Puzzled to Death (28 page)

“You do vindictive well,” Chief Harper said approvingly.

“Oh, it’s easy,” Cora said. “When you’ve been married as often as I have. The point is, the crossword puzzle is awfully suggestive, particularly with Paul Thornhill being in first place in the tournament.”

“No kidding.”

Chief Harper drove down Main Street, pulled up in front of town hall.

There was a large bulletin board in the lobby, where public notices were posted, most of them relating to potluck suppers or stray cats. On the left of the bulletin board, clean, fresh, typewritten pages had been posted with pushpins.

The heading, in caps, read: 1
ST ANNUAL BAKERHAVEN CROSSWORD-PUZZLE TOURNAMENT STANDINGS
(Puzzles #1–#6)

Underneath was an alphabetical list of the contestants. Each player’s name was followed by their score on each puzzle, their cumulative score, and finally their current rank in the tournament.

“That’s a pain,” Chief Harper said. “Why couldn’t they post them in numerical order?”

“Bet it’s the damn computer’s fault,” Cora said. “But there’s no problem. Look. Here’s Thornhill. He’s ranked number one.”

“Who’s number two?” Chief Harper asked.

Cora put her finger on the last column, began scanning down from the top. “Let’s see. Here’s number three. That’s Craig Carmichael. Number four is Ned Doowacker. And number two—”

Cora’s voice broke off.

Chief Harper frowned, looked over her shoulder.

Number two was Marty Haskel.

T
HE LIGHTS WERE OUT AT
M
ARTY
H
ASKEL’S HOUSE, BUT
there was a pickup truck parked in his drive.

“That his truck?” Cora asked.

“Yes, it is.” Chief Harper frowned, shook his head. “The lights are out. I just can’t imagine, he kills somebody, then calmly goes home and goes to bed.”

“Your theory is murderers never sleep, Chief?”

“You know what I mean. So you like Marty Haskel for the crime?”

“I haven’t heard his story yet,” Cora said.

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance.”

Chief Harper went up on the front porch, began ringing the bell. Long, insistent rings.

After a couple of minutes there came the sound of footsteps, and a voice on the other side of the door mumbled, “Who is it?”

“Police. Open up.”

The lock clicked back and the door swung open.

Marty Haskel stood there, bleary-eyed, dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and pink boxer shorts. “What is it?” he growled at Harper. Then he saw Cora Felton. “Sheesh. You might have warned me you had a woman with you.”

“It’s okay, Marty. She doesn’t mind.”

“Well, I do. I’m gettin’ my robe.”

Marty Haskel darted up the stairs, was back minutes later in a silk robe that looked as if it had never been worn. “All right, what’s this all about?” he demanded.

“Where were you this evening, Marty?” Chief Harper asked.

“What’s that got to do with the price of salami? Come on, Dale, what gives? I ask you what happened and you start the third-degree?”

“Sorry,” Chief Harper said. “You want to go in the living room and sit down? Would that make you feel better?”

“No. A straight answer would make me feel better. What’s so all-fired important you had to roust me out of bed?”

“Paul Thornhill was murdered tonight.”

Marty Haskel’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?”

“Be a hell of a bad joke,” Chief Harper said dryly. “Thornhill’s dead, I’m investigating his murder. Where were you tonight?”

“Here.”

“No, you weren’t,” Chief Harper said patiently. “Miss Felton came by to see you and you were gone.”

“You came by to see me?” Marty Haskel asked Cora.

“Yes, I did.” Cora Felton felt somewhat funny saying it. She wondered if Marty Haskel had discovered anything that indicated she had broken into his home.

If so, he didn’t let on. He looked at Cora Felton and Chief Harper for a minute, then said, “Okay. Come in, I guess.”

Without another word he shuffled into the living room and flopped down on the couch. Chief Harper and Cora followed him in, sat in chairs.

Marty Haskel rubbed his head, appeared somewhat dazed. “This can’t be happening.”

“I assure you it is,” Chief Harper told him. “Miss Felton and I have just come from the crime scene.”

Marty Haskel scowled. “What’s the idea? I’m supposed to slip up, say something like I know where the crime scene is? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t happen to kill him.”

“But you admit the two of you had words?”

“Words? At a crossword-puzzle tournament? Very funny, Chief.”

“It’s not funny,” Chief Harper said. “It’s late, I’m tired, and I got my third murder in a week. But the fact is, at this Fun Night event you seemed pretty upset with Mr. Thornhill.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes,” Marty Haskel said. “I objected to him winning the games for his wife. I thought it was mighty poor form. You think I’d kill him over that?”

“I don’t know what I think at this point,” Chief Harper said. “I’m merely following up leads. The lead I’m following up now is that on Fun Night you talked to Mrs. Roth and Mr. Thornhill and now both are dead. Now, don’t you find that a little suspicious?”

Marty Haskel set his jaw. “I most certainly do not. And if you had a brain in your head, you wouldn’t either. I went to talk to him when the two of them were talking together. That puts the two of
them
together. It doesn’t
put them together with
me
. I would think that would be obvious.”

“Except for one thing,” Cora pointed out. “You were seen talking to Mrs. Roth
before
the incident with Paul Thornhill.”

Marty Haskel frowned. “Seen by who?”

“That’s not the point,” Chief Harper said. “I’m asking if you spoke to Mrs. Roth before you had words with Paul Thornhill about his wife winning the first event.”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Really? And what did you talk to her about?”

“Same thing. And I didn’t talk to her, she talked to
me
. She talked to me at the end of the first puzzle, told me to calm down, not make a big deal. So I wasn’t surprised when she intervened again.”

“Why exactly were you making a big deal about the puzzle?”

“They call it Fun Night. What’s fun about watching Paul Smarty-Pants win everything?”

“You didn’t like Thornhill?”

“No, I didn’t. Did you?”

“I didn’t know him.”

“You didn’t have to know him. You just had to see him. Smug, arrogant, God’s gift to women.” At Chief Harper’s look Marty snapped, “What, I shouldn’t say that? I can’t speak ill of the dead? It makes me guilty? Well, you asked me what I had against him, and that’s what I had against him.”

“Uh-huh,” Chief Harper said noncommittally. “And just where were you this evening?”

“I was out.”

“I gathered that, Marty, from the fact you weren’t here. You care to elaborate on that?”

“Not particularly,” Haskel snapped.

Chief Harper frowned and battled for patience. “Marty. I’m not sure I’m making myself clear. I’m investigating a murder. I’m asking you questions with regard to that investigation. If you choose not to answer them, that’s going to be considered suspicious. Which is just too bad. Because I don’t think you had anything to do with this, and I’d like to cross you off my list. You’re making it very hard to do that. So I’ll ask you one last time: Where were you tonight?”

Marty Haskel cupped his chin, ran his thumb and forefinger down over his mustache. His eyes flicked to Cora Felton. “I have to tell you in front of her?”

“Is it like that, Marty? You’re saying you were with a woman?”

Marty snorted. “Sheesh. If I was, Chief, you think I wouldn’t just say so? At least then I’d have an alibi witness, wouldn’t I, which is what you’re lookin’ for here.”

“I’m afraid I am. We happen to know you weren’t home at the time Paul Thornhill was murdered. Doesn’t mean you murdered him, but it means we’d like to know where you were.”

“How come she’s got to be here?” Marty Haskel persisted.

“She’s helping me investigate the crime. She’s helped me in the past, and this time the crime relates to the crossword-puzzle tournament.”

“Why do you think it relates to the tournament?”

“Because one of the contestants was killed.”

“That’s dumb. It’s your third killing and your first contestant. Clearly the tournament’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Is that how you figure?”

“Fact’s a fact. You can’t get away from it.” Haskel put his hands on his knees, rocked forward on the couch. “What a nightmare. You’ll pardon me if I’m not thinkin’ as quick as you. You know the guy’s dead. You come in here and spring it on me. I got to adjust. I didn’t like him, but it’s still quite a shock.”

“I’m sure it is,” Chief Harper said. “You happen to remember yet where you were tonight?”

“I know where I was. I don’t think it’s anybody’s damn business.”

“Well, Marty, tell us where.”

Marty Haskel stroked his mustache again. “I was out by the lake.”

“The lake?”

“Yeah. North Lake. I was at North Lake.”

“It’s December, Marty.”

“I didn’t say I was swimmin’ in it,” Marty Haskel snapped. “I drove out there, walked around some. I do that nights when I’m thinkin’ through things.”

“What were you thinking through tonight, Marty?”

Marty Haskel clamped his lips together, looked at Cora Felton. Then he exhaled, looked at the floor. “I was thinkin’ about the tournament.”

“What about the tournament?”

Marty Haskel muttered something under his breath.

“Couldn’t hear you,” Chief Harper said.

Marty Haskel inhaled, said angrily, “I was thinkin’ I’d like to win. I know that sounds stupid, comin’ from me. You work in a garage, you gotta be stupid. You work with your hands, you can’t work with your head. Well, stupid or not, I wanted to win. To beat all the big shots. To have that TV profile be about me. I still do.”

“You drop by the town hall this evening?” Chief Harper asked.

“To look at the standings? Of course I did.”

“Found out you were in second place?”

“That’s right.”

“You realize now you’re in first?” Chief Harper said it very casually.

Marty Haskel’s face darkened. “Is that how you’re thinkin’? Boy, is that dumb.” He looked at Cora Felton. “Why didn’t you straighten him out?”

Cora, who’d been left out of the conversation for some time, blinked at being addressed. “Straighten him out on what?”

“How the tournament works. Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“I know how the tournament works,” Cora Felton said. “Precisely what aspect of the tournament are you referring to?”

“The finals, of course. I’m talking about the finals.”

Cora Felton’s head began to hurt at the prospect of having to explain how the finals worked.

Fortunately, Chief Harper rescued her. “I’m sure Miss Felton knows how it works, Marty. At the moment, I’m more concerned with how
you
think it works.”

“I don’t think, I
know
,” Marty Haskel said. “Three people make the finals. Doesn’t matter who’s first, second, or third, all three get in. And their score isn’t carried over. It’s a fresh start, one puzzle, winner-take-all. All your old score matters is, whoever has the highest score gets a few seconds’ head start. Big deal. The last puzzle’s so hard a few seconds won’t matter.” He peered at Chief Harper. “You get what I’m sayin’? I was second, now he’s dead so I’m first. Big deal. Either way I get to play. Same thing
with whoever’s third. Now they’re second, and so what? It’s really no difference.”

Marty stroked his mustache. “Now, I don’t happen to know who it is, I wasn’t payin’ that much attention, ’cause what did I care? But if you wanna know who profits from Paul Thornhill’s death, you gotta look and see who was
fourth.
”

N
ED
D
OOWACKER SEEMED NERVOUS
. O
F COURSE, HE
wasn’t accustomed to being rousted out of bed to answer questions for the chief of police.

It was late, because it had taken Chief Harper and Cora Felton a long time to run Ned down. As there was no record of where he was staying, it had taken trial and error to hit the right bed-and-breakfast. Elsie Dixon in her nightgown had let them in, pointed Chief Harper in the direction of Ned’s door, and clumped back to bed without so much as asking what had brought the Bakerhaven police chief calling on one of her guests in the middle of the night. Chief Harper had clumped up after Elsie, returning minutes later with the aforementioned Ned Doowacker.