Puzzled to Death

by Parnell Hall

“Doesn’t sound like a story.” Aaron sounded dejected.

  “Trust me, it isn’t. Uh-oh. Look who’s here.”

  “Who?”

  “Guy from the service station. What’s-his-name. Marty Haskel.”

  It was indeed the cranky mechanic who had voiced his displeasure at the early planning meeting. He stomped in, flipped the hood off his rain slicker, unzipped it, and shook off the water. He then proceeded to the front of the room, where the only other entrant, the tall, thin woman, also happened to be at the A–H table and was asking Edith Potter, the librarian, several questions. Haskel stood behind her, folding his arms, tapping his foot, and occasionally turning and rolling his eyes for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.

  “Would have made a great cabbie,” Sherry observed.

  “What?” Aaron said.

  Sherry jerked her thumb in Mr. Haskel’s direction. “In New York City. He’s the type of cab driver leans on the horn the second the light turns green.”

  “Hey, lady, could I get my badge?” Marty Haskel demanded in a voice loud enough to be heard even in the back of town hall.

  The tall, thin woman turned to see if he was some expert whose rudeness should be excused because he was higher on the cruciverbal ladder than she. Finding he was not, she impaled him with a look, then turned back to resume her chat with Edith Potter.

  Cora Felton, waiting with Harvey Beerbaum to greet the tall, thin woman, watched with amusement. Crossword puzzles didn’t interest her, but she would have been perfectly content to see a pair of crossword-puzzle people rip each other apart.

  It was not to be.

  The back door of the meeting room banged open, and Joey Vale strode in.

  He was not wearing a raincoat. His navy blue pea coat was soaked, as were his sneakers and jeans. His wet hair was plastered to his head. Water trickled down his brow.

  He took no notice. He stood, swaying, looked around the room. “So,” he declared in a loud, slurred voice, which left no doubt as to the state of his inebriation. “So, this is where they’re gonna do it. Crosswords. Judy’s dead, and you’re doing crosswords. Fine. Sign me up. I wanna do crosswords too.”

  Joey headed for the front of the room, didn’t get there, crashed instead into one of the many tables that were set up for the contestants. He stumbled, fell to the floor. Moments later he pulled himself up by the side of the table, like a monster in a horror movie rising up after everyone figured it was dead. He staggered to his feet, stumbled toward the front of the room.

  “Do something,” Sherry told Aaron.

  “I am,” Aaron said. He had a cell phone out, was punching in a number. “Chief, it’s Aaron. Better get over to town hall.”

  Joey Vale careened through the tables, crashing into some, missing others, and eventually reached the front of the room.

  Mrs. Cushman had moved the name tags as far out of harm’s way as possible to one end of the table and pushed the giveaway bags to the other end, leaving only the signin sheet exposed and vulnerable.

  “What’s this?” Joey Vale cried, snatching it from her before she could protest. He wheeled from the table, out of arm’s reach, and peered at the list. “What do we have here? Ah, yes. Names. List of names. Is the name of the man who killed Judy on here? That would be worth knowing. But no one cares.” His face twisted in an expression of grief. “No one cares,” he told the room weepily.

  Mrs. Cushman’s sign-in sheet consisted of two pages on a clipboard. Joey Vale flipped to the second page. He stared at it, or at least appeared to. Whether he could actually see it or not was impossible to tell. After a few moments he flipped the page back.

  “Worthless,” he declared loudly. “Absolutely worthless.”

  He pulled the pages from the clipboard, crumpled them, and threw them on the floor. He turned, hurled the clipboard against the wall.

  By that point the committeewomen at the tables were backing away, which was probably wise. With his left arm Joey Vale swept the name badges on the middle table to the floor. With his right arm he swept off the giveaway bags. Then he put both hands under the edge of the table, lifted it up, and flipped it over.

  Next he descended on Edith Potter’s table. He snatched up her clipboard and went through the same ritual with the sheets of paper, pulling them off, crumpling them up, and hurling the clipboard aside. He emptied the tabletop before flipping the table. This time he managed to achieve a little elevation and wipe out a table in the next row.

  Joey Vale was just descending on the third table when Chief Harper showed up to handcuff him and lead him away.

  ALL OF BAKERHAVEN WENT TO FUN NIGHT. WHETHER it was the novelty of the puzzle contest, or the fact they’d been through a tragedy with the murder of Judy Vale, or merely because the event was free, the turnout for Fun Night was way beyond expectations. Even women who had picketed the tournament showed up. Political idealism had rapidly eroded at the prospect of the heavily publicized complimentary dessert buffet.

  “We should have charged,” Iris Cooper said glumly, surveying the packed room.

  Harvey Beerbaum favored her with a superior smirk. “If we had, they wouldn’t have come. This way is clearly best. We get an enormous attendance, a few more get interested and register for the tournament, and we come out on top. Believe me, I know how these things work.”

  Iris Cooper, who was getting damn sick of Harvey Beerbaum and what he knew, was beginning to appreciate Cora Felton, who offered no opinions at all.

  “So, where’s the TV people?” Iris demanded irritably. “Why aren’t they covering this?”

  “I invited them,” Harvey said, “but they’re not coming.”

  “Why not?”

  “The station decided since Fun Night wasn’t part of the official competition, it wasn’t worth paying the crew.”

  Iris rolled her eyes. “Well, isn’t that just great. We’re not getting any publicity, and we’re not making a dime. And everyone in town is here.”

  “All but one,” Cora Felton observed dryly.

  Joey Vale, much to the tournament planning committee’s relief, was spending the night in jail.

  “The celebrities are certainly a draw,” Harvey Beerbaum ventured, in an attempt to get back in Iris Cooper’s good graces.

  This was only moderately true. Zelda Zisk was enormously odd, to the point of putting people off, or at least making them hesitant to approach her. She had a rather attractive face but had gone way overboard with her makeup, perhaps in an attempt to distract attention from her immense girth. Her eyeliner was nearly a quarter inch wide, her bloodred lipstick might have been put on with a trowel, and her false eyelashes looked like she’d stuck caterpillars on her eyelids. Her dark brown hair was piled carelessly on the top of her head with wooden combs. Hoop earrings the size of hubcaps framed mobiles that jingled when she moved. Her smile was inviting, but her appearance was unsettling, at best. She also had an uncommonly loud voice and a laugh that rattled the rafters. As a result, Zelda had a table all to herself, a small island from which she beckoned to those who passed like a siren of the sea. Or a beached whale.

  Craig Carmichael, shy to the point of paranoia, was giving a good impression of a dweeby bookkeeper on the lam from the mob. Although not alone at his table, he kept his hands over his face at most times, avoided eye contact, and answered questions out of the side of his mouth in words that were scarcely audible. His manner could not have been more furtive had he been pilfering nuclear secrets.

  Even Paul Thornhill was a bit of a bust. The handsome, personable young man, whose stylish good looks were undoubtedly responsible for the attendance of many of the unattached women in town—and probably some of the attached women as well—had disappointed one and all by showing up with his spouse. Mrs. Thornhill was a perfectly nice, polite, attractive, vibrant young woman, who seemed quite attentive to her husband and whom half the town already loathed.

  “Yeah, your celebrities are wonderful,” Iris Cooper told Harvey tersely. “It�
�s nearly eight. Are you ready to begin?”

  Harvey Beerbaum checked his watch. “Three minutes till,” he declared in a punctilious tone that made Iris cringe.

  Cora covered her mouth and pretended to sneeze to avoid laughing out loud. She moved away from Harvey and Iris and looked out over the crowded room.

  Sherry Carter stood in the back by the door, having declined several offers to join teams. Sherry, who could rip through the puzzles like lightning, did not dare to do so tonight. Of course she could have just pretended to do poorly, but that would have been excruciating. No, tonight Sherry was much happier not to play.

  Standing next to Sherry was Aaron Grant, who would have played if Sherry had wanted to but otherwise couldn’t care. Aaron was there to find a story for his paper and to keep Sherry company.

  While Cora watched, Becky Baldwin came in. She looked around the room, then moved over to Sherry and Aaron. It killed Cora not to be able to listen in, but she couldn’t leave the stage.

  “Well,” Becky said, “what’s the matter? Aren’t you playing?”

  “Just watching,” Aaron said.

  “That’s dull. You wanna form a team?”

  “The teams are four,” Sherry said, and instantly regretted the comment, which pointed up the fact Becky was alone on the one hand and underlined the idea of a romantic triangle on the other. “Anyway, I don’t want to play. I’m just here to root for Cora.”

  “As if she needs it,” Becky said primly. “I’m not here to play either. Just checking out the scene for my client.”

  Sherry frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Joey Vale, up in the hoosegow. Having a rough time of it. In a cell, sleeping it off. That’s who I’m concerned with at the moment.”

  “You’re sweating a drunk-and-disorderly charge?”

  “No.” Becky pointed toward the stage. “Thanks to your dear interfering aunt, I’m sweating murder. It seems Cora bent Chief Harper’s ear about how Joey could have killed his wife after all, and suddenly he’s a suspect again.”

  “Are you serious?” Aaron said, brightening.

  “Not really. Cora’s theories are so wacky, no one’s gonna believe them anyway. It just burns me up to think she turned me down and threw in with the chief.”

  Harvey Beerbaum stepped to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, grinning from ear to ear and oblivious to the fact that the mike was turned up so loud a dog outside town hall started to howl, “welcome to our first annual Bakerhaven Charity Crossword-Puzzle Tournament.”

  Iris Cooper and Cora Felton looked at each other. This was the first indication Harvey Beerbaum had given either of them this was to be more than a onetime event.

  “Tonight is your free introduction to crossword-puzzle tournaments,” Harvey Beerbaum went on blithely. “Tonight’s Fun Night, and we do intend to have fun. So let’s get going. As you know, tonight you are going to attempt to solve some extremely interesting puzzles. The first has been contributed by Mr. Craig Carmichael, one of our famed contestants. Stand up and take a bow, Craig.”

  Harvey Beerbaum couldn’t have chosen a worse way to kick off his Fun Night. Craig Carmichael shambled to his feet with all the enthusiasm of a man on his way to the gallows. He managed a feeble little wave and instantly sat back down.

  “You will work on Craig’s puzzle in teams of four. You will each have a copy of the puzzle. At a signal from me, you will all begin working. You will work only on your own copy of the puzzle, and on no one else’s. And you may not help anyone else on your team.

  “And why is that?” Harvey Beerbaum beamed paternally down at the crowd. “At a signal from me—I will say the word switch—you must pass your puzzle around the table according to my explicit directions. For instance, I may say, pass left, pass right, or pass across. You must then begin working on the copy of the puzzle you receive.”

  Harvey Beerbaum’s eyes sparkled. “See where the fun comes in?” He paused expectantly but did not receive the appreciative chuckles he seemed to anticipate from the audience, so he went on. “The puzzle you get won’t have all the same answers filled in that your previous puzzle did. So you’ll have to fill those in again. And just when you get a good train of thought going, I’ll yell switch!

  “Volunteers are passing out the puzzles now. If you are competing, leave the puzzles facedown on your table until you hear the command go from me.”

  Volunteers from the tournament planning committee circulated through the room, passing out puzzles.

  “They’re all women,” Becky Baldwin said.

  “What’s your point?” Aaron asked.

  Becky slapped at him playfully. “Sexist pig. Real work is for men, volunteer work is only for women?”

  “I notice you didn’t volunteer,” Aaron observed.

  “I have a job. Not that it’s paying well just now. If it were, I might have time to volunteer.”

  A woman came by with puzzles. Sherry recognized her as the wife of Mr. Gelman, the town banker. Mrs. Gelman offered her a puzzle.

  “I’m not playing,” Sherry told her.

  Mrs. Gelman smiled. “It doesn’t matter, dear. Everyone gets a puzzle, whether they’re playing or not.” She handed puzzles to Sherry, Aaron, and Becky and continued on around the room.

  Sherry looked at her puzzle.

  A swift glance showed the puzzle was simple enough for Sherry to finish in a matter of minutes. She folded it up, stuck it in her purse.

  At the microphone, Harvey Beerbaum bellowed, “Are you ready? Then, ready, set, go!”

  The dog howled.

  At the tables, the papers were turned over. In some cases, pencils began flashing. In others, puzzles were stared at.

  “Care to have a go at it?” Harvey Beerbaum smirked, sidling up behind Cora and holding up two puzzle sheets.

  “I don’t think so,” Cora told him.

  “Come on,” Harvey persisted. “A little friendly competition. Just you and me.”

  “Don’t you have to keep time and say ‘Switch’?” Cora pointed out.

  Harvey was not so easily dissuaded. “I could do that in my sleep. I bet I can still beat you, even with one eye on the clock. What do you say?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Oh, but I insist.”

  “What’s the matter?” Cora said irritably. “You think I can’t do it?”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth, Cora wanted to call them back.

  Harvey looked at her sharply.

  Cora was suddenly seized with icy dread. She felt hollow. Exposed. In the grip of an anxiety attack.

  “Some other time,” Cora mumbled. She fled from Harvey Beerbaum, caught Sherry’s attention, and beckoned her over.

  “What is it?” Sherry whispered when she had reached her aunt.

  “Sherry, I think I blew it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With Harvey Beerbaum. I think he knows.”

  “Cora—”

  CURIOUS CANINES

  by Craig Carmichael

  ACROSS DOWN

  1 Ways 1 Fake jewelry

  6 Leers at 2 Genus of plant lice

  11 B—F connection 3 Chaplin persona

  14 Eliot’s cruelest month 4 Robbers’ roost

  15 “Arthur” star 5 Congressman and Union

  16 Possessed army officer Henry

  17 Sparring dog? Warner

  19 Bullfight cheer 6 17th century card game

  20 Work record 7 Not bad

  21 German field marshal 8 Bagels and___

  Rommel 9 Before (Arch.)

  23 Marry 10 Most peaceful

  24 Shore of TV fame 11 Hungry dog?

  26 Arbiter 12 Surrealist Salvador

  27 Shoeless 13 Paradise

  30 Fancy dude 18 Stinging insect

  33 Handwoven wall hanging 22 English flyboys

  24 Risks

  34 Tiny Tim’s instrument 25 Retirement funds

  35 Fuss 27 Payoff

 
36 Most kempt 28 Edible pod

  38 Gun club 29 Mets or Yankees

  39 Sass 30 Fellas cohorts

  40 Desert people 31 Change text

  41 Cheese 32 Scoreless dog?

  42 Work obstruction 33 Saying

  44 Clothing chain 36 Carole King album

  46 “Goodnight,____” 37 Persia, now

  47 Most comfy (Var.) 41 Letter

  51 Dames 43 Before, in prefixes

  53 Memento 44 Leaves

  54 Oil paintings 45 Feature

  55 Fashionable dog? 47 Gives up

  58 Expire 48 Consumed

  59 Hindu princess 49 Angles

  60 Detective’s finds (Var.) 50 Curt

  61 Corn unit 51 Green gemstone

  62 Affirmatives 52 Operatic solo

  63 Present, for instance 53 Leg joint

  56 Actress____ Dawn Chong

  57 Printers’ measures

  “You don’t understand. He keeps asking me to do crossword puzzles.”

  “Cora,” Sherry said in exasperation. “It’s a crossword-puzzle tournament. You expect him to ask you to dance?”

  “No, but—”

  “Cora, I just left Aaron Grant with Becky Baldwin to come over here. I have no time for this nonsense.”

  Sherry turned and stalked back.

  Cora snorted indignantly. Well, if that didn’t beat all. Just whose idea was it to keep up the Puzzle Lady pretense, anyway? If Sherry didn’t care, why should she?

  Of course, Cora did care. She immediately looked to see if Harvey Beerbaum was watching her, but he wasn’t. Fine, she told herself. She was just imagining it, like Sherry said. She just had to calm down, get her mind on something else.

  Like the murder. That was the ticket. That was just what the doctor ordered. What she needed to do was case the room for likely suspects.

  Cora looked around. At the table in front of her was Marty Haskel, the cranky service-station man from the first planning meeting. Mr. Haskel was seated with three other men and was attacking his puzzle with a grim determination that made Cora’s blood run cold.

  At the table next to Marty were the two women Cora had met at the crime scene. Charlotte, whose fake-fur coat hung over the seat in back of her, was working on the puzzle. Opposite her sat her large friend Betty, whose hair was a true testament to the curlers she had been wearing when Cora met her. Her brown hair hung down the sides of her long face in tight rings, making her look like a horse in a wig.