by Parnell Hall
“Is there a point to this?” Sherry said.
Aaron slowed down for the covered bridge over the creek to the general store. The rickety wooden bridge was a one-lane affair, with a full stop required before proceeding from either end, which had to be the least-obeyed ordinance in Bakerhaven. The bridge was open-sided, one could see perfectly, and if nothing was coming, no one ever stopped.
“You missed a stop sign.”
“No, I saw it,” Aaron told her.
Sherry smiled in spite of herself. “You were saying about news crews?”
“They’re coming and I hate ’em. Because I can’t beat ’em. They’re on the air today, I’m in the paper tomorrow. It’s a tremendous handicap.”
“So?”
“So, I need an angle. Something they haven’t got. If it isn’t the puzzle clues—and I know it isn’t—it’s gotta be something else.”
“Like Chester Hurley?”
“Why not? As an angle, he’s got one major advantage.”
“What’s that?”
“The TV crews aren’t likely to find him.”
They had turned off the paved road and were now following a winding dirt road through the meadow and into the woods.
“Mr. Hurley lives up here?”
“That’s right.”
“He owns this land?”
“No. It’s a forest preserve. It’s owned by the town.”
“Then how can he live here?”
“The town grants him access. Chester has a cabin at the base of the mountain. Lived there since before this land was zoned protected. When the town set up the wildlife sanctuary, they had to leave him the access road.”
“How do you know all this?”
Aaron grinned. “Are you kidding? What do you think I write on slow news days? Don’t you ever read the Gazette?”
As they got closer to the base of the mountain, Sherry noticed the oak and maple trees overhanging the road giving way to fir. The trees stood tall and straight, with the trunks bare, and the branches with pine needles only near the top.
“What do you expect to get out of Chester Hurley?” Sherry asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Then what’s the point of finding him?”
“Like I said, I need an angle.”
“And what’s the angle?”
Aaron didn’t answer.
Sherry’s eyes widened. “I don’t like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“You figure he hasn’t heard. That’s your angle, isn’t it? You figure he doesn’t know.”
“Sherry.”
“You’ll tell him Annabel’s dead, you’ll watch his reactions. You’ll write about them.”
“That bothers you?”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
Aaron pulled off to the side of the road, put the car in park. “Sherry. Of course it bothers me. And, yes, I’ve done it before, and, yes, it’s part of the job, and, no, I don’t like it. Usually, it’s an accident, and usually, I’m not the first. Usually, I’m following the police. This time it’s different. This time it’s a murder, and this time I’m not following the police, because they have more important leads. So, yes, I may be telling Chester Hurley something he doesn’t know. But that’s not what I’m after. I’m after something that will help me figure out why this happened. And who did it. That’s my concern with Chester. That’s why I’m here.” Aaron paused, studying her. “And you know that. Why would you think anything else?”
“I don’t know,” Sherry said. “It’s all fun and games, and then this happens, and two people are dead, and suddenly alliances are formed. I mean, did you see Becky Baldwin defending Daniel Hurley?”
“Is that what this is all about?” Aaron asked quietly.
“Didn’t that surprise you?” Sherry insisted.
“Actually, it didn’t. She told me he’d consulted her.”
“Oh? When was that?”
“She came by the paper last night, trying to get information.”
“Oh, is that right? Information about what?”
“Jeff Beasley. He was her client, remember?”
“She wanted information about a dead client?”
“That was my reaction too. Why should she care? That’s when she said Daniel Hurley had consulted her.”
“Oh? Why had he done that?”
“Because Chief Harper was questioning him about the Beasley death.”
“Wait a minute,” Sherry said. “Let me be sure I understand this. Becky Baldwin came by the paper to see if you might have some information that would shed some light on whether her present client killed her former client?”
“Technically, he’s not her client yet. He just consulted her.”
“Better and better,” Sherry muttered. “Whether her potential client killed her former client. She didn’t come to ask you out to dinner?”
“I have dinner sent in.”
“Now, there’s an evasion worthy of a politician. A less alert person might think you’d answered no.”
“Sherry—”
Sherry blushed furiously. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I got caught up in the wordplay. This is absolutely silly. Let’s go see Chester.”
“Sherry.”
“Come on, come on. I can’t wait to see where this man lives.”
Chester Hurley’s cabin was in a little clearing about a mile down the road. It was a small cabin of sturdy pine boards painted chocolate brown. The painting had been some time ago, however, and while it had worn well, the cabin looked decidedly old.
The lawn had been sporadically mowed. The left-side lawn, for instance, was shorter than the front. The right-side lawn was somewhere in between. An ancient hand mower sat in a line between the shortest grass and the longest. Sherry Carter had visions of Chester Hurley mowing his way around the cabin, a few rows each day.
The cabin had a rickety front porch with no roof. A rocking chair sat out on it. There was a red coffee mug on the porch next to the rocking chair.
“I guess he’s not here,” Sherry said. “His truck’s gone.”
“Not necessarily. He parks in the back.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. m"> Fooled me too, when I wrote the feature. I came by twice and left, thinking he wasn’t here.”
“Why does he park in back?”
“So you can’t tell if he’s here.”
“That’s a little strange.”
“Chester Hurley? Strange? Surely you jest.” Aaron grinned. “Come on, let’s see if he’s home.”
The screen door was latched, but the front door behind it was open. They looked through the screen door, but no lights were on, and the cabin was deep in shadows.
“He’s home,” Sherry said.
“Not necessarily.”
“The screen door’s latched from the inside.”
“Uh huh,” Aaron said. “Let’s go around the side.”
Aaron led Sherry around the right side of the cabin.
“Kitchen door,” Aaron told her. “Exit of choice. Chester leaves the screen door latched, then goes out the kitchen door, and you can’t tell if he’s here or not.”
“And why does he do that?” Sherry said.
“So pretty girls will think he’s an enigma.”
“I can’t believe you used that word.”
“Enigma?”
“No, girls. Don’t you mean pretty women?”
“I often mean pretty women. I seldom get to say it.” Aaron knocked on the kitchen door. He waited, but there was no answer. He knocked again.
“Any reason you’re knocking on the side door instead of the front?” Sherry asked.
“It’s easier knocking on wood than a screen.” When Sherry gave him a look, Aaron said, “This is how I got in before. But apparently, he’s not here.”
Aaron led the way around the back of the cabin. “Yeah, his truck’s gone. He’s not here.”
Sherry pursed her lips. Frowned. �
��Wait a minute.”
“What?”
“His truck’s gone doesn’t mean he’s not here. It means his truck’s not here.”
Aaron looked confused.
“Let’s not take anything for granted, Aaron,” Sherry said. “Annabel Hurley was just murdered. After being named in Emma Hurley’s will. A20119;nd Chester Hurley was named in Emma Hurley’s will …”
“Oh, now look,” Aaron protested.
“What’s so far-fetched about that?” Sherry argued. “The only evidence to the contrary is the fact his truck isn’t here. Well, gee, Aaron, you think a killer might steal a truck? Granted, truck theft’s a felony. A serious felony. Might deter most people. But someone who just stooped to murder? I don’t know. Can you imagine a murderer thinking, I’d better not take that truck, I might get in trouble.”
“Sherry.”
“Or the killer doesn’t steal the truck, he just runs it off into the woods a little ways, hoping to make it take longer before the body is discovered.”
“You’ve made your point.”
Aaron tried the side door. It was locked.
“How about a window?” Sherry said.
The windows in the back were slightly higher than those in the front due to the lay of the land, which fell away to a small, noisy stream before sloping back up the mountain.
“Boost me up,” Sherry said.
“You really want to peek in the man’s windows?”
“If he’s dead he won’t mind.”
“I can’t believe you said that.”
“I’m starting to sound like Cora,” Sherry said. “Now boost me up.”
Aaron laced his fingers together. Sherry stepped in, grabbed the windowsill and pulled up while he boosted. With Aaron’s help she performed a chin-up, managed to peek over the sill.
“What do you see?” Aaron said.
“It’s his bedroom. Double bed, unmade. Bureau, nightstand, television. A few clothes on the floor.”
“Any dead bodies?”
“I think I would have mentioned that.”
“You wanna get down?”
“I kind of like it here.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But the elevator’s leaving.”
Aaron lowered Sherry down to the ground.
“What’s the other window?”
“Bathroom, most likely,” Aaron said. “Think he’s dead in it?”
“No. But I suppose we should check.”
Aaron boosted Sherry up again. It was a little harder this time. The sill was narrower, gave less purchase. Sherry had trouble holding on, but with Aaron pushing hard, she managed to pull herself up and peer over.
“Just what do you think you’re doing!”
At first Sherry thought the gravelly voice came from the bathroom. Startled, she lost her grip, slid down the wall. Aaron tried to hold her up, but it was no use and she fell to the ground in an ungainly heap. She rolled over and looked up.
Chester Hurley towered over her. His lips were twisted in a scowl, exposing his awful teeth. He was dressed, as before, in plaid shirt and overalls. Standing there in the woods, he looked like a lumberjack.
A furious lumberjack.
Sherry stifled a shudder, managed a smile. “Mr. Hurley. We were looking for you.”
“So I see,” Chester Hurley said. “You ever heard of doors?”
“We knocked on your door. We got no answer.”
“So you decided to spy?”
Aaron Grant helped Sherry to her feet. “Mr. Hurley, you don’t understand. We came to tell you about Annabel.”
“Annabel? Yes, she’s dead. Someone killed her.”
“Who told you?”
“Why? Is it supposed to be a secret? A policeman told me. Not the Chief. The other one. Not the kid, either. The other cop.”
“Sam Brogan?”
“The one with the mustache.”
“That’s Sam.”
“Well, he told me. Someone killed her. And I come back here and I see someone staking out the place. Spying on me.”
“Where’s your truck?” Aaron asked. “How come you’re on foot?”
“If I drove up, you’d have heard me. I saw your car, left my truck down the road. I don’t want trouble, and I don’t go looking for it.”
“Particularly after someone just murdered your niece,” Aaron suggested.
Chester Hurley’s pale eyes narrowed. “Particularly any time at all. You live alone, you live cautious. You take nothing for granted. I’m still waiting for your explanation.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why were you looking in my window?”
“I thought we explained,” Aaron said patiently. “Someone killed your niece. A yoeighnd you weren’t at the meeting this morning. The meeting at the lawyers. To get the next puzzle piece.”
“Oh, that.”
“Did you know there was a meeting?” Aaron asked.
“Sure. Lawyer called me yesterday, told me about it.”
“Then why didn’t you go?”
“What for? It’s only if you need more clues.”
“And you didn’t?”
Chester Hurley snorted. “Stupid game. Don’t see the point.”
“Then you’re not working on the puzzle?”
“I didn’t say that. Did I say that?” The ugly light flickered in Chester’s eyes again.
“Then you are working on Emma’s puzzle?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“You know there’s another meeting this afternoon?”
“Oh?”
“If you should finish the first set of clues and want some more, just show up at the lawyer’s office four o’clock this afternoon and you’ll get ’em.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, it is. The other heirs will be there, getting the third set of clues. Assuming they’ve managed to solve the second. Now, I don’t know if there’s any way for you to catch up at this point. But maybe there is. Maybe the second set of clues is harder, no one will have solved it by four. But the point is, if you want to get back in the game you should be there.”
“And what if I’m not?” Chester Hurley said. “How’s this game ever end?”
“Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock there’s another meeting. The Puzzle Lady will be handing out the final set of clues. After that, the first person to complete the puzzle and hand it in is the winner.”
Chester Hurley shook his head. “Stupid.”
“I don’t disagree, Mr. Hurley,” Aaron Grant said. “I know you felt that way from the start. I’m just wondering if what happened to your unfortunate niece changes anything. If it motivates you in some way. Gives you a reason to want to win. I’m just wondering if you’ll be showing up in the lawyer’s office this afternoon.”
Chester Hurley snorted. “Fat chance.”
“Then you’re not playing the game?”
Chester Hurley saiterustd nothing.
“Can I write in the paper you’re not playing the game?”
“You can write in the paper any piece of garbage you want. That don’t make it true.”
Sherry Carter stepped in front of Aaron Grant. “Mr. Hurley, there’s something I need to tell you. Last night I spoke to Annabel. She stopped by the Wicker Basket where my aunt and I were having dinner. She saw us through the window and came in. You know why? Because she was terribly concerned about the game. She believed it was all wrong. She believed it wasn’t like Emma Hurley. She wanted my aunt to look into it.”
Chester Hurley narrowed his eyes, drew back his lips. The effect was unnerving. “So?” he said.
“Frankly, it’s the reason we were concerned about you. Annabel Hurley was skeptical of the puzzle and wasn’t playing the game. Someone killed her. You’re skeptical of the puzzle and you’re not playing the game. You’re the only other heir who isn’t playing the game. All the rest of them are all gung ho. You strike me as a very intelligent man. Can you see why we’d be concerned for your safety?”<
br />
“Sure,” Chester Hurley said. “Because you don’t know me.”
He reached into the pocket of his overalls and drew out the largest handgun Sherry Carter had ever seen. The revolver was ancient, but the blue steel gleamed from having been lovingly cleaned and polished. Sherry had no doubt the weapon was loaded, no doubt it would work.
“You can quit worrying about me, young lady. I can take care of myself. Now, you got any more damn fool questions?”
“Just one,” Aaron Grant said bravely. “You have any idea who murdered your niece?”
“Obviously not.”
“Why obviously?”
Chester Hurley waggled the gun.
“If I did, they’d be dead.”
Cora Felton paced the kitchen and fumed. Where were they? That’s what she wanted to know. Where had they gone? And why did Sherry have to run out on her now? It was positively infuriating. There they were, with a fresh set of clues to work on, and Sherry chooses to run off. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been right after Cora Felton had set the deadline. Four o’clock that afternoon. That was when the heirs would be showing up. That was when the heirs would be demanding these clues. And if Sherry and Cora hadn’t solved the puzzle by then—if they hadn’t found the closed recycling place, whatever that was, and gotten the next set of clues—then how could she give these out? And wouldn’t that be a fine kettle of fish, if she had to go back on that promise so soon after making it. So soon after reassuring the heirs the whole thing we oould be wrapped up by tomorrow morning. No, that would not do at all.
Cora Felton stalked to the refrigerator, jerked it open, looked inside, and slammed the door. It was not the first time she had done so.
The really infuriating thing was that Cora was being good. Sherry wasn’t home, Cora was all alone, Cora was bouncing off the walls, but Cora was not, repeat, not, pouring herself a drink. Absolutely not, no way. Cora had had her one wake-up Bloody Mary, and after that she would not drink until dinner. It was a rule that Cora would not violate except under extreme circumstances—though Cora was never quite sure exactly what constituted extreme circumstances—but certainly never on a day when she had been given the responsibility of adjudicating a very important puzzle, not to mention passing Go and collecting fifty thousand dollars. No, Cora would never drink on that day, even with extreme provocation, like Sherry running out on her and leaving her with the puzzle unsolved.