The Crossword Murder (20 page)

The expected sound never came; instead he heard quiet breathing on the other end of the line. “Is someone there?”

“Rosco?”

“Belle …? What are you doing at the yacht club?”

“I'm not at the yacht club. I'm home.” Her voice cracked.

Rosco glanced at the open Rolodex. “I dialed the yacht club—I think.”

“You probably did. I called you. That's why you didn't get through. I was on the line. I heard you pushing in the numbers.”

“Are you all right?” His voice echoed with concern. “You sound like you've just run a fast mile.”

“No … I mean, yes … I think someone broke into my house.”

“When!? When did this happen?”

“Right after you left.” Belle stopped. He heard her inhale a long breath. “I walked to the store … When I returned the door was double-locked … and then it wasn't.”

“I'm coming over.”

“No … I'm okay. Whoever it is has gone. You don't need to drop what you're doing. It just rattled me, that's all. I thought it was Garet paying a surprise visit, and I—”

“Did you call the police?”

“No. Nothing was stolen. I broke some eggs—”

“You're certain you're okay?”

“And an entire jar of capers. Do you know how much capers cost?”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Why don't you wait outside—in public view where you can be easily seen by the neighbors.”

“I can take care of myself, Rosco, really.”

“I'll just come over and take a look around.”

“Really, I'm okay.”

“Do me this favor, Belle.”

Rosco noticed the change in her immediately. She was hesitant, definitely shaken but attempting such a reasonable demeanor that he decided it was wiser to follow suit. Burglary victims—or victims of any crime, for that matter—dealt with the emotional impact of their situations very differently. It wasn't the first time Rosco had witnessed behavior like Belle's. They walked the house together.

“… I suppose my return scared the intruder off before he could grab anything … The papers on my desk were rearranged somewhat, and some of the books in Garet's office, but other than those two spots, everything appears normal.”

“Did you see anyone? … a shadow? … anything?”

“No. And I didn't hear any noise either. That's why I thought I was probably imagining things … And then the door blew shut … and I broke the jar of capers.”

“So it could have been a man or a woman.” Rosco was muttering to himself.

“It was a big jar, too.”

“We can get you more capers, Belle.”

She stopped; the meaning behind Rosco's words finally penetrated her brain. She seemed about to speak, then appeared to reconsider. Her shoulders straightened and a look of concentration covered her face. “I'm sure it was just a neighborhood kid's prank,” she said.

Rosco didn't fully agree, although he decided to play along. “Probably.”

His tone soothed her. “After all, it doesn't make any sense … someone breaking in and not taking anything.”

“You're right.”

“Why would a person illegally enter a home without a reason?”

“You're right, Belle. It doesn't make sense.”

She studied his face as if looking for—or fearing—the answer they were both avoiding.

“And another thing … whoever was in here used my copy machine. The counter was up by three numbers. So that proves it was a kid.”

Rosco didn't answer immediately. “Why would a kid do that, do you think?”

“I don't know … He—or she—must have been playing with it.”

Rosco thought, Kids don't break into houses to toy with copy machines—or without leaving marks on a door or window, but didn't say it. Instead he drummed his fingers on Belle's desk. “Why don't we take a look at that copier.”

He carried the desk lamp to the machine and angled it toward the Start button. “No visible prints …”

Belle's gray eyes grew enormous. “Does that mean the person was wearing gloves?”

“It's a possibility.”

Her lips tightened. “I must have made a mistake with my counting …”

“Burglaries happen, Belle. No one's immune … And the perpetrators are pros … I'll call Lever and have him send a squad car over.”

Belle's vehement “No” took Rosco by surprise. She softened her response with a gentler “Garet wouldn't appreciate a police investigation. He has an absolute terror of ‘adverse publicity.'”

“But it wouldn't be an investigation … just a routine visit … Besides, Garet's a long way away, isn't he?”

The statement only made Belle retreat farther into her shell. “This isn't a big deal,” she said several times. Then they sat in uneasy silence in her office.

“How about I ask Al Lever for a patrol car to make a regular sweep of the neighborhood?” Rosco finally said. “Your house won't be singled out … Besides which, your neighbors are bound to be pleased at the constabulary attention.”

Belle, after several long, pensive moments agreed. “That should take care of that,” she said when he wrapped up his call to Lever. “Safe and sound.”

“Yep,” Rosco agreed, although he recognized that this particular felon would have little trouble avoiding police scrutiny. “Safe and sound.”

On the porch, he was as loath to leave as she was to see him go.

“So was my description of Betsey correct?” Belle tried resuming a joking tone.

“Right on the money.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

“And did she make a pass at you?”

“I wouldn't necessarily call it a pass.”

The fact that Belle let this comment slide made Rosco realize how distracted her thoughts still were. “So why were you calling the yacht club?” she asked after another painful pause.

“To ask Peter Kingsworth to ferry me out to Windword after he quits work.”

His answer seemed to brighten Belle considerably. “I could take you,” she said, then added a genuinely pleased, “I gather you're beginning to see things my way?”

“Meaning …?”

“You're visiting Windword to look for missing puzzles … or copies of them?”

Rosco smiled. “You're so sure of yourself?”

“Am I correct?”

“No, you're not, Miss Know-it-all. After talking to Betsey the tiger I've begun to take your blackmail theory seriously. I'm going to the island to poke around for Briephs' bank records—”

“We can hunt for them together, then.”

Rosco started to protest, then considered the alternative: leaving Belle alone with a probable felon still at large. “Sure. Sounds good to me.”

“Oh, no … wait,” was her halting response. “I forgot … We can't take my boat … The last time I started the motor, it began belching billows of white smoke. The public marinas mechanic, Eddie, is ‘studying the situation'—But I can call Peter for you. I have a better way with him than you do.”

CHAPTER 26

D
RIVING TO THE
yacht club, Belle's take-charge spirit began to revive. “What do you mean, Betsey didn't make a pass at you?” was the first question she launched at Rosco.

“I said, ‘not necessarily.'”

“So she did?”

“Did what?” he asked as if unaware of her true feelings.

“Try to seduce you?” Belle watched Rosco study the road ahead, a line of spurious concentration wrinkling his forehead.

“Not really …”

Belle laughed. “I hope you're a better liar than that … What a pitiful answer.” She continued chuckling to herself.

“Well, she's a flirt, sure. But not my type at all.”

Belle was about to ask, And what is your type? But caught herself and moved to safer ground. “What's your opinion of this ‘flirt'?”

Rosco responded in an equally businesslike tone, “An interesting woman. Certainly not above suspicion. What struck me as odd, though, was that she was easily persuaded to view Briephs' death as murder. Before we spoke, she'd been under the impression he'd died of natural causes.”

“Then where does blackmail enter the picture?”

“Clearly, Briephs didn't need money, but he seems the type who could have been involved in emotional blackmail—money being a secondary issue—part of the game, as it were … Anyway, I'm hoping to discover some unexplained deposits in his bank statements.”

“But who would Thompson blackmail?”

“Betsey, for one. Your original idea was correct. They were having, or had been having, an affair … My hunch is that one of them had dumped the other when the situation grew too dicey.”

Rosco eased the Jeep onto the harbor road, increasing the speed to fifty as he continued talking. “Scenario number one: She ditches him, he blackmails her, she kills him. Scenario number two: He dumps her, but he's sadistic enough to keep toying with her … Again she's the killer.”

Belle considered Rosco's theory. “What about jealous husband discovers affair and murders evil lover?”

Rosco looked at her and smiled. “I haven't entirely discounted that scenario. Is that what your husband would do?”

“I'm not having an affair.” Belle felt her face flush.

“No … No … Of course you're not. But in most circumstances, a jealous husband—if he's the murderous type—will kill his wife before attacking the man she's involved with … That's
most
of the time … I believe Steven Housemann is capable of murder, although my gut tells me he's indulged in too many affairs to go after the man. He'd nail Betsey first.”

Belle turned her head toward the sea, watching day sailers jockey for position in the deeper offshore waters. Rosco imagined she was pondering the Housemanns' tangled relationship, but she wasn't. She was wondering how Garet would behave if she were having an affair. She suspected his reaction would be far less impassioned than murder.

Rosco's jerky stop at the yacht club's security gate returned her to the present. After informing the guard of their appointment with Peter Kingsworth, they were directed to the refueling dock.

Peter was already aboard when they approached. He greeted them with one of his signature toothy white smiles followed by, “Well, if it isn't Newcastle's most gorgeous newspaper person.”

Rosco's jaw tightened discernibly, although he managed a smile of his own. “Watch it there, Peter. The lady's married.”

“Hey, how are you, Rosco? I'd already forgotten you were going to the island, too. What is it they say? Two's company, three's a crowd?”

“I think that's the way it goes.”

Peter's cheery demeanor and big grin irritated Rosco, but Belle obviously found him refreshing and wholesome. “I don't know what happened to my boat's motor, it was fine the other day … It's nice of you to do this for us. I'll make it up to you.”

As he pushed off, Peter said, “Any time, the pleasure's mine. Maybe we can have dinner sometime?”

“Or lunch. Evenings usually aren't good for me.” Belle looked to Rosco for support but he merely chortled smugly and watched the waves.

“What takes you back to Windword, anyway?” Peter asked.

“That's confidential,” Rosco said too quickly, then added an officious, “Mrs. Briephs asked us to pick up a few of Thompson's personal effects.”

“Well, I'm here to help. Mr. Briephs really has been missed around here. He was a true fixture in the marina.” Peter headed his Boston Whaler directly into a swell and glanced back to watch Rosco grab the side of the boat and turn a light shade of green. He then looked at Belle and winked. “Yep, a real fixture.”

“Were you at the yacht club the day he was killed?” Belle asked.

“Nope. My day off. I came in at noon the next day to find the police launch ferrying all sorts of people out there.”

Rosco attempted to say something but clamped his mouth shut as Peter slammed into another swell.

Belle laughed and said, “Who found him?”

“No one really. I think the police said his mother had been trying to reach him all night and then finally called the Coast Guard in the morning. That's who discovered him, the Coast Guard.” Peter angled for another wave. After he hit it he said, “How you doing back there, Rosco?”

Rosco was unable to open his mouth, and his eyes seemed to be rolling back into their sockets, so Belle answered for him. “He'll be fine … Once we get him over there.” She gave Peter a quick smile. “I don't think he likes the water.”

Once Belle and Peter had secured the lines to Windword's dock they stepped onto it and turned to help Rosco out of the boat. His knees seemed extremely watery as he moved down the dock toward the house, and he grabbed each piling for support as he passed.

“I'd be happy to come in and give you a hand,” Peter said as they reached the front door.

“Thanks, Peter. The police have reclassified this as a homicide.” Rosco slid the key into the lock. “They've asked that anyone nonofficial remain outside. In fact, you probably should stay on the dock. Forensics will most likely be looking for footprints in the ground near all the windows and doors.”

“Oh, boy.”

“What?”

Peter scratched the back of his head as he spoke. “I came out yesterday and looked in the windows. Jeez, I'm sorry—I was just curious, you know?”

This gave Rosco a definite feeling of superiority, which erased the final traces of seasickness. “Well, don't worry about it. If the police come out here, just tell them so they don't spend days trying to find out whose footprints they are.”

“Right.”

Belle pulled the key from the lock and after they stepped inside, whispered to Rosco, “Is that all true? No one can come in here? And they'll be searching for footprints?”