Puzzled to Death

by Parnell Hall

  “At eleven in the morning?”

  “They like to get a head start.”

  “Uh-huh,” Cora said. “The police been here yet?”

  Charlotte paled. “What?”

  “I take it they haven’t. You better get ready.”

  “Why would the police come here?”

  “Because Thornhill got bumped off last night.”

  “So? What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Ned Doowacker’s a suspect. You’re his alibi.”

  “Oh, my God!” Charlotte gasped.

  “Exactly,” Cora said. “Now what have you got to tell me?”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “That’s a bit repetitious,” Cora said, “but it’ll do for a start. You alibiing Ned Doowacker for the whole night, say eight to twelve, or just for an hour or two?”

  “This can’t be happening,” Charlotte said. “The police think Ned did it?”

  “He’s just one of many suspects. But they asked him for an alibi, and guess what he said?”

  “Damn it to hell.”

  “Not quite. But he wasn’t particularly pleased. When pressed, he named you.”

  “To the police?”

  “That’s right. You’re the alibi he gave them to check.”

  “That son of a bitch—”

  Cora nodded. “Admittedly, not the most heroic of men.”

  “So how will they check? The police are gonna come here?”

  “Unless you head them off by going there. You could drop by the station, make a statement.” Cora could almost see Charlotte’s mind whirring, calculating. “Before the football game’s over,” she added.

  “Yeah, I could do that,” Charlotte said.

  “I assume Ned Doowacker has a perfect alibi, otherwise you wouldn’t be so eager to supply it.”

  “I assure you it was completely innocent,” Charlotte said. “We had some drinks, shot some pool.”

  “How’s Ned shoot?” Sherry asked.

  Charlotte frowned at the interruption. “Why?”

  “No reason. He just doesn’t strike me as the pool type.”

  “Ned’s very smart.” Charlotte said it defensively. “You live with a man who watches football all the time, it’s nice to talk to someone who’s smart.”

  “And last night wasn’t the first time you’d ever seen Ned,” Cora said. “You made the date the night before. But you’d met him some time back.”

  “What if I did?”

  “The police may not be interested, but I am. Way back in September, when you first met Ned—was that in the Rainbow Room?”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have his side of the story. I’d like to hear yours.”

  “Side of the story?”

  “Bad choice of words. Viewpoint, perhaps. He remembers Judy Vale as being there. He doesn’t remember her, really, but he recognized her as someone he’d seen before, and that’s the only place where it could have happened. So I’m wondering if you know if she was there that night.”

  “Sure I do. As a matter of fact, I got a ride there with her because it was Saturday night and the boys were playing cards.”

  “Did you notice who else was there that night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s been a lot of talk about Billy Pickens being the guy Judy was sweet on. Could they have been together at the Rainbow Room that night?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Well, where did you get the idea those two were an item?”

  “Are you kidding? I got it from Judy.”

  “She told you about Pickens herself?”

  “Sure she did. Judy wasn’t one to keep a secret.”

  “I see,” Cora said. “And what about you? Did you tell Judy about Ned?”

  “Me?” Charlotte said. “What’s there to tell? It’s not like we were sleeping together.”

  “Maybe not, but did you tell her anyway?”

  “I might have.”

  “And did she tell you anything in return? About what went on that evening? Say, maybe on the car ride home?”

  Charlotte’s gaze faltered. Cora pounced.

  “What is it?” she demanded. “Didn’t you go home with Judy that night?”

  “No,” Charlotte said defensively. “But there’s absolutely nothing wrong. So Ned gave me a ride home. What’s the big deal?”

  “Nothing,” Cora said. “So you went home with Ned that night. And Judy drove herself home, and you talked about it later?”

  “Oh, all right,” Charlotte snapped. “She wanted to know all about Ned. And there was really nothing to tell.”

  “Maybe not,” Cora said. “But Judy wouldn’t leave it at that, would she? She wanted to know about the guy who drove you home.”

  “Well, sure, that was only natural, since I didn’t go home with her.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I met a crossword-puzzle guy, brainy type, quiet and shy.”

  “What did she say to that?”

  “For some reason that really amused her. She said, ‘What a coincidence. Quiet and shy, huh?’ ”

  “What did she mean by that?”

  “I don’t know. I thought she meant she met a shy guy too, but she didn’t say. The next thing I know she’s running around with Billy Pickens, so maybe she’s talking about him. But he’s not shy.”

  “Uh-huh. Tell me something. Were there other crossword-puzzle people at the Rainbow Room that night?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “What about Zelda Zisk?”

  “Who?”

  “The really big woman with all the jewelry. And the makeup. Surely you would have noticed her.”

  “Well, I didn’t. I got involved talking with Ned.”

  “If he’s so shy, how’d that happen?”

  Charlotte smiled. “That’s funny, really. He spilled my drink. Ned’s kind of clumsy. He was sitting next to me at the bar, he reached for some peanuts, he knocked my glass over. Of course he apologized and cleaned it up and bought me another. And we got to talking.”

  “Interesting,” Cora said. “You think he did it on purpose? Knocked your glass over?”

  Charlotte frowned. “No, Ned wouldn’t do that,” she said, but she was clearly considering it.

  “Now, last night, when you were talking with Ned, did he mention that first night you met?”

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Humor me. Did Ned talk about it?”

  “Well, of course he did. He laughed about it. Spilling my drink and all. He asked if I wanted him to spill another.”

  “Witty guy,” Cora said. “And of course he must have talked about the tournament, and how he was doing, and how he felt about it.”

  “I’ll say,” Charlotte said. “That’s one topic he wasn’t shy about. Good Lord, you would have thought it was the end of the world, being fourth.”

  “Did he talk about the guy who was third?”

  “Did he ever. Now, there’s a guy he could have killed, if he was going to kill someone.” Charlotte put up her hand. “I shouldn’t say that. I’m only kidding. The fact is, Ned didn’t resent Paul Thornhill half as much as he did the other guy. The number-three guy.”

  “Craig Carmichael?”

  “That’s the one. Boy, did I get an earful about Craig. Craig and his four points. Not that I knew who Ned was talking about. Not that I’ve ever seen the guy. Come to think of it, that made me laugh. And you know how Ned described him?” Charlotte grinned. “ ‘Quiet and real shy.’ I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Ned Doowacker calling someone quiet and shy.”

  “So you’ve never seen Craig Carmichael?”

  “No, I haven’t. From what Ned says, he doesn’t exactly stand out.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Cora agreed. “So going back to the night you and Ned first met—the night he spilled your drink—if Carmichael was in the bar at the time, you probably wouldn’t have eve
n noticed.”

  Charlotte frowned. “That’s funny.”

  “What?”

  “When you put it that way, with what Ned said last night. Well, I’m not sure.” Charlotte crinkled up her nose, trying to remember. “But I think he said he was.”

  “MY LAWYER SAID I SHOULDN’T TALK TO YOU.”

  Cora Felton put her foot in the door to keep Craig Carmichael from slamming it. “Yes, I know,” she said. “Your lawyer’s quite a fellow. I was there when he made his statements. I must say they were most impressive.”

  “Then go away.”

  “Craig, are you acquainted with my niece, Sherry? You should be. Why don’t you invite us in to chat?”

  “I said go away.”

  “I know you did. And I’m quite impressed with the way you’re standing up for your rights. When I see your lawyer again, I will give you high marks. But here’s the situation. It is absolutely true that you don’t have to talk to me. But if I want to talk to you—well, you can’t shut me up. So, the question is, do you want me to talk out here in the hall, or would you like to invite me in?”

  Craig Carmichael scowled. His room was on the second floor of a bed-and-breakfast. The other three rooms on the floor were rented to crossword-puzzle contestants, and the door to one of them was open a crack, with an eye peering out.

  “All right, come in,” Craig said.

  He stepped back, and Cora and Sherry entered the room. It was your typical bed-and-breakfast room, with a double bed covered with a colorful quilt, a bureau, and two overstuffed chairs of dubious vintage. Cora flopped down in one, offered the other to Sherry, and pointed Craig to the bed. He ignored the suggestion, stood facing them.

  “All right. What is it you have to say?”

  “Well,” Cora said. “Let’s start off with what you have to say. Which is nothing, because your lawyer told you not to talk. And I sure have to admire the way he blackmailed Harvey Beerbaum into dropping the charges against you.”

  Cora fished her cigarettes out of her purse, lit up, and took a drag. Sherry frowned but said nothing. “Well, I got bad news for you, Craig,” Cora continued. “I don’t give a rat’s fanny what anybody says about me. And I don’t care much what they say about Harvey either—he happens to be one of the few men in North America I haven’t managed to marry, so it’s no skin off my nose.”

  Cora cocked her head, flicked her cigarette. Ash tumbled to the floor. “You following all this, Craig? I’m getting to the payoff, and I’d really like you to have the setup. It’s pretty simple, really. Harvey won’t tell anyone you tried to steal the answers last night. But I will. If you don’t cooperate and tell me what I want to know, I’ll blab to every Tom, Dick, and Mabel I know. I’ll ruin you in the crossword-puzzle community. I will make you a laughingstock, I will make you living poison, I will make you the crossword contestants’ kiss of death. Am I gettin’ through to you, Craig? I’ll embarrass you to hell and back, and your clever lawyer won’t be able to do a damn thing about it. Except sue me for slander, and he won’t do that, and you know why? Because truth is a defense for slander, and I got the witnesses to prove it. Do you really want that to happen?”

  Craig Carmichael looked ill. He sank down on the bed, rubbed his temples.

  “So,” Cora said brightly. “What do you say we have a friendly little chat?”

  Craig sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “That’s more like it,” Cora said. “And the good news is, I don’t want to know about last night. I wanna ask you about that barbecue at Harvey’s house. When the idea for the tournament first came up. You were at the barbecue.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “After the barbecue, some of the guests went out for drinks at the Rainbow Room. Did you go along?”

  Craig Carmichael pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket, became absorbed in weaving it back and forth through his fingers. “Yes, I did.”

  “Who else went?”

  Craig’s eyes followed the path of the handkerchief. “Ned Doowacker and Paul Thornhill.”

  “Paul Thornhill was there?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Fascinating. When you went to the Rainbow Room for drinks, did you happen to see a pretty young woman by the name of Judy Vale?”

  “I don’t know any Judy Vale.”

  “She’s the woman who was killed last Tuesday night.”

  “I know that, but I don’t know her.”

  “Okay. Let’s go at this another way. Did you see Ned-die Doowacker talking to some woman in the bar?”

  “Yes,” Craig Carmichael said. He stopped pulling the handkerchief through his fingers, looked up. “Is that her?”

  “Did you see the woman she came in with?”

  Craig resumed weaving. “I didn’t see her come in.”

  “Did you see her talking with another woman?”

  “No, I only saw her talking with Ned.”

  “I wish I had a picture of Judy Vale,” Cora mused. “I’d really hate to drag you down to the morgue.”

  “The morgue?” Craig Carmichael trembled.

  “Judy Vale was very pretty. She had curly red hair and freckles.”

  “You mean the one who spoke up in the meeting?”

  Cora could only marvel at that. Craig Carmichael had seemed almost comatose at the first tournament planning meeting. “That’s right. The one who spoke at the meeting. Was that woman in the bar that night?”

  “Well, she was talking to Paul, but then he went off to play pool.”

  “Was she talking with anyone else?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know his name.”

  “Young man, good-looking, athletic, and strong?”

  “Strong, yeah, but not that young. Not that good-looking either.”

  “So you don’t know this man?”

  “I didn’t know him then. I know him now.”

  “Oh? And who is that?”

  Craig Carmichael went on weaving, never missed a stitch.

  “The local guy who’s number two. Haskel.”

  MARTY HASKEL, DRESSED IN JEANS AND A GREASY WHITE T-shirt, was in the service station, taking the transmission out of a truck. He barely glanced up when Cora and Sherry came in. “Car break down?” he grunted.

  “No,” Cora said.

  “Then go away. I ain’t open.”

  “You could have fooled me,” Cora retorted. “I suppose you aren’t working on that truck either.”

  “I’m workin’ on the truck. It’s due tomorrow afternoon. Rich bitch says, Don’t worry, if you miss work, I’ll pay. Well, that don’t get Charlie his truck back. Bitch can give out all the dough she wants, but I bet she can’t fix a transmission.”

  “You bitter about that, Marty?”

  Marty Haskel snorted. He looked up at her with eyes dark with malice. “Sheesh, lady, you got some nerve. You hassle me from the word go. You bring the cops to my house to question me like a suspect. My schedule’s thrown all out of whack because the wife of a pretty boy happens to have money. And you ask me if I’m bitter about that. Why would I be? Me, I’m tickled pink. I’m just as happy as could be. I’m working on my day off, I’m wastin’ a nice Sunday afternoon. I’m not winning no puzzle contest. So why don’t you get out of my garage and let me work.”

  “You didn’t like Paul Thornhill much,” Cora Felton observed.

  “Lady, we been all over that. I hated his guts, and that’s a fact. I told you that the last time.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you knew him before.”

  Marty Haskel’s eyes flicked up. “Huh?”

  “Rainbow Room. Early this fall. You met Paul Thornhill then.”

  “Oh, you figure so?” Marty Haskel sneered. “Lot you know. You think a big star like him would notice a guy like me? Well, think again. I never said boo to Thornhill in the Rainbow Room, and he never said boo to me.”

  “But you knew he was there.”

  Marty Haskel scowled. “That’s the stupidest t
hing I ever heard. What do you mean, knew he was there?”

  “I mean you knew who he was. When Paul Thornhill was shooting pool in the Rainbow Room, you knew he was a celebrity crossword-puzzle contestant.”

  “No, I didn’t. I just figured he was some dorky tourist.”

  “So you did meet him in the Rainbow Room,” Cora said triumphantly.

  “We may have shot pool. Trust me, I didn’t kill him because he beat me at pool.”

  “So he won?” Cora Felton asked.

  Marty Haskel made a face. “Now you’re gonna make a big deal about that? This was barroom eight ball on a small, crowded table. It’s as much luck as skill.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Cora agreed. “So Judy Vale saw you lose to Paul Thornhill.”

  Marty Haskel’s face hardened under the grease. “Say, what are you trying to pull?”

  “I’m trying to get some straight answers,” Cora replied. “You have to admit, you haven’t been too forthcoming. You never mentioned Paul Thornhill before. You never mentioned meeting him with Judy Vale.”

  “Judy Vale,” Marty Haskel said. “Who said anything about her?”

  “Wasn’t she there that night?”

  “How the hell should I know? I never even thought about this till you brought it up.”

  “Well, think about it now. Last September, in the bar, you’re playing pool with Paul Thornhill. Was Judy Vale there?”

  Marty Haskel choked back his enraged reply, instead furrowed his brow in thought. “As a matter of fact, I think she was,” he said.

  “And did she speak to Thornhill?”

  “I think maybe she did. I can’t be sure, though.”

  “And you say you didn’t know who he was when you shot pool with him. Did you know who he was before he left?”

  “Someone may have mentioned something.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Cora Felton said. “And could that someone have been Judy Vale?”

  “It might have been,” Marty Haskel said grudgingly.

  “So,” Cora said, “in that first planning meeting for the tournament, when Judy Vale stood up and spoke against the tournament, and Paul Thornhill stood up and was introduced, it all came back. That night in the Rainbow Room, Paul Thornhill beating you at pool, Judy watching, telling you he was a celebrity—it all clicked, didn’t it? The pretty girl who laughs, who sees you lose. Then runs off with someone else. Was Billy Pickens there that night?”