A Crossword to Die For

by Nero Blanc

  Again, Sara began to interrupt. Again, Hal pressed forward. “Bear with me, Sara. I realize you feel frustrated at what you refer to as my ‘obfuscation.’ And that your very kind heart wants to help your young friends put their minds at rest in regards to this obviously perplexing situation involving Dr. Graham … And I concur—from what information you’ve shared with me—that the unfolding story of his life is complicated indeed … However, I don’t believe you fully comprehend the harm that might befall Belle and Rosco—and you—for learning more than is necessary—”

  However, Sara could no longer keep silent. “Belize and Guatemala share a border …” She paused while her mind flew to all the facts she’d garnered, and her bright eyes grew wide and frightened. “Are you suggesting that Mossback and Graham were …”

  Hal pressed his hands together and studied his sister. “I’m merely suggesting that this situation is far more perilous than you know.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “No, Belle, that’s the extent of what Hal told me …” Sara sighed as she spoke. The weight of her conversation with her brother hung heavily on her heart. So heavily that the moment he’d left, she’d wheeled out her pristine 1956 Cadillac and driven to Belle’s house rather than requesting the younger woman visit White Caps. Now she sat in Belle’s home office wearing a pastel straw hat she used for summer “outings,” and the formal white cotton gloves that served as mementos of a more graceful era. “Naturally, I badgered him for more information … but he wouldn’t budge. Not even for you. He just kept reiterating the need for circumspection—”

  “And caution,” Belle interjected.

  “Yes,” Sara replied. “And caution. Above all. I do believe politicians must have CAUTION tattooed on their arms where normal men place BORN TO RAISE HELL.” Then she sighed again. Mightily. “How’s Rosco bearing up?” she asked.

  “Fine,” was Belle’s automatic reply. “Well, no … That’s not true … He’s not fine … Not after our conversation with Carlyle yesterday. To say nothing of that terrible phone call from Mike Hurley …” Belle’s shoulders hunched with fatigue. “Rosco will be sorry to have missed your visit, Sara … but he thought it was a good time to clean up paperwork at his office … He insists it frees up his mind …” She didn’t continue. Like Sara, Belle also sighed.

  “He’ll be sorrier when he hears the information Hal shared with me,” was Sara’s disconsolate reply, then she added a forceful, “I simply can’t imagine how your father could have been mixed up with drug dealers.”

  Belle shook her head. “My only conclusion is that Father’s research must have unintentionally put him in contact with … well, I don’t know who—or what—but with someone or something that compromised his safety … Debbie told me he’d entitled his birding notebook ‘A Murder of Crows’ … At the time I didn’t imagine it … No, that’s wrong … What I felt was envy. Envy that another person could be close to a man I’d never really known …” She closed her eyes, and then did something wholly unexpected. She began to weep.

  Sara was beside her in a flash. “There … there …” A lace-edged handkerchief was produced from an antiquated patent leather handbag. The linen smelled of cedar blocks and violet eau de cologne. “It’s all right, dear one. A good cry will do you a world of good.”

  Belle sniffled unabashedly into the handkerchief. “It’s just not knowing, Sara … And all that discussion with Al and Carlyle … autopsies and exhuming Father’s body … and Debbie Hurley’s death … It all seems so strange … so sudden and so strange … and so awful…”

  Sara nodded, but didn’t respond. Instead, she put her hands on the younger woman’s shoulders.

  “I just wish …” Belle began. “I just wish I’d … that Father and I had … I mean, all those wasted … those wasted …” But those thoughts were left unfinished as she began crying afresh. After several more sorrowful minutes, she began to mop up her tears and try to pull herself together. “If I knew for certain that Father had been killed … What I mean is, at least I could get angry.”

  Sara patted Belle’s back; her still-gloved fingers lingered in a gesture of loving comfort. “And make every attempt to find the criminal,” she announced while her mouth grew pinched and grim. “I regret that Hal wasn’t more forthcoming.”

  Belle thought. “In light of Carlyle’s suggestion, do you think you could ask the senator to continue his investigation?”

  Sara shook her head. “Hal told me he ‘couldn’t go back to the well’—his words. He also intimated that he wasn’t privy to everything that transpires in ‘certain government agencies’—at the same time as he reiterated the critical need for discretion. Hal as much as stated that you could become a target, too.” Sara purposely neglected to share her brother’s concern that she herself might now be in jeopardy.

  Belle remained silent for a long time. “I’m sorry I behaved so horribly with Debbie,” she said at last. “Mike has been so helpful, and I … well, I had no cause to treat her as I did … I had no cause not to believe her—”

  The doorbell clanged loudly, cutting off further speech.

  “Oh, what now?” Belle fairly yelped. She flung herself out of the chair and marched through the living room. Sara, concerned, followed while Kit, keenly attuned to human emotion, decided to retreat to the stair landing. Something was amiss with this blond-haired lady who shared the puppy’s home—best to avoid getting underfoot.

  That same blond-haired woman grabbed the front door and yanked it open. “Yes?”

  A Global Delivery truck sat on the curb; its driver stood on Belle’s porch. “Annabella Graham?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sign here.”

  Belle almost growled as she did so. When the transaction was completed, she was handed an envelope containing an overnight letter.

  She took it, forced a tight “Thanks,” then shut the door and turned the cardboard packaging to read the return address. A sudden gasp escaped her; Belle ripped open the envelope. Inside was a hand-drawn crossword puzzle. “It’s from Belize,” was all she could manage to say.

  WORDS TO THE WISE

  Across

  1. Spills the beans

  5. “It” game

  8. The Mustangs

  11. Lincoln & Johnson; e.g.

  13. Dash

  14. “Oh, me, oh, my”

  15. Where do I do?

  16. Suit to___

  17. Yew

  18. Wise man’s tip, part 1

  21. Splitter

  22. Some Londoners

  24. Aztec or Incan; abbr.

  25. Sawbuck

  26. ___kwon do

  28. New, prefix

  29. Tetra type

  31. Strangled

  33. Wise man’s tip, part 2

  37. Lackluster

  39. Bolts

  42. Trip type

  43. Lyric poem

  44. Baseball stat

  47. Reformer Nellie

  48. 4-F

  50. See 21-Down

  52. Wise man’s tip, part 3

  55. Name meaning ruler

  56. Certain shark

  57. Leveled

  59. Hi-___

  60. Hit man?

  61. January, south of the border

  62. Summer drink

  63. Dr. Graham

  64. Gaelic

  Down

  1. Scouting grp.

  2. Nonsurpassed

  3. 04530 drop-off

  4. Gaze intently

  5. Certain Turk

  6. ___-deucy

  7. Dweeb

  8. Try out a jacket or Chevy

  9. Gulf Coast mammal

  10. Employ

  12 Build

  13. Actor Novarro

  14. Mime

  19. Summer for 46-Down

  20. Jolly Roger?

  21. With 50-Across, originator of tip

  23. Turf

  26. ___chi ch’uan

  27. Pound sound

  30. Gov. arts
org.

  31. Some Ferraris

  32. Wise one

  34. Canvas

  35. ’50s & ’60s scare

  36. Heading from Brownsville to Havana

  37. A little bit of French?

  38. Overlooked the clue

  40. Hawks and eagles

  41. Did. abbr.

  44. Mistake

  45. Explorer of the Northwest Territories

  46. Monsieur Gide

  49. Yen

  50. Assumed an identity

  51. Ockelman-Lake link

  53. Give out

  54. Weapon of the Middle Ages

  55. JFK stat

  58. Female rabbit

  To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

  CHAPTER 24

  Hunched over the desk, Belle and Sara began to work the crossword’s clues. “13-Down … The answer is RAMON as in RAMON Novarro… the star of that marvelous film epic Ben-Hur… well before your time, my dear—almost before mine, if you can imagine such a notion … Oh, and 15-Across: Where do I do? You should know the answer to that!”

  Silently, Belle wrote in the letters ALTAR. She wasn’t feeling even a fraction of the perkiness her puzzle partner was evincing, although in truth, Sara’s determined chattiness masked her own deep-seated unease.

  “And Belle, dear, this one I know without even needing to dredge up the past. Ockelman-Lake link. That would be KEANE, the name by which Veronica Lake was known for a brief time. You wouldn’t imagine it, Belle, but I was once told I resembled that lovely blond actress … So tragic, the way her life ended …”

  Belle let the old lady indulge in a rueful sigh, then interjected a tense: “But who could have—?”

  “Let’s ink in all the answers before we begin making conjectures, my dear. There must be a hidden message, or else why would the constructor—?”

  “Exactly,” Belle agreed, but her tone was abrupt and wary. “And why would he—or she—have written Dr. Graham as the clue to 63-Across?”

  “Or made Spills the beans the first Across clue …?” Sara took Belle’s red pen from her hand, and began to write while the younger woman read aloud:

  “20-Down: Jolly Roger? … 24-Across: Aztec or Incan; abbr.… Overlooked the Clue at 38-Down … 50-Down: Assumed an identity … Hit man? is at 60-Across … I don’t have a good feeling about what this mystery person is trying to convey, Sara. I don’t have a good feeling at all.”

  “Nor do I,” was Sara’s quiet response.

  Belle suddenly recoiled. “We shouldn’t be touching the paper … It probably has traceable fingerprints … And if it truly reveals something about my father … Central America connections … or … or boats … or aliases, then we’ll need to know who sent it.”

  Sara’s hands also leapt off the page. “But we already have handled it. Numerous times.”

  Instead of replying, Belle picked up the phone and punched in Rosco’s office number. When she reached his answering machine, the message she left was both oblique and businesslike. “Sara’s with me. She has new information … I don’t want to say more over the phone … Also, I received a very unsettling crossword. Sara and I started to fill it in. Now, we’re worried we might have compromised evidence. Give me a call. A-S-A-P.” Belle began to replace the receiver, then lifted it again and added a wistful: “I love you.”

  While Sara, no more relaxed than Belle, announced, “But if we deliver the cryptic to the police, we won’t be able finish it.”

  “No … No, we won’t. Well, I mean we could finish it … And then … No, there’s no point.”

  The women looked at each other. This time Belle took the pen. “Do you mind putting your gloves back on, Sara? Although they might get ink-stained—”

  “A drop or two of hydrogen peroxide will set them right as rain in no time, my dear.” When Belle began to smile at this old-fashioned-sounding remedy, Sara continued with a lofty, “Those who manage homes for as many decades as I have develop certain housekeeping ‘recipes’: cigar ash and rubbing alcohol mixed in a paste and applied to wood that’s been water-damaged; tea leaves rolled in stored woolen carpets; and so forth … Even my great-grandmother had her share of homey remedies—one of which was to clean silk ribbons with a mixture of gin and honey.”

  Belle smiled in earnest. “You’re a wonder.”

  “It never seemed like a wise combination—particularly for the bibulous,” was the old lady’s doughty reply. Then she pulled on her gloves. “I’ll hold the paper. You write. Are you ready, my dear?”

  By the time Rosco’s Jeep pulled into the drive, the crossword was complete. The message glared from the paper as though it had been formed of neon tubing.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Belle asked after a stunned pause.

  “Your father and Deborah Hurley?” was Sara’s steady reply. “Yes. Yes, I am … But her husband stated that she’d died as a result of a hit-and-run accident—”

  “Just as my father succumbed to what appeared to be a heart attack.”

  Rosco walked into the office at that moment, followed by Kit, who nearly tripped him in her hopes of inspiring a game of chase. “I decided not to call. Your message sounded a little too urgent …” He walked to the desk. Belle turned the puzzle toward him. “I’m afraid we left some fingerprints on it.”

  Rosco glanced at the crossword as he spoke. “I’m sure they can be separated out, Belle … On the other hand, since this came from someone in Belize, it’s unlikely any prints of the constructor would be available.” He gave Sara a distracted kiss and clasped his wife’s hand.

  “I think it’s the other way around, Rosco, dear,” was Sara’s bemused response.

  “What?”

  “The other way around. You kiss your wife, and shake my hand.

  Rosco stared in confusion.

  “Never mind.” Belle smiled up at him, then returned her total concentration to the crossword. “There are a number of clues that indicate the constructor was aware of my father’s interest in Central America … For instance, his name appears at 63-Across; 61-Across is January, south of the border, which may reference a journey my father took … But more importantly, look at the answers to 18, 33, and 52-Across.”

  “Wise man’s tip, part 1, 2, and 3,” Rosco read aloud, then whistled under his breath. “Holy smoke!” He looked at Belle. “THREE MAY KEEP A SECRET IF TWO OF THEM ARE DEAD.” Finally, he added a quiet, “Debbie …”

  “That was the connection Sara and I made, too … And Father … making the third person—”

  “I’m going to call Al,” Rosco said. “Get this puzzle over to him … I don’t know what he’ll suggest in terms of Deborah Hurley, since her death occurred in New Jersey, but I’m pretty sure he’ll recommend having your father’s body exhumed for a full investigation into homicide … If Carlyle’s suggestion was correct, and poison was used, the lab will need to provide specifics to strengthen any potential criminal case Al might decide to open. The situation involving Debbie is different—and definitely beyond his jurisdiction—but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Belle bit her lip. “I wish there were some other way of determining if Father—”

  Sara interrupted. “But, Rosco, if my brother’s hints and warnings are true, and it was some type of drug cartel that was responsible for killing Belle’s father, wouldn’t their activities be well-nigh impossible to trace? Foreign nationals drifting in and out of the country. No American police files, et cetera—”

  “Unless they contracted a local to do the work,” he said. Then he also paused in thought. “Before we address the issue of exhuming the body, maybe we need to examine Dr. Graham’s final days … We know he took the train from Florida, made a private stop in Princeton … Marie-Claude Araignée told me it was your father’s idea to attend the talk given by the CEO of Savante—meaning that he’d clearly scheduled his entire trip north around that event—”

  “
And then argued publicly with the man,” Belle added in some excitement before her shoulders slumped again. “But Father was apparently only concerned about drilling practices in the regions where the Olmec culture existed—something Savante obviously wasn’t involved in because of Mexico’s government-run monopoly.”

  “That’s where you may be wrong,” said Sara. “The potentates who preside over international businesses either intentionally—or not—share a great deal of information about each other’s practices, be they industrial or fiscal. Conspiracy isn’t the sole purview of government agencies.”

  All three considered their pronouncements. Finally, Belle posed another question. “The cocaine intercepted by the Coast Guard was hidden on a boat, wasn’t it?”

  “A Belizean fishing trawler, according to Hal,” was Sara’s swift reply.

  “And crude oil from the Gulf of Mexico travels to refineries in North America via ship, doesn’t it—with the participation of U.S. companies?”

  Rosco stared at his wife. “Are you honestly thinking—?”

  Sara finished the sentence for him. “That Savante’s tankers may be involved in drug smuggling?”

  “It’s conceivable, isn’t it?” was Belle’s quick reply. “Because if we take Senator Crane’s warning to heart, then my mind jumps to the fact that Father’s research on the Olmecs accidentally uncovered a linkage between oil drilled in Latin America—”

  “And millions of dollars of illegally imported drugs,” Sara said.

  It was Rosco who spoke next. “I think it’s time I set up a visit to the Savante Group.”

  CHAPTER 25

  New York, New York. Rosco hadn’t visited the Big Apple in over six years. Back then his attention had been focused on discerning the whereabouts of a runaway teenager—a boy who’d been missing from Newcastle for three months. Rosco had eventually traced him to the campus of Columbia University on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. The kid had settled in fairly well there; he was working for a bicycle messenger service on Times Square, pulling down a decent income, and wasn’t too keen on the idea of being dragged back to Newcastle, Massachusetts, to finish high school.