Puzzled to Death

by Parnell Hall

  Chief Harper glared at her.

  Jessica Thornhill began to cry.

  Rick Reed moved in, as if to console her, but she jerked away. “No,” she said. “I have to be strong, I have to get through this. Whoever did this must pay.” She wheeled on Chief Harper. “What do you want to know?”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to kill your husband?”

  Her lip trembled. “Of course not. Everybody loved Paul. He was a wonderful man, so smart, so talented. Obviously it had nothing to do with him. It had to do with that old woman.” Jessica added, as if by inspiration, “What about that awful man? The one she pulled away from my husband. There’s someone connected to both of them. Why aren’t you looking for him?”

  “I will, Mrs. Thornhill. He’ll be one of the first ones I question,” Chief Harper assured her, but he couldn’t for a moment imagine Marty Haskel killing anyone. “Can you think of anyone else?”

  Jessica Thornhill studied him. It was as if in spite of the enormity of the tragedy, she could still recognize the stupidity of the question.

  “No, I can’t,” she said. “We’re from New York. We don’t know anyone here. Just the other contestants and Harvey Beerbaum.”

  “What about the other contestants?” Chief Harper asked. “Is there anything there? Any he’s known for some time who for some reason or other don’t happen to like him?”

  “Not at all. I tell you, everyone liked him. Oh, Ned Doowacker was jealous, but so what? Ned Doowacker was always jealous.”

  “And Ned Doowacker is …”

  “One of the contestants.”

  “And you say he was jealous of your husband?”

  “Yes, but so what? It’s no big deal.”

  Chief Harper barely restrained himself from saying, I’ll be the judge of that. “Even so,” he said. “Tell me more. Was this just in terms of this tournament or was it an ongoing thing?”

  “Just in general. It’s a competitive thing among the top contestants. Ned often felt slighted. In this tournament, for instance. Paul, Craig, and Zelda were singled out as celebrity contestants while Ned wasn’t.”

  “And this caused resentment?”

  Jessica waved her arm angrily. “Chief, you’re off on the wrong track. Ned didn’t want to kill him, just beat him. He couldn’t stand it that Paul was number one.”

  “You mean in general? Nationwide?”

  Jessica Thornhill frowned. Said irritably, “No, of course not. There’s lots of stars at the nationals. But Paul was always ahead of him, and in this tournament he was number one.”

  “Is that right?” Chief Harper asked Cora.

  “Most likely.”

  “Not most likely,” Jessica said. “He was number one so far.”

  “How do you know that?” Cora asked.

  “Don’t you even know your own tournament? They posted the standings right after dinner.”

  “That’s interesting,” Chief Harper said. “Where did they post them?”

  “In the town-hall lobby. So anyone could come in and get their score.”

  “And your husband was number one?” Chief Harper said.

  “Didn’t I just say that? Of course he was. By a wide margin.”

  “Who was number two?” Cora asked.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Was it this Ned Doowacker?” Chief Harper asked.

  “I don’t think Ned was that high. But he might have been. I really didn’t pay that much attention.”

  “And you say this was posted after dinner? Where any of the contestants could have gone in and seen it?”

  “Yes. But I tell you, this had nothing to do with it. Who would want to kill Paul over a lousy contest?”

  “Who indeed?” Chief Harper said. He raised his voice, called, “Sam. Look out for Mrs. Thornhill, will you? I’m leaving you in charge. I have to run into town.”

  “Where you going, Chief?” Cora said as he headed for the car.

  “Town hall. I wanna see that score.”

  “Oh, come on, Chief. You really think it means something?”

  “I don’t know. But at this point I’ll take anything I can get.”

  “Can I come too?”

  “It might look better if you drove your own car.”

  “It’s blocked in.”

  “Okay, so get Aaron and Sherry to take you.”

  Cora Felton said nothing.

  Looking around, Chief Harper said, “Say, where are they? I thought I just saw them.”

  “I was busy talking to you,” Cora said.

  “Well, they’re not here now.”

  Cora Felton smiled slightly.

  “Gee, I guess they aren’t.”

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I CAN’T WRITE IT?” AARON GRANT complained.

  “Just what I said,” Sherry Carter told him. “You’re getting the inside track on a very interesting story, and you can’t write it.”

  “How can you do that to me?”

  “I didn’t do that to you. Cora did that to you. When she slipped us the high sign and told us to leave.”

  “And you knew what that meant?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And just how did you happen to know what that meant?”

  “Speaking not for publication, I’d be happy to tell you.”

  “Give me a break,” Aaron said. “At least tell me where we’re going.”

  “We’re driving along this road. We’re following my directions. When we come to an understanding, I’ll name our destination.”

  “Come on, Sherry. We just left a murder scene. I should be writing it up, not following some lead I can’t write about.”

  “I thought the paper’d gone to bed.”

  “It has.”

  “So you’ve got all day to write up your murder scene, haven’t you? Unless you’re expecting an extra.”

  “The Gazette hasn’t run an extra in twenty years.”

  “So what’s your problem?”

  “I’d like to know what we’re doing.”

  “You will, as soon as we have a deal.”

  “How can I make a deal without knowing the facts?”

  “It’s called trust, Aaron,” Sherry said pointedly. “You trust me not to do anything to hurt you.”

  Aaron didn’t like her tone of voice, tried to make light of it. “Of course I do. I also trust you to always try to win.”

  “This isn’t a game. This is a case of doing the right thing.”

  “The right thing being …”

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “Why did we sneak off? Is this something you’re keeping from Chief Harper?”

  “Of course.”

  “Deal,” Aaron said firmly.

  Sherry made a face. “You’re making all the wrong moves lately, Aaron. You won’t make a deal just to please me. But to spite Chief Harper, you can’t wait.”

  “I’m doing this to please you. Spiting Chief Harper’s just the icing on the cake.”

  “I thought you liked Chief Harper.”

  “I do. Hey, didn’t I agree to withhold the minor detail about the crossword puzzle in the guy’s mouth? I play ball with Harper. But he’s a cop. It’s always nice to put one over on a cop.”

  Aaron reached an intersection, turned left.

  “I didn’t tell you to turn,” Sherry said.

  “I know, but this is the way to Billy Pickens’s.”

  “How do you know that’s where we’re going?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but how’d you know?”

  “The way his name didn’t come up in the conversation.”

  “Sure hope he has an alibi.”

  “Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  Aaron pulled into Billy Pickens’s driveway behind a Ford station wagon. Sara Pickens opened the door in her nightgown. “Yes?” she said. She didn’t look pleased to see them.

  Sherry Carter didn’t waste time. “There was another murder tonight. Get your husban
d—we need to talk before the police get here.”

  Sara Pickens gaped at them, then said softly, “Come in.” She left them in the kitchen, returned minutes later with her husband.

  Billy Pickens was wearing blue pajamas and his bathrobe. At the sight of Aaron Grant he drew back in alarm. “You are not putting our family in the paper.”

  “That’s right,” Aaron said. “This is off the record. At least until the police take some action.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? And what’s this about another murder? Who got killed?”

  “Paul Thornhill, the big-deal celebrity contestant. Someone murdered him.”

  “When?” Sara Pickens asked.

  Billy Pickens frowned.

  “The police don’t know yet,” Aaron answered, “but it was apparently sometime this evening. According to his wife, he went out to the liquor store and never came back. So it’s important to pin down where everybody was tonight. Was your husband home all evening, Mrs. Pickens?”

  Sara Pickens stared at him. “How can you ask me that? Billy had absolutely nothing to do with that man.”

  “Maybe not,” Aaron said, “but Mrs. Roth was seen talking to him, just as she was seen talking to Billy.”

  “This is insane,” Billy said. “Absolutely insane. Are you telling me I’m in danger?”

  “That may well be,” Sherry Carter said before Aaron could reply. “But the immediate danger is that the police may suspect anyone with any connection to Mrs. Roth. She talked to both of you, and that’s enough for them. You’re gonna need an alibi, so if you had one it would be good. So were you here all evening?”

  Billy glared at her. Sherry knew how he felt. It was a hell of a thing to be asking him in front of his wife, in light of the fact he’d snuck out to call on Cora.

  “I went out earlier for pizza,” he said. “For the girls.”

  “How much earlier?”

  “I don’t know. Say around seven.”

  “And after that?”

  “I was home.”

  “Is that right, Mrs. Pickens?”

  “You doubt his word?” Sara Pickens said.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Sherry told her. “If the police want an alibi, they don’t take anyone’s word, they want corroboration. Can you vouch for your husband’s whereabouts the rest of the evening?”

  Sara Pickens grimaced. “Actually, I went out.”

  “At what time?”

  “Eight-thirty, nine.”

  “Which was it, eight-thirty or nine?”

  “Hey,” Billy said. “Leave my wife alone.”

  “Get real,” Sherry told him. “When the police ask these questions, they’ll be very insistent. Let’s try to pin it down now.”

  “It was probably closer to eight-thirty,” Sara told her. “I went to the store. The supermarket. Out at the mall.”

  “When’d you get back?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere around ten.”

  “You were gone an hour and a half?” Aaron said.

  “Something like that. I walked around the mall awhile before I shopped.”

  “So,” Sherry said. “You can’t vouch for your husband’s whereabouts. But if you were out at the mall, then you had the car. So Billy couldn’t have gone anywhere.”

  “Actually, we have two cars,” Sara said.

  “Really? There’s only one in the driveway.”

  “The other’s in our garage.”

  “Oh? And what kind of car is that?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Just trying to get things straight,” Sherry said. “You have a Ford station wagon in the driveway. What kind of car is in the garage?”

  “A Nissan Sentra.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sherry said. She turned to Billy Pickens. “When you went out for pizza, what car did you take?”

  “Why?”

  “Someone may have seen you there at the pizza place. Or recognized your car there, or seen you getting into it. All of which would be corroboration of the fact that that’s where you were.”

  “How about the fact I brought a pizza home for my kids?”

  “That’s good too, but I’d like to try to keep your daughters out of this. What time did they go to bed?”

  “Ellie at eight-thirty. Wendy at nine. You’re not going to wake them up, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. Do you still have the pizza box?”

  “It’s in the garbage.”

  “Good. Leave it there. If the police ask, you can show them.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Sara Pickens said.

  “Maybe,” Sherry agreed. “You remember what car you took out for pizza, Billy?”

  “I took the Nissan. And Jed Benson saw me get into it. Carrying the pizza box. Is that enough for you?”

  “Not quite,” Sherry said. “Sara, which car did you take to the mall?”

  Sara Pickens hesitated.

  Sherry grimaced. “See, there’s your problem. If Billy took the Nissan for pizza, then the Nissan should be parked behind the station wagon. And you’d naturally take the Nissan to the mall. But then when you came back, you’d still be parked behind the station wagon. The station wagon might even be in the garage. But it isn’t. The Nissan’s in the garage, and the station wagon’s parked behind it. That looks like you took the station wagon to the mall. But if you did, how did you get out of the garage with the Nissan parked behind it? See the problem? I’m sure you do, because that’s why you hesitate to answer. You know neither answer works. And you know why. And it’s the same reason you’re not telling us to go to hell and throwing us out of here. It’s because you’re really upset, you haven’t had time to talk and get your stories straight, but you’re trying to test your theories and see what you could do.” Sherry raised a finger. “Now, I’ll tell you what really happened. Billy went out for pizza, like he said. He admits he drove the Nissan because he has to, since he was seen in it. He drove home with the pizza. After dinner, Sara, you took the Nissan and went shopping in the mall. You’ve got groceries to prove it, though an hour and a half is a long time for grocery shopping, but I won’t get into that now. The point is, you got back and found the garage door open and the station wagon gone. You put the Nissan in the garage, unloaded your groceries, and proceeded to sweat. Billy drove up minutes later in the station wagon, and you proceeded to sweat him. Was he out of his mind, what was he thinking of, leaving your girls alone? He must have had a good enough story to satisfy you, otherwise you two wouldn’t be ready for bed. You’d still be arguing about it.”

  Billy and Sara Pickens said nothing.

  “You have anything you want to tell us?” Sherry asked.

  They said nothing.

  “Okay, that’s it. I would imagine the police will be here rather soon. I’d advise you to be forthcoming, direct, and helpful. In particular, don’t let them catch you in a lie.”

  “We’re not lying,” Billy protested.

  “I’m glad to hear it. On the other hand, you don’t have to volunteer everything unless specifically asked. That’s not to say don’t be cooperative, that’s just to say don’t be stupid. Sorry to bother you, we’ll let ourselves out.”

  Sherry turned, guided a rather dazed Aaron Grant out the door.

  “What was that all about?” Aaron demanded, as he followed Sherry back to the car.

  “Nothing, I hope,” Sherry said. She left Aaron standing there, got in the passenger seat. After a moment he walked around the car and climbed in.

  “Okay,” Aaron said, backing out of the driveway, “I know Billy is rumored to be linked to Judy. And you’re tap-dancing all around the subject, talking to his wife. What’s that got to do with tonight, and what’s this bit about the cars?”

  “I got a bad feeling,” Sherry said. “Pull over and kill your lights and motor.”

  “What?”

  “Please, pull over to the side.”

  They were about a block and a half from the Pickenses’ house. Aaron Grant
pulled the car over to the curb, killed the motor, and turned off the lights. “Now what?” he demanded.

  “We wait and watch,” Sherry told him. “Is your mirror angled toward their house?”

  “More or less.”

  “Make it more, so we don’t have to turn around.”

  “How long are we going to be?”

  “Not long enough for what you’re thinking,” Sherry told him. “If anything’s gonna happen, it should happen right now.”

  She was right. Within a minute there came the roar of a motor, then headlights came on, and the Ford station wagon backed out of the Pickenses’ driveway and turned onto the road. It didn’t drive off, however. It sat there idling, waiting. Moments later the Nissan Sentra backed out of the driveway and pulled up ahead. The minute it was out of the way, the station wagon pulled into the driveway and drove into the garage. The Nissan Sentra backed up, then pulled into the driveway behind it. The motor died and the headlights went out.

  Sherry shook her head. “Too bad,” she said grimly. “I was afraid that would happen.”

  “SO WHAT WAS PAUL THORNHILL DOING AT YOUR house?” Chief Harper asked as he and Cora pulled out in the police car.

  “I have no idea,” Cora told him.

  “Had he ever been there before?”

  “No, he hadn’t.”

  “Then how did he know where you lived?”

  “You got me.”

  “Could he have followed you home?”

  Cora shook her head. “Not then. Sherry and I came home, got ready for bed, and found the body. There just wasn’t time for him to follow us, someone else to follow him, kill him, leave the body in our backyard, and get away. Even if there were, it simply makes no sense.”

  “So you figure he was killed while you were out?”

  “Had to be.”

  “You were out looking for him. While you were, he came looking for you and got killed?”

  Cora grimaced. “I admit, it sounds bad.”

  “How long was this window of opportunity? How long were you gone?”

  “I don’t know. Two and a half, three hours.”

  “You spent that long looking for Paul Thornhill?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “So, what were you doing?”

  “Well,” Cora said reluctantly, “we were also looking for Marty Haskel.”

  “Oh, is that right?”