

“Then I guess we’re going to have a pretty bad night.”

“What do you mean?”

Harper shrugged. “Looking for something that isn’t there.”

35

BECKY BALDWIN’S OFFICE WAS A MODEST, ONE-ROOM AFFAIR just off Main Street over the pizza parlor. It boasted an ancient oak desk, a half-filled bookcase, a four-drawer metal file cabinet, and two straight-backed client’s chairs. Apparently any third-party actions were out of luck. Becky seemed embarrassed by the office. If so, it was the first time Sherry could recall ever seeing her embarrassed.

“You should have woken me up,” Becky said huffily.

“There was nothing you could do.”

“How do you know? At least I could have kept you from making damaging statements.”

“I didn’t make any statements.”

“You told them about finding the body.”

“Actually, Cora told them.”

“I could have shut her up.”

“You could have tried.”

“This is not a game. This is not a joke. You know what they teach you in law school? Crime statistics. Wanna hear one?
Most crimes aren’t solved.
You tell yourself you’re not guilty, and when everything gets sorted out everyone will realize that and you’ll be free. All you have to do is sit back and wait for them to catch the killer. Well, guess what? Doesn’t happen. So you have to ask yourself, what if they don’t catch this killer? What if no killer emerges? What if all they’re left with is
you
?”

“I understand the concept.”

“Do you? I don’t think so. If you did, you’d have called me last night.
Before
you called the police.”

“Chief Harper doesn’t think I’m guilty.”

“No, but he has to act on the evidence, and the evidence is bad. Even without you running around finding bodies.”

Sherry took a breath. “Becky, this isn’t going to work. I’ve had about three hours’ sleep, and I don’t feel like being used as a punching bag. You have any practical advice, fine. If you just wanna get off on telling me what a bad girl I am, I think our relationship is over.”

“Point taken,” Becky said. “Tell me how you found the body.”

“Actually, Cora and I found it together.”

“What made you look?”

“Driving by the high school I noticed the lights were on.”

“Were you with your aunt at the time?”

“No, I was alone.”

“Where were you going?”

“Home.”

“Where had you been?”

“What difference does that make?”

“The police will ask these questions, so I need to know your answers. Where were you coming from?”

“I was over at Aaron’s.”

“Oh.” Becky raised an eyebrow. “He still have his varsity letters on the wall?”

Sherry bristled. “Don’t you know?”

“No,” Becky said. After a pause she added, “I have my own place. I don’t live with my aunt.”

“Gee, that’s grand. You can have that brainy TV reporter over any time you want.”

Becky formed a Twith her hands. “Time out. I admit I needled you just now because you were coy about where you’d been. Let’s start over. You were coming back from Aaron’s, you saw the stage lights in the gym. What time was that?”

Sherry hesitated a moment, then said rather defiantly, “One-thirty.”

Becky smiled slightly.

Sherry glared at her.

Becky returned her gaze.

They stared each other down.

The corners of Sherry’s mouth twitched.

Both women burst out laughing.

“All right,” Becky said, when the laughter finally subsided. “Let’s try this again. You were driving home from Aaron’s at one-thirty A.M. and you saw lights in the theater. You went home and told your aunt. Did you wake her up to tell her?”

“No. She was awake. She was worried and couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you tell her first thing? ‘Hey, I think there’s something wrong in the theater’? ”

“Let me think. Let’s see, I came in, Cora was up, I asked her why, she asked me where I’d been, yadda yadda, then we started talking about the crime.”

Becky raised her eyebrows.
“ ‘ Yadda yadda’?”

“Don’t start. Cora told me about talking to Alfred Adams and how he seemed nervous, and I told her he was probably still up, because the stage lights were on.”

“So you went over looking for Alfred and found the tech director hanging from a rope?”

“That’s right.”

“Over a pulley and tied to the pinrail?”

“Yeah. Just like the sandbag. If you’d been out there singing, someone could have dropped him on you.”

“Charming,” Becky muttered. “So, what’s the police theory of the case?”

Sherry gave Becky a rundown of what Cora had told her.

“Interesting,” Becky said. “So he was part of the Nativity?”

“Yes. Not during the crucial time. But he might have seen something.”

“Maybe that’s the wrong track.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would say it’s far more likely he knew something about that sandbag.”

“Like what?”

“Like who dropped it. Only we get into moron territory. How could someone possibly know that much and not talk?”

“True,” Sherry said. “But there are other possibilities.”

“Such as?”

“The puzzle poems. Maybe he saw someone leaving a puzzle poem. Or happened to know who had a bunch of red envelopes.”

“Sure,” Becky said. “Or maybe he knew who was blowgun champ. We got so many bizarre elements to these crimes you can almost take your pick.”

“So what are we going to do?” Sherry asked.

“I can tell you what
you’re
gonna do. You’re gonna smile and say ‘No comment’ every time someone shoves a microphone in your face.”

“That’s gonna make for great public opinion.”

“Just tell ’em your lawyer’s making all statements for you.”

“You must love that,” Sherry told her.

“Don’t be silly,” Becky said. Her eyes were wide. “Believe me, I don’t like this at all.”

Sherry didn’t believe her for one minute.