Puzzled to Death (32 page)

“You wanna move things along?” Chief Harper interrupted, looking at his watch.

“You think Craig did it? I don’t. I think this alleged break-in is
totally
unconnected to the homicides. Unless it’s your theory my client snapped, bumped off Paul
Thornhill, and then decided to do this gentleman in. If so, how do you account for the other murders? I’d be
very
interested to hear.”

Chief Harper scowled. “All right. What do you propose?”

“Frankly, I’d like to go to bed. As I doubt if there are any hotels nearby, that probably means driving back to New York. That’s rather inconvenient if I have to show up tomorrow morning—this morning—to get my client out of jail. If at all possible, I’d like to wrap things up right now. So, what do we have here? You drop the murder counts, and you’re left with the burglary. Considering nothing was stolen, that might go away. Or at least be reduced. Anyway, it’s Mr. Beerbaum’s house. He might not wish to press charges.”

“Is that so?” Harvey Beerbaum said. “Have you ever had
your
property broken into?”

“No, I haven’t, and I understand your just ire. So we have a situation here.” Roger Winnington turned to Chief Harper. “I assume you’re not waking up the judge to handle it now?”

“That would be a correct assumption.”

“I thought so.” Winnington steepled his fingers. “So, here’s the way it goes, Mr. Beerbaum. Tomorrow morning you will either be in the town hall, officiating at the completion of your crossword-puzzle tournament. Or you will be in the county courthouse, pressing charges against my client. The choice is up to you.”

Harvey Beerbaum frowned.

“I would imagine that would cause a
certain
backlash in the crossword-puzzle community,” Winnington went on. “A juicy bit of
scandal
. And the thing about scandal is, nobody ever gets it right. Particularly people who aren’t there. You know how the story will go? Craig
Carmichael, ostracized from the crossword-puzzle community for
getting
the answers from Harvey Beerbaum and then getting caught. Your name will forevermore be connected with shame and scandal. Whether people believe you gave the answers to Craig Carmichael or not.”

Harvey Beerbaum began to wriggle in his chair. “Now, see here. I don’t want to send anybody to jail, and I don’t want to ruin anybody’s life. But there’s no way I’m letting him compete. The possibility of him winning the tournament is totally unacceptable. No, I simply cannot allow it. He has to withdraw.”

“He can’t withdraw without an explanation.”

“So say he got sick.”

“If he were sick, he’d go home,” Winnington said complacently. “Chief Harper, will you let him go home?”

“Not on your life. He’s still a suspect in an ongoing murder investigation. He stays in town.”

“There you are,” Winnington said. “So he
can’t
withdraw.”

“Well, he can’t play either,” Beerbaum said.

“So what
can
he do?”

“He takes a dive,” Cora said.

The men looked at her.

“Huh?” Winnington said.

“He makes a mistake and loses. And I don’t mean in the play-off. He’s not even one of the final three. He makes a mistake on the seventh puzzle tomorrow morning. I don’t care what it is, just so it’s enough to knock him out of the finals. He’s a smart man, he’ll know what he needs to get wrong.”

Cora pushed her glasses up on her nose. “If he does that, we have a deal. And we won’t embarrass him by revealing any of this. Unless, of course, he’s a killer, in which case all bets are off. But, barring that, we have a
deal.” She stuck her finger in Winnington’s face. “You got that, Mr. Lawyer Man? You with your
mud-of-scandal-sticks-to-you
threats. Are we perfectly
clear
? Your client
doesn’t
make the finals. Because if he
should
make the finals, Harvey and I will step in right
then
and
there
and disqualify him for
cheating
. So you make
damn
sure that he
doesn’t.
”

Cora leaned back in her chair and smiled at the three men, whom she had just rendered speechless.

“There,” she said. “That wasn’t so
hard
, now, was it?”

S
HERRY MET
C
ORA AT THE FRONT DOOR
.

“You’re still awake,” Cora said. “When did the cops leave?”

“About an hour ago. They got floodlights, searched the backyard for evidence.”

“Find anything?”

“I doubt it. Sam Brogan was not communicative, but I watched out the window. They bagged a few papers, but they’re more likely litter than anything the killer dropped.” Sherry pointed to the headlights retreating down the road. “Chief Harper drive you home?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where were you?”

“You wouldn’t believe,” Cora told her.

Cora brought Sherry up to date on the situation. It took a while because there was a lot to tell, what with the Judy Vale revelation, the Harvey Beerbaum barbecue, and the Craig Carmichael intrusion. By the time Cora was finished she had changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed.
She yawned, stretched, said, “Whatever happened to those brownies?”

Sherry gawked at her. “Are you kidding me?”

“You mean you didn’t wrap them up? They’ll go stale. Even
I
know that.”

“We had a murder at our house. Or have you forgotten?”

“That’s no excuse.
We
didn’t get killed. Life goes on.”

“Cora, forget the brownies. What about Billy Pickens? Did Chief Harper ever get around to him?”

“Not unless he’s out there now.”

“I hope not.”

“Why? I trust you and Aaron paid a call.”

“Come on,” Sherry said. “You think I missed your sign?”

“I’m sure you didn’t. So what’s his story?”

“Same as his wife’s.”

“Oh?”

“As of now, they seem to be on the same page. She knows he’s vulnerable, knows he desperately needs an alibi. Only trouble is, they were both out last night.”

“Together?”

“No.”

Sherry sat on the edge of the bed and filled Cora in on the Billy and Sara Pickens situation, including them switching cars.

“Aaron knows that?” Cora asked.

“Of course.”

“And he’s sitting on it?”

“I’m sure he is,” Sherry said.

Cora looked at her sharply. “You mean he didn’t say he was?”

“Cora,” Sherry said irritably. “Aaron’s not publishing it. It was too late to be in this morning’s paper, and it
won’t be in tomorrow’s. I’ll make sure of that, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You all right with Aaron?” Cora said.

“We’re fine,” Sherry said. “I’m just angry with myself ’cause I should have made this explicit, but I didn’t, and it didn’t occur to me till you said so. Anyway, the point is they switched cars. That implies guilty knowledge.”

“You think he’s the killer?”

“Or she is, and he’s covering.”

“And why would either of them kill Paul Thornhill?”

“Because Paul knew he or she killed Judy Vale.”

Cora frowned.

“What’s wrong with that?” Sherry demanded.

“Nothing, that’s the problem. Everything’s right with that. Because of this barbecue. Paul Thornhill might have been around just about the time Billy Pickens hooked up with Judy Vale. If Thornhill saw the two of them together, then he’s a witness, and Mrs. Roth is a witness, and that’s what the two of them were gabbing about on Fun Night.”

“Yeah,” Sherry said. “But how do they hook up at Fun Night? How does Mrs. Roth know Thornhill’s a witness? Or vice versa?”

“I don’t know,” Cora said. “Because I don’t have all the facts. But if either Billy or Sara Pickens is the killer, it just might work.”

“I thought you were trying to prove Billy Pickens
wasn’t
the killer.”

“I am. But the facts are the facts. If he did it, I’m not going to shield him.”

“You think he did?”

“Well, there’s one big thing against him.”

“What’s that?”

“He knows where we live. Whoever killed Thornhill
had to know where we live. Or at
least find
where we live. Which wouldn’t be that easy when you throw in that the killer had to lure Thornhill out here. Or bring his dead body. Well, Billy Pickens not only knows where we live, he was just here. Telling us a story practically guaranteed to make us rush out and start investigating. So he not only knows where we live,
he knows we won’t be home
. And he’s practically the
only
person who would know that.”

“That’s pretty bad,” Sherry said. “You passing any of this on to Chief Harper?”

“Not on your life. I don’t
know
he’s guilty. The man came to me for help. I’m not going to throw him to the wolves.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” Cora considered. “Actually, I’d like to break into Marty Haskel’s again, see if he’s still got his crossword puzzle.”

Sherry gawked at her. “You’re joking!”

“When I tossed the place, I found a copy of Thornhill’s puzzle in Marty’s upstairs bedroom. A blank copy. Just like the one in Thornhill’s mouth.”

“Tossed?”

“Don’t start with me. The fact is, Marty had the puzzle.”

“So? If his puzzle was at home, he wasn’t out planting it on a corpse.”

“He could have come back and got it.”

“Why didn’t you ask him, then? When you were out there with Chief Harper, why didn’t you ask where it was?”

“I couldn’t figure out a way to slip it into the conversation. Harper’s withholding the puzzle, and I couldn’t admit I’d seen it.”

“What about the tournament?” Sherry asked. “Is it going ahead as scheduled?”

“Yes. And I’m totally dorked, and it’s all my fault.” Cora shook her head in disgust. “I had the perfect out. Craig Carmichael trying to peek at the puzzles could have stopped the whole show, if I’d just played my cards right. Harvey and the chief and Craig’s lawyer were so tied up in knots they were never going to agree on anything. If I’d just kept my mouth shut, they’d probably still be talking.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Cora grimaced. “I couldn’t help myself. I think it was the sleazy shyster oozing pretentious, condescending legalese. I just wanted to stick it to him. To wipe that smug smirk off his lips. I didn’t even think of the consequences. I just had to do it.”

“So you
saved
the tournament?”

“Ain’t that a kick in the face? Chief Harper’s gonna make a brief statement, then he’s gonna let ’em play. And I gotta do the commentary.”

“You know what you’re gonna say?”

“Not a clue.” Cora looked at the clock. “And I gotta be up in three hours.”

“You sure do. Better get to sleep.”

“Yeah.” Cora heaved herself out of bed, headed for the door.

“Hey!” Sherry said. “Where are you going?”

Cora turned back and smiled—her trademark Puzzle Lady smile. “Unless there’s another corpse in the backyard, I’m going to have some brownies.”

T
HE TOWN HALL WAS PACKED
. A
SIDE FROM THE CONTESTANTS
, an area had been roped off in the back for spectators, and it was jammed. Everyone in town had heard what had happened, and everyone was there.

The TV people were there too. The Channel 8 crew, and two other crews from New York.

Sherry Carter, standing in the back with Aaron, noted that Becky Baldwin was still hanging out with Rick Reed.

She also noted Aaron Grant’s parents in the crowd. So far, they had not acknowledged Aaron’s presence.

Cora Felton, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, stood onstage with Harvey Beerbaum. The TV crews had all tried to interview her when she arrived. None had succeeded. Cora had pushed on by, ignoring the microphones thrust in her face, the shouted questions regarding the body found in her yard. Keenly aware of the cameras still trained on her, Cora was expending a great deal of energy just trying not to yawn.

Or to give Harvey Beerbaum a good swift kick in the behind. After all, she had saved the man’s bacon, bailed him out when the lawyer had him buffaloed. And yet there he stood, with the same supercilious smirk on his face, taunting her with the prospect of her commentary. He had already brought the subject up three times. Once more, and Cora would be ready to scream.