Puzzled to Death (15 page)

There was a great flutter of paper as all the puzzles were flipped over; the contestants began scribbling frantically.

Cora heaved a sigh of relief. Harvey Beerbaum came over, probably to comment on her speech, but she headed him off. “Be right back.”

Cora grabbed her coat and purse, hopped down off the stage, and pushed by the camera crew. She threaded her way through the tables, fumbling for her cigarettes as she went, and banged out the door.

“Think she’ll be back?” Aaron asked.

Sherry put up her finger, said, “Shhh.”

Aaron snorted in exasperation. “Can I talk to you?”

“Not in here.”

“Then come outside.”

Sherry and Aaron slipped out the door. There they found Cora Felton smoking a cigarette on the front steps.

“Feeling better?” Sherry asked.

Cora glared at her. “I feel like garbage. How many more puzzles do I have to do?”

“Two more this morning, then they break for lunch. Relax, you’re doing great.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m up there without a script, ad-libbing. Harvey Beerbaum just looked at me like I told him the earth was flat.”

“Well, now that you mention it …”

“Oh, hell!” Cora groaned. “What’d I get wrong?”

“Nothing much, because you didn’t
say
much. You were supposed to mention the size of the puzzle. The one they’re doing right now is a fifteen-by-fifteen. The next is a seventeen-by-seventeen.”

“I knew that,” Cora said. “I forgot to say it, but I knew it.”

“You remember how the scoring works?”

“Oh, hell, was I supposed to announce that too?”

“It would have been nice.”

“No wonder Harvey wasn’t happy.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sherry said. “But you should know the scoring.”

“I know it, I know it,” Cora grumbled. She ticked them off on her fingers. “You get a hundred and fifty points for a perfect puzzle. You get a bonus of twenty-five points for each full minute under the time limit.”

“See how it works, Aaron?” Sherry said. “Say you finish eight minutes early. You get two hundred bonus points for that. If your puzzle’s perfect, you get another
hundred and fifty points. If you have an error, you don’t. So a person who finished in slower time could be ahead.”

Aaron looked pained. “Sherry—” he began, but before he could finish, the door banged open and Paul Thornhill came striding out.

As usual, Paul Thornhill looked like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. He was dressed in slacks and a blue sweater. His tan topcoat was draped over his shoulders like a cape.

Cora looked at him in surprise. “Giving up so soon?”

Paul Thornhill smiled. Up close he had very white teeth. Even Cora was impressed. “I take it you don’t go to crossword-puzzle tournaments very often?”

In spite of herself, Cora found herself actually melting under the warmth of that winning smile. Even with Aaron and Sherry looking on, Cora positively simpered. “Well, now, Mr. Thornhill, to tell you the truth, this is my first one.”

Paul Thornhill nodded. “I thought so. Well, don’t feel bad. I know a lot of constructors who’ve never been to a tournament. But if you had been, you’d know everybody leaves. They hand in their puzzle, get up, and walk out the door. It’s a macho thing. Finish early, get up, walk away.” He grinned. “I mean macho in a non-gender-specific way, of course. Men and women, they all do it. I imagine we’ll have company pretty soon.”

As he predicted, the door banged open and Craig Carmichael came out. If Craig was being macho, they wouldn’t have known it, for he spoke to no one, avoided eye contact, and furtively wandered off to stand by himself on the far end of the steps.

Ned Doowacker emerged next. He sized up Sherry and Aaron, demanded, “You’re not playing, are you?”

“No,” Sherry told him.

“Well, that’s a relief. Don’t wanna start off fifth. Bad enough to be behind those two.” He indicated Paul Thornhill and Craig Carmichael. “Don’t need any local amateurs messing things up.”

Ned Doowacker moved down to the edge of the steps to bully Craig Carmichael, who cringed visibly when he saw Ned coming.

After that, a steady stream of puzzle-solvers came banging out the door. They stood around in small clusters jabbering about the puzzle they had just solved.

“When will they go back?” Cora Felton asked.

Paul Thornhill looked at his watch. “A couple of minutes now. As soon as the first puzzle is over and the director announces time is up.”

“Oh,” Cora said. Her eyes widened as she realized
she
was the director. “Oh!”

Cora flipped the butt of her cigarette into the parking lot, turned, and hurried in the door.

“We should put that out,” Aaron said.

“Go ahead,” Sherry told him. “I’m not touching it.”

Aaron skipped down the steps, ground the cigarette butt into the gravel. He stood in the parking lot, watched as the contestants went back inside.

Sherry stayed at the top of the steps. As the last few stragglers trickled in, Aaron went up to her. “Sherry. About last night.”

“What about it?”

“About my parents.”

“Nice people.”

“Yes. Nice people.” Aaron frowned. “Sherry—”

“What are you trying to say, Aaron?”

“I felt awkward introducing you to my parents. I shouldn’t have.”

“Well, you sure know how to make a girl feel good. Why did you feel awkward?”

“I don’t know. I felt like a little boy. Maybe because I live at home.”

“Uh-huh,” Sherry said. “Well, thanks for explaining.”

Aaron looked at her, couldn’t think of what to say.

After a moment Sherry said, “Come on, let’s go see the second puzzle.”

But as Sherry opened the door and went inside, she couldn’t help wondering how much Aaron’s introducing her to his parents had actually been inhibited by the presence of Becky Baldwin.

B
ECKY
B
ALDWIN SHOWED UP IN A SNIT
. S
HE BANGED IN
the back door and stood, hands on hips, chin thrust out, looking around the room. The second puzzle had just begun, and everyone was working furiously. Or at least trying to. Becky was wearing a bright red topcoat and matching beret, which was only slightly less distracting than if she’d been wearing neon.

Sherry and Aaron, sensing trouble, moved in on her.

“What’s the matter?” Aaron said.

Becky waved him away, continued to scan the room. “Just a minute, just a minute,” she muttered. A moment later she snarled, “Damn it to hell!”

It was loud enough so that several heads turned.

Sherry put her finger to her lips, whispered, “Becky, not here. Come on outside.”

Reluctantly, Becky allowed Sherry and Aaron to lead her onto the front steps.

“Okay,” Sherry said. “What’s the trouble?”

“What’s the trouble?” Becky repeated. “I got a client in
jail on a drunk-and-disorderly. Supposed to be released today. Shouldn’t have been in jail in the first place. It’s bad enough the guy’s wife gets killed, then they go and blame him for getting drunk.”

“You trying to bail out Joey Vale?” Sherry asked.

“Damn right I am! If there ever was a guy who shouldn’t be in jail, it’s him. I understand he tried to tear the place up. Fine. He was drunk, he was rowdy, he needed to sleep it off. So you clap him in a cell till he does. No problem. Well, he’s not drunk anymore, just nursing a god-awful hangover. You don’t keep a man like that in jail, you let him go.”

“No argument here,” Sherry said. “So what’s the problem?”

“He was charged with drunk-and-disorderly, so the judge has to sign the release. I go to court to do that, and guess what? Judge Hobbs isn’t there.”

“Oh, no,” Sherry said.

“Oh, yes. He’s working on a crossword puzzle, just like everybody else in this damn town. And I can’t interrupt him, because he’s racing against a clock.”

“Maybe he’ll finish early,” Aaron suggested mildly.

Becky glared at him.

“When contestants finish early they get up and come out here. It’s a macho thing.”

Becky crinkled her nose. “I beg your pardon?”

“According to Paul Pretty-boy Thornhill,” Aaron explained. “People who finish early like to show off by getting up and walking out.”

“Yeah, like Judge Hobbs is really going to be one of those,” Becky scoffed. “Anyway, no one’s out yet.”

“They just got started. Give ’em time.”

“How much time?”

“It’s a twenty-five minute puzzle,” Sherry said. “But
some of them will finish in ten. They’ll be coming out any minute now.”

“And I’ll bet you a nickel,” Aaron said, “that the first one out the door is Paul Thornhill.”

Aaron would have lost his nickel, because the first one out the door was Cora Felton. She winced at the sunlight as if it were the first time she’d been out in a month, moaned, and jerked her cigarettes from her purse.

It was then she noticed Becky Baldwin. “Not my fault,” she said. “If Chief Harper likes Joey Vale, it’s not because of me.”

“You’re a day late,” Becky told her.

Cora blinked. “Huh?”

“That’s yesterday’s problem. Today’s problem is Judge Hobbs is playing your stupid game, so I can’t bail Joey out.”

“Judge Hobbs is
here
?” Cora said. Her coy look was priceless. In the past, she had flirted with the judge.

“He’s competing,” Sherry said, “so he can’t sign off on Joey Vale. Look, Becky, the bottom line is, Ididn’t see Judge Hobbs out early on the first puzzle, and I doubt if he’ll be out early on this one. In all likelihood you won’t get to see him till they break for lunch.”

“When’s that?”

“About an hour. There’s one puzzle after this.”

“Great,” Becky snapped.

The door banged open. Paul Thornhill sized up their little group and noted the addition of Becky Baldwin. His eyes raised inquiringly as he flashed her a smile. “My dear young lady, I didn’t see you leave. Are you finished already?”

Becky frowned. “Finished?”

“Yes. I finished in ten minutes flat. Did you really beat my time?”

“I’m not playing,” Becky informed him.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Paul Thornhill smiled and ducked his head in an aw-shucks manner that made his hair fall in his eyes. “Not that I wouldn’t want you in the game, I just wouldn’t want you finishing first. And who might you be?”

“I’m Becky Baldwin. I’m the attorney for Joey Vale.”

“And Joey Vale is …”

“Husband of Judy Vale, the woman who got strangled.”

“Oh, yes. There was quite a buzz about that last night.”

“Who was talking about it?” Cora said, perking up.

Paul Thornhill and Becky Baldwin’s conversation had seemed more and more private. Both frowned at Cora’s interruption.

Paul Thornhill shrugged. “I don’t recall.” He turned his attention back to Becky Baldwin. “Selective memory. I could tell you every word that was in the puzzle I just solved. But I couldn’t tell you what person told me what particular thing.”

Ned Doowacker came out the door. The tall, gawky contestant spotted Paul Thornhill and grimaced. “Beat me again. At least this time I beat Craig and Zelda. Just gotta get into the final, that’s all. Anything can happen in the final.”

“You sure you beat Zelda?” Paul Thornhill asked. “She never comes out.”

“No, I looked. She’s still working.”

Craig Carmichael emerged from the building, furtively scanned the group of people for contestants, and retreated to his corner of the steps.

Paul Thornhill didn’t notice. He only had eyes for one person. “So what’s a nice girl like you doing representing a murderer?” he asked Becky Baldwin, flashing her the high-wattage smile.

“He’s not a murderer. He’s got an alibi for the time of the crime.” With a glance at Cora Felton, Becky added, “He couldn’t
possibly
have done it.”

“And just when did he do it?” Paul Thornhill asked. “I’m sorry. I mean, just when
didn’t
he do it?”

“She was killed Tuesday night. Half a dozen witnesses can place him in a local bar at the time.”

“Well, that’s convenient.”

The door banged open and contestants began to stream out. It appeared as if some puzzle-solving plateau had been reached, because it swiftly became a mass exodus. In the space of the next two minutes, at least half of the people in the town hall emerged.

Judge Hobbs was not among them.

Neither was Paul Thornhill’s wife. Further proof, if any was needed, that her winning the night before had been due largely to him. Indeed, Cora noted, Paul Thornhill continued to chat up Becky Baldwin as if there were no possibility of his wife ever showing up.

She didn’t, but Rick Reed did. He came out, stomped up to Cora Felton, and demanded, “All right, what’s the big idea?”

“I beg your pardon?” Cora said.

“You get me here for this big tournament, I got a camera crew inside, and what’s for me to film?
Dead silence
. A bunch of people sitting at tables
writing
. Not only that, most of them leave. I got a camera crew in there shooting an empty room.”

“Well, it’s not my idea. You got a problem, take it up with Harvey Beerbaum.”

“You’re the cohost.”