Puzzled to Death

by Parnell Hall

  “Weren’t you listening, Chief? I was quite candid. I admitted right off that I have no proof.”

  “Of course you have no proof. You have no proof because you haven’t got a clue. You don’t know who killed those people any more than I do.”

  “Maybe not, Chief, but I do have a clue. That crossword puzzle you gave me.”

  “What about it? Did you solve it?”

  “A child of four could solve that puzzle, Chief. It’s not particularly hard.”

  “And it told you who the killer is?” Harper sounded bewildered.

  “That wasn’t what I meant, Chief. The puzzle’s important because, aside from us, the killer’s the only one who knows it was found on the body. Or at least was left on the body.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, since we haven’t told anybody we found it, the killer doesn’t know for sure we did. As far as the killer knows, someone else came along before we got there and took that puzzle.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Maybe someone swiped it. Maybe a gust of wind blew it away, for all the killer knows. Anyway, you withheld the fact we found it, and that’s really good, because we can use that to our advantage.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I got news for you. The crossword puzzle doesn’t mean a damn thing. In the first place, Marty Haskel had his, so there’s that theory out the window. And I got the report back from the handwriting expert. Guess what? Mrs. Roth solved her own puzzle, and the doodle was doodled by Judy Vale. The killer didn’t leave either of them.”

  “Then the whole thing makes no sense.”

  “No kidding. So where do you get off going on television saying you know who did it?”

  “Sorry, Chief, but I figured it was our best shot. Like I say, the killer doesn’t know what we know. The killer doesn’t know if I’m bluffing. For all the killer knows, it might be true. Unfortunately, we don’t know what the killer knows, so we just have to wait.”

  “For what?”

  “To see who tries to kill me.”

  “A CAR’S STOPPING IN THE ROAD,” SHERRY REPORTED.

  “I see it,” Cora said, peering out the crack in the curtains.

  “I don’t like it. We should have let Harper come over.”

  “Oh, sure,” Cora scoffed. “People are really going to come calling, with a police cruiser out front.”

  “He could have had someone drop him off.”

  “You like sitting in the dark with a cop all night?”

  “I wouldn’t mind now. Someone’s certainly stopped on the road.”

  “Yeah. Can you see him?”

  “Now it’s a him?”

  “Or a her. I just can’t say him or her all night, no matter how PC it might be.”

  “Cora—”

  “I have a gun. We’re in our house. I don’t think anybody’s gonna break in and strangle me before I can pop them.”

  “I’m glad you’re so cocky. We’re like the nitwits in some horror movie. Hiding in a dark house when there’s a demented killer lurking out there.”

  “In that case, we got nothing to worry about,” Cora said serenely.

  “How is that?”

  “You’re the ingenue, and I’m the comic relief, and they always survive.”

  “This isn’t a movie,” Sherry said.

  The front doorknob clicked.

  Cora and Sherry looked at each other.

  “Didn’t you lock the front door?” Sherry hissed.

  “Of course not. If I locked the front door, how could anyone break in?”

  Cora fished the gun out of her purse.

  The front door swung open.

  A shadow filled the doorway.

  Cora aimed the gun.

  A voice said, “Hey, where are you?”

  “Aaron?” Sherry said.

  “Oh, there you are,” Aaron said. He closed the door, crept in, and joined them in the living room.

  “You realize you almost got shot?” Sherry said irritably.

  “Don’t be silly,” Aaron answered. “Cora wouldn’t shoot me.”

  “Oh?” Sherry said. In the dim light she could see her aunt put away her gun and take out her cigarettes. “She happens to be rather excited about her little trap.”

  “I don’t blame her. That was a damn good interview, Cora. If I were the killer, I’d want to do you in.”

  “Well, thank you for saying so.” Cora smiled and lit her cigarette. “What a polite young man. And just how would you go about doing that?”

  “I’d leave my car on the road and sneak up on the house. Which isn’t that hard to do. I just tried it. Did you see me coming?”

  “We saw you stop and park your car. We didn’t see you after that.”

  “No good,” Aaron said. “It means all the killer has to do is park another hundred yards down the road, and you’re dead.”

  “The killer’s not coming at all, with your car parked down there.”

  “Why not? He parks down the road, cuts through the woods, doesn’t even see my car.”

  “Nice try, but it’s no go,” Cora said. “I can’t have you screwing this up. You came to see Sherry, say what you gotta say to Sherry, then go home. My plan’s got little enough chance of workin’ without you messin’ it up.”

  Aaron, put on the spot, could think of nothing to say.

  Sherry didn’t help him. “You’ve embarrassed him, Cora. He didn’t come to see me. He came for the story.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Aaron said. “The paper’s gone to press.”

  “So what did you come to say?”

  “I didn’t come to say anything,” Aaron replied. “I just came to see you. I didn’t count on getting thrown out.”

  “I don’t mean to be a killjoy,” Cora told Sherry. “If you wanna go with him, that’s fine.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone,” Sherry said.

  “Then I’m a killjoy. Aaron, beat it. You can talk to Sherry tomorrow. Right now, get your car off the road.” Cora put her arm around Aaron’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Cora literally pushed him out the front door.

  “Hey,” Aaron protested. “What are you doing?”

  “Sorry,” Cora said. “But she’s not going with you, and you guys won’t talk in front of me, so you gotta go.”

  Cora slammed the door, gestured toward the road. “Come on, I’ll walk you down to your car.”

  Aaron heaved a huge sigh and set off down the drive.

  Cora kept pace, peeped up at him. “I don’t know what you did to honk her off, and it’s none of my business, but if there’s any way you could fix it up, it’s probably worth the effort.”

  Aaron shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure myself.”

  “Well, could you give me a hint?”

  “It’s stupid, but when she met my parents, I made the mistake of introducing her as your niece instead of my girlfriend.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know that was wrong, but her reaction was way out of proportion. I’ve apologized, but nothing seems to make it right.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t. What’s going on?”

  Cora stopped, looked up at Aaron. He was a nice young man. Maybe a little too young. Young, unspoiled, and idealistic. And naive enough to see things in black and white, with no shades of gray. Still, a nice young man.

  As men went.

  Sherry could do worse.

  Cora put her hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Let me tell you something. Sherry’s ex-husband, Dennis, was an abusive jerk.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you know they eloped? Her sophomore year. Ran off and got married. Just like that.”

  “So?”

  “She never met his parents until after the wedding. They were angry with Dennis. They disapproved.”

  “So?”

  “That was the first time he got drunk and hit her.”

  Aaron gawked at Cora, his mouth open.


  “Now get out of here. I got a killer to catch.”

  Cora left Aaron standing there, went back inside.

  “You took a long time,” Sherry said.

  “He didn’t want to go.”

  The phone rang, saving Cora from further explanation. She plodded into the kitchen, picked it up.

  “Miss Felton?”

  “Oh, hi, Harvey.” For once, Cora was glad to hear his voice. “What’s up?”

  “I just saw you on TV. Have you lost your mind?”

  “No, but it’s nice of you to ask.” Cora hit speakerphone so Sherry could hear.

  “This is no laughing matter,” Harvey snapped peevishly. “I turn on the eleven o’clock news and there you are, pulling some crazy stunt. In the middle of my crossword-puzzle tournament.”

  “I thought it was our crossword-puzzle tournament.”

  “You know what I mean. You’re supposed to be doing color commentary on the finals, not pulling some grandstand play to undercut everything I’ve done.”

  “You don’t want me to name the killer? I’m going to have trouble explaining that to the police.”

  “But you don’t know who the killer is.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ll make you a bet. If I nail the killer, you do the commentary.”

  “You don’t want to do the commentary?”

  “I don’t want to steal your thunder. If I’m gonna hog the spotlight discussing the murders, I wanna give you equal time.”

  “Miss Felton. It seems to me you are going to great lengths to avoid talking about crossword puzzles.”

  Cora’s heart skipped. “You want my bet or not?”

  “And what do I get if I win? In the event you can’t name the killer?”

  “What do you want?”

  There was an icy tone of malicious triumph in Harvey’s voice. “We do the commentary. You and I. Together. At the same time. We each have a microphone. We can ask each other questions. Discuss strategies. Challenge each other’s expertise.”

  Cora was too stunned to speak.

  “So?” Harvey said insinuatingly. “Are you game? Do you still want to wager?”

  “You’re on,” Cora said, and clicked off the phone. She grimaced at Sherry. “Don’t you just hate it when somebody calls your bluff?”

  “You are in serious trouble.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Doing the commentary alone was going to be iffy. This you may not survive.”

  “Can you help me?”

  Sherry shook her head. “We could try a few rehearsals with me playing Beerbaum, but what’s the point? I’d either have to take it so easy on you it wouldn’t be useful, or I’d crush you like a bug.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “Wait’ll you hear Harvey. If I were you I’d call him back, say you want to call off the bet.”

  “I can’t do that. It would be like admitting I don’t know anything.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “My point exactly.” Cora exhaled loudly. “I need a drink.” At Sherry’s look she put up her hand. “But I’m not going to have one. I’m gonna keep a cool head and catch a killer. Because that’s my only way out of this mess.”

  Cora flung open a cupboard door, took out a box of chocolate chip cookies. “Come on. Let’s have a snack and see who wants to kill me.”

  Cora and Sherry went back in the living room and took turns watching at the window.

  An hour passed.

  They finished the cookies.

  This time they didn’t see a car. The doorknob simply turned.

  Sherry, at the window, felt a sudden chill. She whirled in astonishment to discover her aunt snoring on the couch. Sherry rushed to her, shook her. “He’s here!”

  “Mumph,” Cora mumbled, batting her arms away.

  The front door swung open.

  Cora’s floppy drawstring purse was on the coffee table. Sherry grabbed it, groped inside.

  A figure appeared, silhouetted in the doorway.

  Sherry’s fumbling fingers found the gun. She gripped the handle, yanked it from the purse. Good Lord, could she be doing this?

  Maybe not. Her finger wasn’t even on the trigger. Where was the trigger? And what about the safety? Where the hell was that?

  Her heart thumping madly, Sherry raised the gun.

  “That’s far enough!” she cried. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  The intruder gasped and stepped back.

  Leveling the gun, Sherry crept cautiously forward, found the floor light, and clicked it on, lighting the face of the intruder.

  Billy Pickens.

  “YOU WERE REALLY GOING TO PLUG HIM?” CORA ASKED Sherry.

  “I wasn’t going to shoot him, but I wasn’t going to let him strangle me either.”

  “Admirable sentiment,” Cora said. “I quite agree. Okay, Billy. Let’s have it, and it better be good. Why shouldn’t I turn you over to Chief Harper right now?”

  “He’s probably not awake,” Billy said.

  Cora cocked her head. “A sense of humor? Billy, are you surprising me with a sense of humor? Or should I take that as the bravado of a beaten man?”

  “Take it any way you want,” Billy said. “But give it to me straight. Did you mean what you said on the air?”

  “You know, everybody asks me that,” Cora said. “You wanna know if I peg you as the killer?”

  “No, I wanna know if you know who the killer is. If so, maybe we could cut a deal.”

  “A deal? Are you saying you are the killer?”

  “Nah. But if you’re going to do what you said—make some dramatic announcement tomorrow morning in town hall, explain the facts of the case, and tell who the killer is—well, can you leave me out of it?”

  “Or you’ll kill me?” Cora asked. “Come sneaking up to my house to try to bump me off?”

  “I just came to talk.”

  “So you left your car way down the road and came creeping up to my house in the dark.”

  “I didn’t want my car parked in your driveway in case the police came by.”

  “This time of night? You really think that’s gonna happen?”

  “Well, after what you said on TV … Did you mean it? Do you really know who did it?”

  Cora Felton rubbed her forehead. “We’re going around in circles, Billy, and it’s gettin’ me dizzy. We’re not talkin’ about me, we’re talkin’ about you. Why shouldn’t I call the police, tell ’em you came sneakin’ up on my house?”

  “Come on, look at me. I’m not even armed.”

  Cora shook her head. “The killer’s a strangler, Billy. You bring your hands with you?”

  “Why would I want to harm you?”

  “If I knew you were the killer, Billy, you might have no choice.”

  “Yeah, fine. But I happen to know I’m not the killer, so I know that’s not possible. So who is the killer?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “What?”

  “What do you care, as long as it’s not you? Isn’t that enough?”

  Billy exhaled in frustration, set his jaw.

  In the silence that followed, Sherry said, “Why’d you move your car, Billy?”

  The guilty reaction was almost comical. Billy Pickens looked like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Who told you that?”

  “No one told me. I saw you do it. When we left your house, Aaron and I drove two blocks, stopped, and waited. Sure enough, right away you and your wife came out and swapped cars. Now, is she covering for you, or are you covering for her?”

  Billy turned to Cora, his face the picture of alarm. “Is that it? Is that who you think it is? Do you think it’s Sara?”

  “Hmm,” Cora said judiciously. “Very interesting. You give an excellent impression of a man concerned for his wife. Or a killer, trying to make himself appear like a man concerned for his wife.”

  Bill
y started to retort, then considered. “If you know who the killer is, you know which. Stop playing games and tell me. Is it her?”

  “Why’d you move the car, Billy?”

  Billy glared at Cora for a moment, then snorted in frustration. “You know why I moved the car.” He jerked his thumb at Sherry. “She pointed out that the position of the cars in the driveway made it look like I must have gone out. We swapped them around so the question wouldn’t come up.”

  “It’s come up now, Billy,” Cora said. “Sherry, run it by me again, what you saw with the cars.”

  “Billy went out for pizza in the Nissan. After he came back his wife went out shopping in the mall. But when we came to see him, the station wagon was parked in the driveway and the Nissan was in the garage. The fact the cars swapped position would indicate both of them went out.”

  “Exactly,” Cora said. “Your wife went out and so did you. Now, where did you go that night at approximately the same time Thornhill was killed?”

  Billy started to protest, realized it was futile. “I went looking for Sara.”

  “Why?”

  “She’d been gone too long. I was concerned.”

  “Did it occur to you she might be involved in the killings?”

  “No. Not the mother of my little girls. I know she couldn’t be. Still …”

  “Still, you weren’t sure.”

  “It sounds terrible when you say it like that. Let’s just say I was confused.”

  “Let’s just say you are confused,” Cora corrected. “You see my problem here? If you’re not the killer, there’s no way you could have known Paul Thornhill was gonna die. So when you say, I was concerned where my wife was, it seems like it should make sense, because you’re concerned where she was when a man was killed. But if you didn’t know he was going to be killed, there was no reason to go out.”

  Billy Pickens glowered.

  “Thought up another lie yet?” Cora asked sweetly.

  Billy sulked.

  “I think payback is fair game,” Cora said, “and that’s what you were thinking. You had your fun with poor Judy Vale, and now you’re wondering if your wife’s playin’ around.”

  “Now, look—”

  “No, you look,” Cora interrupted. “I’m not interested in your marital problems. I’ve had enough marital problems in my day, and frankly, they bore the stuffing out of me. It’s late, I’m tired, you’ve worn out your welcome. What is it you want?”