Last Puzzle & Testament (6 page)

“
Honey,
” Philip Hurley snapped. “You can’t ask
that.
It’s an improper question. It’s
vulgar
.” He rolled K1D; his eyes and shook his head, inviting the lawyer to share in his contempt for his moron of a wife. “
You’re
not the heir,
I
am.” He narrowed his eyes. “So, how much is it?”

“Mr. Hurley—”

“I heard fifteen million. Is that right?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“What’s the difference? The point is, is it true?”

“It’s a large fortune. Fifteen million is an approximation. But probably not an unfair one.”

Philip Hurley smiled like he’d just sold four hundred acres of Florida swampland. “And that money is mine,” he declared. “I’m entitled to it. I don’t care what that old biddy says in the will, the money belongs to me.”

Arthur Kincaid raised his eyebrows. “You plan to contest the will?”

“Of course not,” Philip Hurley said. “I plan to inherit under it. I’m just saying, if I don’t, be ready for trouble.”

“I’m not looking for any trouble,” Arthur Kincaid said.

“Oh?” Ethel Hurley exclaimed. “Are you trying to tell us something? That sounds like you’re trying to tell us something.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Arthur Kincaid replied with dignity. “As I said on the phone, my instructions are to read the will after I’ve assembled the heirs. And not before. So you see, there’s nothing I can tell you.”

“Yes, there is,” Philip said. “Who
are
the heirs?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Who have you been instructed to assemble?” Philip said. “Just who did Emma want present at the reading of this will?”

“All of her relatives.”

“
All
of her relatives?”

“That’s right.”

Philip Hurley frowned. “Surely not Jason.”

Arthur Kincaid said nothing.

Philip Hurley set his bulldog jaw. “Are you telling me my brother’s included?”

“No one is excluded, Mr. Hurley,” Arthur Kincaid answered.

“But that’s absurd. Surely Emma wouldn’t think of leaving anything to him.”

“She must if she asked for him,” Ethel interjected. “Isn’t that right? If a person is summone Kon 1em"d, it’s to share in the money?”

“Shut up, Ethel. Don’t talk stupid.” Philip Hurley wheeled on the lawyer. “Is that how it works, Mr. Kincaid? If he’s invited, he inherits?”

“Not necessarily. A person could be mentioned in the will for the specific purpose of disinheriting that person.”

“That’s more like it.” Philip nodded. “That’s what old Emma would do. Get Jason here just to disinherit him. Tell me, Mr. Kincaid, did you specifically invite Jason?”

“I left messages at his last known address. Whether he got them, I couldn’t say.”

“And what
was
his last known address?”

“Denver, Colorado.”

“Ah.” Philip Hurley’s look was knowing and eloquent, dismissing anyone who chose to live in the Rockies as having far too frivolous a nature to be taken seriously.

Cora Felton, at the bar, lit a cigarette, and watched with interest. No one had thought to introduce her, and she was glad, preferring to sit back and watch the scene unfold. Arthur Kincaid hadn’t introduced Becky Baldwin either, and Cora was pleased to note the young woman was looking somewhat put out. Becky kept hovering near the lawyer’s shoulder, looking to edge her way in.

Cora smiled, took a drag on her cigarette.

“The Puzzle Lady smokes?”

Cora Felton frowned.

Not here.

Not now.

Not in front of Sherry.

A nebbishy-looking man, with a bald head, black-framed glasses, prominent nose, and receding chin was smiling all over his face and regarding Cora with a look that was at once admiring and disapproving.

Cora sighed in relief. Not a muckraking journalist. Just a fan.

Cora Felton smiled. “I not only smoke, I can blow perfect rings.”

She proceeded to do so.

“I’m impressed, but I still disapprove,” the nebbishy man said. “You’re shattering my image.”

“Oh, you’ll get over it,” Cora told him. She picked up her martini glass from the bar. “If your heart can take it, I also drink.”

“Oh, so do I.” The man held up a glass of what appeared to be sherry. “To puzzle making.”

“I’ll drink to
that!
” Cora Felton announced heartily, pointing her finger in a theatrical manner.

He raised his Ke rtily, poieyebrows inquiringly.

Cora grinned. “Lee Marvin, as the drunken gunfighter in
Cat Ballou
.”

“Yes, of course.” The nebbishy man nodded approvingly. “He won the Oscar for it. In fact, that’s how I’d clue the word
Marvin. Best actor of 1965
.”

Uh oh.

Alarm bells jangled in Cora Felton’s head. This was worse than a journalist. Worse than a TV reporter. Worse, even, than an obsessed fan.

This was a peer.

A colleague.

A
constructor.

“How
you’d
clue it?” Cora Felton said, with mounting misgivings.

The man’s smile stretched from ear to ear. He paused portentously, then announced, “I’m Harvey Beerbaum.”

Cora Felton’s cornflower blue eyes widened. “Is that right?” she said. She grabbed his hand, pumped it up and down. “I’m so pleased to meet you.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Now, if you would just be an angel and order me a drink, I will be right back.”

Cora Felton flashed Harvey Beerbaum her most winning smile, slipped off her stool, and hurried down the bar to where Sherry Carter was talking with Aaron Grant.

As she went by Cora Felton leaned close, hissed in Sherry’s ear, “Mayday!” and kept on going.

“What was that all about?” Aaron asked as Cora Felton hurried off.

Sherry frowned. “Aunt Cora’s in trouble. I gotta go help.”

“In trouble?”

“Someone’s probably hitting on her. I’ll be right back.”

Sherry slid off her stool and headed for the ladies’ room. She pushed open the door, found her aunt standing there waiting for her.

“Okay, what’s the problem?” Sherry asked.

“You see the man standing next to me at the bar?”

“No.”

“Nerdy little guy, just came in.”

“I didn’t see him. What about him?”

“He’s a constructor.”

“Oh?”

“At least I think he is. He announced his name like he expected me to swoon.”

“What is it?”

“Harvey Beerbaum.”

Now it was Sherry’s eyes that widened. “Uh oh.”

“Who is he?” Cora demanded.

“He’s not just a constructor. He’s a
famous
constructor. Almost as famous as Will Shortz. He contributes regularly to
The New York Times.
What in the world is he doing here?”

“I have no idea. The minute he announced his name I had to get out of there before he realized I didn’t know it.”

“Okay, you know it now. Go back out there and bluff it through.”

“Sherry.”

“Cora, you can do it. You know you can. You’ve done it before. You give him the I-don’t-talk-shop routine, and get him to buy you a drink.”

“I don’t know …”

“I do. I happen to know you. You’re devious on the one hand, and utterly charming on the other. I wouldn’t be surprised if he offers to marry you.”

“Sherry, I’m not in the mood.”

“Don’t tell me, tell him. Cora, most likely this guy’s just passing through. You hand him a line, you make him feel good, that’s the end of it.”

Sherry pushed open the ladies’ room door and went back to the bar. A quick glance showed her the tableau had changed. Jeff Beasley had somehow managed to corral
two
drinks, and had moved to a booth where he sat, hunched over, with his arms protectively around them. Becky Baldwin sat opposite, and appeared to be trying to reason with him.

So, the man standing alone in the space left by Cora Felton and Becky Baldwin had to be Harvey Beerbaum, legendary crossword-puzzle constructor and expert, whose work was discussed regularly on
CRUCIVERB-L,
a daily digest Sherry subscribed to on the Internet. Under other circumstances, Sherry would have relished talking to him. Not tonight. Instead, Sherry joined Aaron at the end of the bar.

“So?” Aaron said.

Sherry shrugged. “Just as I thought. Cora’s being bothered by a crossword-puzzle expert. She doesn’t want to offend him, but she doesn’t want to encourage him either. It happens all the time.”

“Then she should know how to handle it,” Aaron pointed out.

Sherry glanced at him sharply, but Aaron didn’t seem to mean anything by the remark. “Well, will you look at that,” he said.

Sherry followed his gaze down the bar to where Philip Hurley stood looking at …

Philip Hurley!

It wasn’t, of course.

It was his twin. His double. His doppelgänger. A man who looked exactly like him. With dark black hair and flashing teeth and the same bulldog chin. Though somewhat more conservatively dressed in a blue leisure suit.

Sherry blinked.

Not a blue leisure suit.

A blue
pants
suit.

Despite all outward appearances, Philip Hurley’s mirror image was undoubtedly a woman.

While Sherry watched, the unmistakably female voice pierced the air. Ethel Hurley’s voice was bad, but this put Ethel’s to shame. “Philip!” shrilled the dragon-lady voice. “You old crook, how are you? Still under investigation for mail fraud?”

Philip’s lips curled into a sneer. “Well, well, sister Phyllis as I live and breathe.” He pointed to the wimpy-looking man in the gabardine suit standing slightly behind her. “Is this the current Mr. Phyllis Hurley? Hasn’t anyone pointed out to him how your husbands have a habit of dying after making out insurance policies in your favor?” He said to the wimpy man, “You wouldn’t be carrying life insurance, by any chance?”

Without looking, Phyllis put her hand in her husband’s face, in the manner of one instructing a dog to stay. “Don’t bother, Morty. My honor doesn’t need defending from
dear
brother Philip. So, where’s the lawyer?” She glanced around, spotted Arthur Kincaid. “You look like the lawyer. Are you? Sure you are. Same face, but older. I remember now. I’m Phyllis Hurley Applegate. This is my husband, Morty Applegate.” She spread her arms. “And he is here to watch me as I inherit the Hurley fortune.”

“You inherit? That’s a laugh.” Philip sniggered.

“As oldest surviving niece, I think not.”

“Then you think wrong. I inherit, as oldest surviving nephew.”

“Nonsense. As the oldest sibling, I take precedence.”

Philip and Phyllis instantly squared off, jaw to jaw. It was quite a sight. Whether Philip had chosen his hairpiece to mock his sister, or she had cut and dyed her hair to mock him, the effect was mind-boggling. They looked exactly the same.

“You’re not older,” Philip snapped.

“Yes, I am.”

“We’re the same age.”

“I’m still older.”

“By half an hour.”

“There you are!” Phyllis said triumphantly. “You heard him. He admits it. I’m the eldest. And I will be inheriting under Aunt Emma’s will.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”

The voice came from the doorway.

Philip and Phyllis Hurley turned to look.

Their identical bulldog jaws dropped in unison.

“Jason,” Philip Hurley murmured in a voice loud enough to carry to the end of the bar.

But the newcomer clearly wasn’t Philip’s brother. The young man was no more than twenty-five years old. He wore boots, blue jeans, and a black leather jacket. His dark hair was long and stringy, and hung down the sides of his face. His beard was scraggly and untrimmed. But his eyes were blue and bright, even in the dim light of the bar. His eyes twinkled as he looked at the battling Hurleys. He strode across the room.

“Is it possible? Could it be? Uncle Philip and Auntie Phyllis? And just look at you. Good lord, Philip, where’d you get that hair? Don’t tell me, you sell used cars. Did I get it right?”

Philip Hurley’s eyes widened. “My God, you look just like him.”

The young man laughed. “Well, not quite, I think. Dad never wore a beard. Among other things.”

Phyllis Applegate gawked at him. “You’re
little
Danny?”

“Not quite so little anymore, but I’m Danny, all right.” He grinned. “Didn’t realize you were so old, did you, Aunt Phyllis? But here I am, Auntie’s principal heir.”

“Is that true?” Philip Hurley demanded of Arthur Kincaid. “Does he share in the dough?” As the lawyer opened his mouth to speak, he added, “I know you don’t know. I mean, did you ask him here?”

“Indirectly. I invited his father and all of
his
heirs. Which includes any offspring. Just as it includes any children of yours.”

“I have no children.”

“That’s not the point. The fact is, if you did they’d be included.”

The young man spread his arms. “And Jason did. And here I am. What do you wanna bet I wind up with the whole shooting match?”

“And where’s Jason?” Philip Hurley demanded.

The young man shook his head. “We’re not the tightest-knit family in the world, are we? Dad’s dead. Nearly two years now. Mom nearly four. Amazing you don’t know that, but there you are. I am an orphan, an only child, a sole surviving son. A direct descendant of the Hurley millions, which will doubtless bypass you and come straight to me. Sorry about that, but I think you’ll find Auntie always favored Dad. Had a soft spot for the renegade. Chip off the old block. Eccentric, like her. When the dust clears, you can line up for a handout. You and all the rest. Apply to my solicitor. For funds to cover your shortfal Kyouhe l. Which I have no doubt you have.”

The young man stood, hands on hips, head thrown back arrogantly, taunting them. Then he turned and surveyed the room in quest of fresh game. As his eyes traveled down the bar the sardonic smile froze on his face, was replaced a moment later by a look of genuine bafflement. He blinked twice, and said:

“Sherry?”