by Nero Blanc
“It was a messenger from the Crier. For the illustrious crossword editor.” He set the package on Belle’s desk.
“Arrgh … More puzzles for my compendium. I really wish I hadn’t taken on this project. I should have agreed to a collection of my own puzzles, and let it go at that … Look how thick this envelope is.” Belle dropped it on her desk. “It’s going to take me forever to get through all these …” She pushed the manila envelope aside, unopened. “What’s this fax from American Express about?”
“When we canceled your father’s credit cards, we were sent closing statements—but not from Am-Ex. I called them earlier today and was told it had been mailed over a week ago, so I gather it got lost in the postal system. Anyway, they’re forwarding a duplicate, but offered to fax a copy in the meantime.”
Rosco took the fax from Belle and glanced it over. “It’s interesting that your dad paid for those plane tickets in cash, rather than using a credit card.”
“Why do you think that was?”
“I … don’t … know,” was Rosco’s distracted answer. He’d clearly moved to another line of thought as he studied the transactions on Ted’s final American Express statement.
Belle noted his furrowed brow. “What’s wrong? I don’t like that look on your face.”
“It seems your father purchased two train tickets when he came up here.”
“Two?”
“Mmmm …”
“But … But that means someone was traveling with him … Who?”
“No, wait. I was mistaken … It was a single fare, but one ticket took him from Tampa, Florida, to Trenton, New Jersey; and the second ticket is for Trenton through to Newcastle. So he never did change trains in New York, as you thought.”
“Wait … Dad stopped in Trenton?”
“Yep. He also picked up a Jarvis rental car at the Trenton train station.”
Belle walked behind Rosco and peered over his shoulder at the Am-Ex statement. “Princeton …” she murmured. “He must have driven from Trenton to Princeton for some reason. The Florida train doesn’t stop in Princeton …” Belle paused. “But I wonder why he never told me he was going there—”
“Well, it obviously wasn’t a long stay … twenty-four hours. Forty-seven dollars sounds like a one-day rental to me. The Jarvis charge is posted on the thirteenth, the day your father was due to arrive in Newcastle—meaning that he might have rented it on the twelfth and spent the night in Princeton. On the other hand, there are no hotel charges …”
“He must have been a guest at someone’s house …” Even as she posed the theory, Belle’s brain began challenging it. Who? she wondered. Why can’t I name even one person?
“Okay … So, a hotel might not have been necessary. But I’m still confused about the whereabouts of the Jarvis agreement. Not only didn’t the Boston Police find any train ticket stubs in your dad’s possession; there was no sign of rental car papers, either. And obviously nothing in the luggage they returned to us.”
“Would Father have thrown them out?” Before the words were out of her mouth, Belle realized it was a stupid question.
Rosco gave her an “are you nuts?” look. “His records are pristine—six years and not a thing’s out of order. He kept those airplane receipts, didn’t he?”
She moved back to her desk and sat. “I don’t know … Maybe … Maybe Father was beginning to lose his cognitive skills … He did have a heart attack less than twelve hours after returning the rental car. Perhaps coronary disease can affect thought processes … or alter habitual modes of behavior …”
Rosco shook his head in thought. “Could be, I guess … But my suggestion is that I go down to New Jersey and look into this. It’ll only take a day, and maybe I can unearth some explanations.”
Belle considered the suggestion. “I’ll go with you.”
“You could, Belle … Obviously, you could …” He paused, searching for words. “But perhaps it’s better that I nose around in more of a professional investigator mode … and not as your husband.”
Belle stared at the floor. “And you don’t believe a ‘daughter looking for the truth’ approach is going to work as well?”
“To be honest? No. Folks have a way of overcompensating with people they think are connected to law enforcement … They say more than they should—or far less than is normal … Either way they send up a flag. We need closure here, Belle … You may be right in thinking that a heart condition was governing your dad’s final actions, but I’d feel a lot better knowing exactly what transpired.”
She nodded her head in quiet agreement while Rosco placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged them lightly. “I need to prepare a few docs for the lawyers on the Leland-Marine thing. That’s going to take me most of tomorrow, but I can drive down to Princeton the next day.”
Belle remained quiet for a moment. “What about Florida?”
“Let’s see what turns up in the Garden State first.”
Again, she hesitated before forming a reply. “I can’t help but feel I should go with you. Maybe, it’s guilt talking, but it doesn’t seem right for me to sit here in Newcastle while you—”
“Obviously, you’re welcome to accompany me—more than welcome. But experience tells me the official PI mode is what we need here. Besides, remember we’re in this thing together … Whatever I learn is information for us both to share … ‘All for one and one for all’? Isn’t that the quotation?”
Belle smiled briefly. “Close enough … But there were three musketeers, not two …”
Kit took this as a cue to let out a bark and roll onto her back.
SIGNS OF THE TIMES
Across
1. Cleo’s downfall
4. In the chips
7. School grp.
10. CIA predecessor
13. Blow-hard
15. Window treatments
17. Jousted
18. Some falls
19. LEGAL HALTS
20. CHOPIN’S #9, TO SOME
21. Neat as a pin
24. Summer drinks
25. Fall behind
28. LEON’S ISRAEL, E.G.
30. Post LBJ
31. Okay
32. What pa does with his riata?
34. Diggin’ it
35. DOCTOR’S INPUT
38. Jai___
40. Reason for alimony?
43. 61-Across’s prize
44. Dr. of rap
45. “FALSTAFF,” TO VERDI
46. ___Plaines
47. Rip
48. Town on the Meurthe
49. Darlings
50. “The Greatest”
51. “La Traviata” tenor
54. Skirt pocket
58. BAD NEWS AT A BEER BUST?
59. Eat
60. UFO passengers
61. Grads to be
62. Gel
63. Q-U link
Down
1. Stomach muscles, abbr.
2. Drain
3. Links grp.
4. INITIAL CHOICE
5. Simians
6. Spread hay
7. Bad hair day for Leo?
8. BOTTLE CAP INSTRUCTIONS
9. Black___
10. “___Life to Live”
11. Cpl’s boss
12. Drafting grp.
14. TILLS
16. Parisian pronoun
20. Club soda and tonic
21. ___’dino, Russia
22. Pitcher’s stat.
23. Errors
25. Glove oil
26. Picnic pest
27. Washington or Hamilton; abbr.
29. Fair grade
31. CANON PRODUCTS
33. CONCORD PILOTS
36. Long or Block, abbr.
37. Leaning
38. Total
39. Fib
41. Chem-___
42. Query enc.
44. “___than a doornail”
47. 61-Across, usually
49. Sta
rt to amble?
50. Lotion ingredient
51. Pub pint
52. Building site
53. CAMERA SETTINGS
54. Some computers
55. Sumerian world of the dead
56. Some hosp. workers
57. Asian holiday
To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords
CHAPTER 13
“Signs of the Times,” Belle mused aloud. “Clever … a nice game within a game …” She’d gathered the latest submissions to her crossword collection, working through each one individually as she always did, then arranging the puzzles in descending order of wit and intellect. The one entitled Signs of the Times was the clear favorite of the group.
“19-Across: LEGAL HALTS … 20-Across: CHOPIN’S #9, TO SOME.…Good … good … 58-Across: BAD NEWS AT A BEER BUST?” Belle chuckled softly as she finished inking in answers with her favorite red ball-point pen, then added a small and carefully worked diagram to complete the page. “Why didn’t I ever dream up a cryptic as ingenious as this?”
She looked at the constructor’s name; it was not one she recognized. She added it to the notebook listing submissions to her forthcoming puzzle extravaganza. “What do you think, Kit? This one’s a definite keeper, wouldn’t you say?”
The puppy, unmoving by the garden door, didn’t turn her head or make a sound. She’d been in that position ever since Rosco had left for New Jersey.
“C’mon, Kitty … Come on, girl … He’ll be back soon.”
Kit’s brown ears only flattened further on the black and white floor.
Belle rose and walked to her, bending down to stroke the soft fur. “It’s okay, Kit. Really …” Belle sighed; her fingers reflexively continued to pat the dog’s back, but her thoughts argued a quick No, it’s not okay!—then raced ahead to wonder for the one-hundredth time since Rosco had left how a person as seemingly ordinary and unenigmatic as her father could leave behind such a welter of problematic questions.
“I’ll tell you what, Kitty. How about we go for a good, long walk?”
Rosco had calculated the drive from Newcastle to Trenton to take somewhere in the neighborhood of six hours; down and back—twelve. A lot of driving for one day, but he was unwilling to give up his “newlywed” status—i.e. spend the night alone in some cheesy motel along the New Jersey Turnpike—so he’d set the alarm for 5 A.M.
Belle had, of course, awakened as well, and feigned mock surprise at the fact that he’d opted to look at a map before jumping into his Jeep and darting onto the southbound ramp of Interstate 95. She had also been quite impressed that he’d decided to actually take the map of New Jersey with him; and Rosco now found himself smiling as he cruised down the Jersey Turnpike, recalling her parting shot: “You’re taking a map! Whatever for? Oh, that’s right … no air-conditioning in your car; I guess you’ll need to fan yourself with something.”
He’d said, “Ho, ho, ho,” kissed her deeply, and followed it with, “I love you. See you tonight. Late.”
Now, five hours into his drive south, he’d had plenty of time to consider all the worms that had crawled out of the woodwork since Belle’s father had died. And the longer he drove, the more he deliberated, and the more suspicious these events seemed. There had been the flights to Belize, the missing train tickets, a missing rental car agreement, and no sign of a hotel receipt for that man’s last night on earth—presumably, somewhere in New Jersey. All these lost items could have had a simple explanation—if Theodore Graham had been a haphazard individual. Having never met him, that had been Rosco’s initial assessment: another scatterbrained professorial type, unconcerned with trivial matters such as receipts and stubs. But after dissecting Ted’s financial records, Rosco had realized that nothing could have been farther from the truth. This was a person who was organized to the nth degree.
And then there was the lingering question of where the ninety-seven thousand dollars for Woody’s Hatteras had come from. A problem that could be answered only by Woody himself—but one that also could have a logical explanation.
Rosco had refrained from transmitting his more serious concerns to Belle partly because he didn’t want to worry her, but also because all he possessed was a handful of queries. As there seemed to be no evidence of foul play, why burden her?
But the many pieces of that deliberation had occurred back in Newcastle. Now that he’d had the long solo drive to analyze the situation, he’d convinced himself that something was most definitely wrong. Someone had taken Theodore Graham’s train ticket and rental car agreement—which would indicate that someone was trying to conceal the fact that Ted had visited Princeton.
Then a far more grievous idea began nagging at Rosco: That same person might have gone so far as to have killed Belle’s father.
These deductions left Rosco trembling slightly as he eased his Jeep into a parking space on Clinton Avenue, directly in front of the Trenton train station. The notion that his wife’s father might have been murdered had turned his stomach into knots.
From habit, he reached up and flipped down the Jeep’s sunvisor, displaying a Newcastle Police Department OFFICIAL BUSINESS placard, but then returned it to its original position, realizing it would carry little weight with the Trenton parking authorities. He stepped from the car, dropped two quarters into the meter, and surveyed the area. The station was low and modern in a 1970s sort of way—Not a great era for architecture, Rosco thought as he noted four taxis queued up in front of the station: the drivers standing in a bunch alongside the first cab telling jokes and smoking cigarettes. They looked as if they hadn’t had a fare in hours and didn’t much care; they seemed happy to enjoy the August sunshine. Rosco crossed behind them and entered the station.
Unlike many of the large older stations on Amtrak’s East Coast line, the facility in Trenton had low, depressing ceilings. It appeared little more than a long corridor stretching over the tracks below. Services appeared to be minimal: four ticket windows, only one of which was open, a newsstand, a shoeshine area that looked permanently closed, a coffee vendor working out of a pushcart, which also offered smashed doughnuts sealed in cellophane, and a bank of self-service ticket machines. At the far end of the corridor Rosco spotted a sign reading RENTAL CARS.
He ambled toward the sign. When he reached the halfway point, he stopped and peered out of the large window at the tracks below. A train was just arriving from Philadelphia. Two passengers exited, and the train pushed on toward New York and Boston. Rosco continued down the corridor, through the glass door, and approached the Jarvis Rental Car counter. It was manned by a young black man who looked to be all of sixteen, although Rosco assumed there was an age requirement to get this managerial post. The man wore an orange Jarvis jumpsuit, with his name, SHAWN, embroidered on the left-hand pocket. He looked up from a copy of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition as Rosco neared.
“Good morning,” he said, closing the magazine. “Can I help you?”
“Well, I hope so.” Rosco pulled the American Express fax from his leather case. “I’m having a bit of a discrepancy with Am-Ex over a charge, and I was wondering if you could help me out.”
“I will if I can. What’s the problem?”
Rosco turned the fax around so that Shawn could read it and pointed to the Jarvis charge. “You see this charge for forty-seven dollars?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, this is my father-in-law’s statement, and I’m trying to verify all of these charges. The problem is, I can’t find his copy of the rental agreement anywhere, so I thought I’d stop in and see if you might be able to print up another for me.”
Shawn picked the fax up and looked it over. “Mr. Graham, huh?”
“Right.”
“Why doesn’t he stop by for it himself?”
Rosco debated which approach would work best with Shawn, and opted for something close to the truth. “Well, Mr. Graham is, I should say was, my father-in-law. He passe
d away. I’m running down these charges to clear up his estate, and this is the only one I don’t have a receipt for.”
“Jeez, sorry to hear about that.” Shawn seemed sincerely upset at the news. “Wow … Yeah, sure, uh … That’s no problem, mister, but I can tell you this charge is correct. Forty-seven dollars and fifty-two cents. That’s the one-day charge for a midsized with the Triple-A discount and unlimited mileage. Comes out the same every time, as long as they don’t take the extra insurance and return the car with a full tank.”
“It sounded right, but I should take the printout just so everything’s in order.”
“No problem. Let me punch this code number into the computer. It’s odd, though. He seemed to be a stickler for details. I’m surprised he lost the original.”
“You remember him?” Rosco said, making no attempt to hide his surprise.
“Yeah,” Shawn said, glancing at the fax again. “Mr. Graham, right? Like the crackers? You know, I thought he was gonna be a problem … on accounta’ my being black … He had that look … I can usually spot the type. But he was a good guy. Bought me a Krimpet.”
“A what?”
“I remember because he rented the car on the twelfth. And I was moanin’ and groanin’ because I had to work the next day, the thirteenth—which happens to be my birthday. Anyway, your father-in-law was real sympathetic about it; you know, really friendly. Especially considering the fact that his train was an hour late … And then, when he comes back with the car, on the thirteenth, he gives me a TastyKake Krimpet and says, ‘Happy Birthday.’ Yeah, a good guy.”
“A Krimpet?”
“It’s a butterscotch cake. Small, like a Drake’s Cake? You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m from the Boston area,” Rosco said as he watched Shawn tear Ted’s rental agreement from the computer’s printer.
“Right, that’s where Mr. Graham said he was heading. Massachusetts. Jeez, I’m real sorry to hear about this.” He handed Rosco the printout, and Rosco scanned it quickly.
“Whoa,” he said as he noticed the mileage, “there were a hundred and twelve miles posted on here. I’d assumed my father-in-law only went over to Princeton and back.”