Last Puzzle & Testament (29 page)

“Rick Reed?”

“No, the other one.”

Sherry said nothing.

“Well, you must have noticed she has designs on him. Even that first night in the bar. She’s hanging around him every chance she gets. Claims she’s doing research. Maybe she even believes it. All I know is it’s a good thing I don’t really
need
a lawyer.”

“Then why do you have one?” The question came out harsher than Sherry had intended.

“I don’t really.” Daniel’s smile was a smirk. Sherry wondered if he was aware he was nettling her. “I consulted Becky about breaking Auntie’s will. But that was when I thought I had no chance to win.”

“And now you think you do?”

Daniel tossed off the last of the lemonade, set his glass down on the butcher block table, and sized Sherry up. “I didn’t come here to talk about the will.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“I told you. To see you.” He smiled, stroked his beard. “I remember you in college. Little Miss Perfect. So studious all the time. And yet, there was something about you … I always thought Dennis was so lucky.” He chuckled. “Which he was, wasn’t he? More charm than talent, right? Good salesman. Great self-promoter. Still, it amazed me you fell for it.”

“I don’t want to talk about Dennis.”

He nodded. “Of course not. End of subject. Anyway, how you doing now? You’re here in this small town, you said you were teaching school. But it’s summer. So what are you up to now? Are you just hanging out?”

“I told you. I work with my aunt. On the crossword puzzle thing.”

“Yes. That figures. You always were terrific with words. What do you do for fun?”

“Fun?”

“Bakerhaven is not my idea of a hot spot. Young woman like you, I’d think you’d be bored.”

“You’d think wrong.”

“Uhy"> huh.” He jerked his thumb. “Come on. Let’s take a ride.”

“On your motorcycle?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have a helmet.”

“Wear mine.”

“Then you won’t have a helmet.”

“Big deal. It’s not like this town was crawling with cops.”

“I wasn’t thinking of a ticket. I was thinking of brain damage.”

Daniel grinned. “Hey, I’m not worried. If I rap the bike, I probably kill myself, helmet or no helmet.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“It should be.” He took her by the arm and led her through the living room out the front door. “Here we go. You take my helmet.”

“I don’t know …”

“You ever ride on a bike before? No? Well, no time like the present.” Daniel took the helmet off the handlebars. “Here, put that on.”

“Daniel.”

“Hey, no big deal. It’s not like we were going anywhere. Just down the road and back. Come on.”

Sherry didn’t want to do it. But she didn’t want to
not
do it. Which bothered her. Why did she care if Daniel Hurley thought she was an old stick in the mud?

And was that really the motivation?

Or was it what he said about Becky Baldwin and Aaron Grant?

No, not really. She just didn’t want to be the type of person who didn’t do things. No, not for Daniel Hurley—she couldn’t care less what he thought—just for her.

Sherry took the helmet. It was heavier on her head than she expected, and the strap was loose. Daniel reached up, adjusted it. His hand brushed her cheek, briefly, and for a moment Sherry thought he was going to say something. But then he was climbing onto the motorbike and motioning for her to climb up behind. Sherry threw her leg over the bike, scrunched up behind him on the seat.

“Hang on,” he said.

Sherry put her hands on his shoulders.

He craned his neck, grinned. “I’d hang on tighter than that.”

Daniel wrenched the handlebars, straightened the bike, kicked the kickstand free. He sta free. Hrted the bike, revved the engine, eased the clutch, and turned around in the drive. The bike tilted when he did, and Sherry found herself leaning the other way, trying to balance.

“Lean into it,” Daniel instructed. “I won’t tip over.”

He came out of the turn, straightened the bike, gunned the motor down the drive.

At the foot of the driveway he didn’t stop, just slowed to see that nothing was coming, and leaned the bike into a slow, lazy turn. Coming out of it, he shifted gears, revved the motor, and popped the clutch.

The motorcycle took off.

Sherry’s arms went around Daniel’s chest and she hung on for dear life.

The motorcycle rocketed down the winding road, flashing in and out of the tall maple trees. Sherry’s heart was pounding. The wind whipped at her face as the fields and trees flashed by. She forced herself to lean in when Daniel did, and then they were out of the turn and hurtling down the road.

Telephone poles flashed by, one after another. It occurred to Sherry she never noticed them in a car. Not like this.

She’d barely had time to have the thought when they were into the S-turn, streaking down the hill toward the turnoff on the way into Bakerhaven. Sherry found herself leaning first one way, then the other, frightened, but thrilled too. And there came a car around the curve, and how did they ever miss it? Though, to be cool and impartial, each vehicle was safely on its own side of the road.

Cool and impartial?

That was a laugh.

At the foot of the hill they reached the main road. For a moment Sherry thought Daniel was going to go back on his word, and keep on going into town. Then, at the last moment, he slowed the motorcycle, and, as no cars were coming, used the intersection to go out around in a semicircle heading back the way they came.

Coming out of the U-turn Daniel gunned the motor and popped the clutch again, leaving rubber as he took off up the hill.

Sherry wasn’t impressed. Or, for that matter, concerned. Whether it seemed safer speeding uphill, or whether she was just used to it, Sherry didn’t have the same sense of dizzying exhilaration she’d had coming down. The fear was gone. Sherry was an old hand. Riding a motorcycle was something she had done.

It was worth it just for that.

Or so she told herself.

Daniel Hurley drove his motorcycle up her driveway and stopped. Sherry hopped off, unbuckled the helmet, pulled it off her head. She turned and hung the helmet on the handlebars.

As she turned back, Daniel Hurley took her by the shoulders and kissed her.

Sherry twisted away. “Excuse me?” she said, stepping back.

Daniel Hurley grinned. grinned.01C;In motorcycle circles, when someone gives you your first ride, it’s assumed they’re entitled to a kiss.”

“I don’t travel in motorcycle circles,” Sherry replied.

“Of course not. That’s why it’s your first ride.”

“Nice try, Daniel.”

Daniel Hurley shrugged, made a goofy, aw-shucks gesture. “You could do worse. You know there’s a good chance I’m going to be a millionaire.”

“And of course I can be bought,” Sherry said coldly.

“Sorry. Stupid thing to say.”

Daniel smiled. Sherry suddenly realized he was the type of guy who softened everything with a smile. Even that knowledge was not enough to render the trait entirely un-endearing.

He asked, “You say your aunt’s at the Country Kitchen?”

“You’re not going to bother my aunt.”

“Absolutely not. But I would like to have a drink. Care to have one with me?”

“Not right now.”

“Too bad,” Daniel said. “It will be lonely, what with Becky tied up and all. Sure you won’t change your mind?”

“I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself.”

Daniel put on his helmet, climbed on the motorcycle, gunned the motor, and roared off.

Watching him go, Sherry wondered about his last remarks. Wondered how much his calling on her had to do with Becky Baldwin seeing Aaron Grant. Would he do that, chase another woman because she was chasing another man?

Chasing?

Becky Baldwin wasn’t chasing Aaron Grant. Any more than Daniel Hurley was chasing
her.

He kissed her.

Big deal.

Had Becky Baldwin kissed Aaron Grant?

Sherry stopped, put up her hands.

No.

She wasn’t doing this.

She’d put it out of her head.

Think of other things.

Sherry felt hot and flushed after the motorcycle ride. She went in the kitchen, poured herself another lemonade. She took a sip and smiled. It was perfect. Not too tangy.

Tangy.

Sherry frowned.

Stop it.

Sherry took another sip of lemonade, eyes on the door of her office. The crossword puzzle was still on the computer screen. She’d left it on while she’d had her debut motorcycle ride. With the front door unlocked, anyone could have come in and seen it. Although no one had. Still …

Sherry went in the office, half expecting the puzzle would be no longer there, but, of course, it was. She sat at the computer, studied the screen. There was the puzzle, completely solved, teasing her with its unsatisfying riddle.

What could it possibly mean?

Sherry wondered if she’d ever know.

Even if she didn’t, tomorrow the whole game would be over.

Assuming Cora was in any shape to judge the contest.

Sherry sighed.

Wondered how her aunt was doing.

Cora Felton was winning.

There was nothing particularly unusual in that. A good player, Cora Felton often won at bridge. But not like tonight. Tonight, Cora was winning consistently, rubber after rubber. And it wasn’t just that the cards were running hot. But whoever Cora’s partner was—for the women switched partners after every rubber—always seemed to play well, and the women who weren’t partnered with Cora didn’t. As a result, Cora found herself riding an unprecedented winning streak.

The only thing slowing her down was the fact everyone wanted to talk about the Hurleys.

“It’s unbelievable,” Iris Cooper said. Bakerhaven’s first selectwoman as usual wore a dress as conservative as, yet conspicuously more expensive than, that of anyone else at the table. “I’ve known old Emma Hurley all my life. Annabel too, though not the same way. And Chester, that’s another story. Though I understand there was a time before he got weird. Not that I’m old enough to remember
that
.”

“Of course not,” Lois Greely said. A large, horse-faced, opinionated woman, Lois Greely was the proprietor of the general store, the one just over the covered bridge. Cora wondered if there was any way to tactfully ask her if it had ever been referred to as a five-and-ten. Considering Lois’s overbearing manner, there probably was not.

“If you want my opinion,” Lois continued, “there’s not a good Hurley left, and that’s the truth. Annabel was a good woman. Poor, and a little strange, but basically good. Chester’s off his rocker, we all know that. And as for the others, they’re an ungrateful, greedy lot. I have that from Emma herself. So, if you want my opinion,” Lois said again, utterly discounting the possibility someone actually might
not,
“none of them deserves the money, and you should declare them all losers and give it all to charity.”

“And give it all to
us,
” Amy Cox piped up. A younger woman who was new in town but who had been welcomed into the inner social circle due to the fact her husband ran a major insurance company in Hartford, Amy Cox laughed unnecessarily loudly at her own joke, as she had a habit of doing.

The women kicked the topic of the inheritance around for a while, then started in on the murders. At which point Cora excused herself and went to get a drink. The table the women used for bridge was in a little room just off the bar, and in the past Cora had often availed herself of the proximity. Tonight she wanted a drink partly to celebrate her winning streak, and partly because Sherry had made such a point about her not having one. Cora needed to show Sherry she was capable of having a drink and still behaving responsibly. She also needed to show Sherry she couldn’t be told what to do. She also needed to think about something other than the Hurleys. A drink would be just the ticket.

As Cora came through the door of the bar, however, the first thing she saw was the long black hair of Daniel Hurley, who was sitting at the end of the bar. And there, not two stools away, sat Arthur Kincaid. Fortunately, the bar was full, and neither of them had seen her. Cora picked a spot about halfway down the bar and squeezed her way in.

“Tall gin and tonic with lime,” she called to the bartender.

Miraculously, he heard her. Minutes later, Cora was reaching eagerly for the glass.

“Miss Felton?”

The voice came from behind Cora. But at the moment nothing was going to distract her from her task. She grabbed the gin and tonic, pressed money in the bartender’s hand. She raised the glass to her lips and took a huge sip. Then turned to see who had accosted her.

Her face fell.

It was what’s-his-name, the constructor, the crossword-puzzle expert. Beerbelly? Beerbaum. That’s right. Her worst nightmare. Harvey Beerbaum.

Still, she smiled, said, “How do you do?” and tried to push by him.

But he grabbed her by the arm. “Miss Felton. Miss Felton. I must talk to you.”

“Yes, of course,” Cora said. “But not now. I’m playing bridge.”