Last Puzzle & Testament

by Parnell Hall

  Cora Felton frowned, rubbed her chin, tried to give the impression she was debating whether or not to tell Rick. In reality, she was searching for anything to tell him.

  “All right,” she said. “Annabel Hurley is actually the second murder in Bakerhaven this week. A man by the name of Jeff Beasley was the first.”

  Rick Reed looked indignant. “Are you stringing me along? That was in the morning paper.”

  “It was?”

  “Don’t give me that. It was in the Bakerhaven Gazette. Are you trying to tell me you haven’t seen it?”

  “I’ve been rather busy.”

  “So I understand. Would you care to talk about what you’ve been so busy doing?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “I thought you were going to give me a hint.”

  “I was. I did. I didn’t know you already knew it.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cora saw a pickup truck lumber down the street and turn in the direction of the lawyer’s office. Undoubtedly Chester Hurley ester Huon his way to call on Arthur Kincaid. A glance at her niece told her Sherry’d seen the truck too. It occurred to Cora that Chester Hurley would be the perfect distraction.

  If she didn’t want him for herself.

  Cora opened her mouth. Closed it again. Tried to think of something to say.

  Across the street, a few doors down from the police station, Becky Baldwin came out of Cushman’s Bake Shop, sipping coffee from a cardboard container. She turned and headed for the police station.

  Cora Felton smiled. “There’s your story.”

  “Huh?” Rick Reed said.

  “See the young woman across the street?”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s a lawyer. Her name’s Becky Baldwin. She was the attorney for Jeff Beasley before his demise.”

  “So?”

  “It’s my understanding she’s now representing Daniel Hurley, a young, bearded hippie type, drives around on a motorcycle, believed by the police to be the last person to see Annabel Hurley alive. Looks like Charles Manson. If you want an angle, here’s an attractive Bakerhaven High girl goes off to college, gets a law degree, and on her way through town, just stopping by to see her folks en route to interview for a major law firm in Boston, suddenly finds herself smack in the middle of a multimillion-dollar will contest and a double murder. What do you think? Think she might photograph well? And look at that. Heading into the police station. Wonder what business she has there?” Cora mused. She put up her hands. “But, hey, don’t take it from me. I wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to sell you anything.”

  Rick Reed seemed torn. He looked at Cora Felton. Looked across the street at the police station. He turned to his cameraman and assistant. “Come on,” he said, and the three of them hurried across the street.

  “That was close,” Cora said.

  “I’ll say,” Sherry said. “I never thought I’d be happy to see Becky Baldwin. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Cora and Sherry hopped in the car.

  “Was that Chester Hurley who drove by?”

  “Sure looked like him.”

  “And wasn’t that the lawyer’s street?”

  “Hard to tell from this angle, but I think it was.”

  “Let’s check it out.”

  Cora Felton turned off and drove to Arthur Kincaid’s house. Chester Hurley’s truck was not there.

  “I guess t01C;I guhat wasn’t where he was going.” Cora sounded disappointed.

  “Not necessarily,” Sherry said. “Arthur Kincaid’s car isn’t here either. Maybe Chester just didn’t find him at home.”

  “In which case he would have turned around and we’d have run into him. He didn’t do that.”

  “Yes, but Chester’s lived here all his life. He probably knows another way out without turning around.”

  “Well, if he can, we can,” Cora said. “Let’s see if he did.”

  “We could also get lost,” Sherry objected, but Cora was already heading out of town on a road that quickly got narrower, and began to twist and turn, and offer various side streets, any of which could have been taken by Chester Hurley in his truck.

  “Don’t you want to get home and work on the puzzle?” Sherry said. Cora’s driving was erratic at best.

  “Of course I do. But we’re way ahead. These jokers are still working on post office. They don’t even have the clues to give them laundromat yet. But I wish you’d brought the grid with you.”

  “I thought we were going home.”

  “So did I. Is that the truck?”

  “Where?”

  “There.”

  They were climbing a wooded hill. Sherry looked through the trees and saw Chester Hurley’s rusty truck parked next to a little house in a clearing in the woods. There was a car in the carport, but from the angle Sherry couldn’t see it well.

  “Whose house is that?” Cora asked her.

  “I have no idea. Tell me something, why exactly are we following Chester Hurley?”

  “Chester isn’t playing the game and he’s carrying a gun. He made threats against whoever harmed his niece. If he’s on to something, I’d sure like to know what it is.”

  “What makes you think he’s on to something? Why couldn’t he just be going about his business?”

  “With his niece dead, the heirs in town, and the will contest going on? What normal business could possibly concern him?”

  Cora pulled into a driveway, turned the car around. She drove slowly back toward the house in the woods.

  “What are you doing?” Sherry asked.

  “Getting the house number.”

  “We don’t even know the street.”

  “We can find ;We can out.”

  “Cora, this is silly.”

  “Maybe, but I’m the judge. And I want to know who he’s calling on.”

  “Oh, phooey.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You may want to know who he’s calling on, but it’s not because you’re the judge. It has nothing to do with that. You just want to know.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Aunt Cora—”

  “Sherry, look. He’s coming out.”

  Cora Felton braked the Toyota to a noisy stop and stabbed her finger through the trees, where, sure enough, Chester Hurley was coming out the front door of the little house. While they watched, he turned back to speak to someone inside. A few minutes later, the person appeared in the doorway.

  “Look at that!” Cora exclaimed. “It’s what’s-her-name, the housekeeper.”

  “Mildred Sims,” Sherry said.

  “Right,” Cora said. “Isn’t that intriguing? Who would be closer to Emma Hurley than her housekeeper? I can’t think of a better person to question about Annabel Hurley’s death.”

  “Then the police have surely done it,” Sherry pointed out.

  “Of course they have. It’s their job. That’s not the point. The point is, Chester Hurley’s doing it too. And it’s not his job. Uh oh. Look at that.”

  Mildred Sims had come out of the house and was climbing into her car.

  Chester Hurley’s ratty old truck was blocking her. He climbed in, and began to back out of the drive.

  Cora Felton shifted into gear.

  “Decision time,” she muttered. “Do we follow him or her?”

  “Why should we follow either?”

  “Sherry, for a bright woman you’re a bit dense. There’s been two homicides. Here’s two of our suspects, and—”

  “How’s the housekeeper a suspect?”

  “She was mentioned in the will.”

  “For a specific amount. Which she has already earned. She has no interest in the outcome of the game.”

  “She has if she’s in league with Chester Hurley.”

  “Who we know is not playing the game,&ng the g#x201D; Sherry said.

  Chester Hurley backed out of the driveway and drove past them on up the hill.

  Mildred Sims drov
e out and headed back toward town.

  Cora snorted in disgust. “This is where we need two cars. It just doesn’t work, us living in the country with only one car.”

  “It works just fine.”

  “I think if we get the fifty thousand dollars we get another car.”

  Cora Felton gunned the motor and took off, her tires kicking up sand and gravel on the dirt road.

  “The housekeeper?” Sherry said.

  “Uh huh.”

  “How come?”

  “Chester Hurley lit a fire under her. I want to see where she goes.”

  “If you rear-end her, she won’t go anywhere.”

  “Huh?”

  “You want to slow down. This is a narrow, windy road.”

  They shot around a bend and discovered they’d caught up with the housekeeper’s car. Cora Felton dropped back and they tagged along from a safer distance.

  “You shouldn’t be spending the money on a car,” Sherry said.

  “What?”

  “The fifty thousand. If you earn it, you should keep it. You shouldn’t be buying another car.”

  “But we need one. I suppose I could do another TV ad.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Or I could get married again.”

  “Wonderful. You’d get married just for a car?”

  “Why not?”

  “Can’t you be serious?”

  “I am being serious. It’s annoying to let Chester Hurley go.”

  Mildred Sims came to the end of the dirt road, turned left.

  “We’re heading back toward town,” Sherry said.

  “I wonder if the TV crews are still there.”

  “I would imagine Rick Reed’s interviewing Becky Baldwin. I gotta hand it to you, Cora, that was inspired.”

  “Sometimes I’m not so dumb,” Cora said. “Ah, he#x201C;Are we are.”

  The housekeeper drove down Main Street and pulled up in front of a shop. Aside from the merchandise in the front windows, it was an ordinary Colonial-style building with a hand-lettered sign: ODDS AND ENDS.

  “It looks like a general store,” Cora said. “I hope it isn’t where she’s going.”

  But it was. Mildred Sims got out of the car, went up the steps and in the front door.

  “Well, this is boring,” Sherry said. “We’re tailing a woman who’s going shopping.”

  “We should have followed Chester,” Cora said.

  “We shouldn’t have followed anyone,” Sherry said. “We should have gone home and done the puzzle.”

  Cora Felton pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, stuck one in her mouth, pulled out a lighter and fired it up.

  “I thought you weren’t going to smoke in the car,” Sherry said.

  “Only when I’m tense and nervous.”

  “Why are you tense and nervous?”

  “Because I’m not smoking in the car.”

  “Well, at least open the window.”

  Cora Felton pushed the button and rolled down the window. Aaron Grant immediately stuck his head in. “Hi, girls, doing the laundry?”

  Cora Felton gasped, dropped the lit cigarette in her lap. “Aaron Grant, you scared me to death, and now I’m going to burn myself up.” She snatched up the cigarette. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  Aaron grinned. “I was about to ask you the same thing. I thought I left you two at home working on a crossword puzzle.” He jerked his thumb at the bag of clothes in the backseat. “Now you’re downtown doing the wash, and aren’t you due at the lawyer’s pretty soon? Or is that something else I’m not supposed to know?”

  “That’s not fair,” Sherry said. “We’re telling you everything we can. It’s Chief Harper who said no.”

  “Chief Harper doesn’t want me to know anything I can’t print. Which is one way to play it, but it means I can print anything that I know.”

  “And just what do you know?”

  Aaron shrugged. “How’s the headline PUZZLE LADY CLEANS UP grab you?”

  Sherry gawked at him.

  Aaron grinned. “Not too catchy, huh? But I’ll bet you there’s something to it. There’s a murder investigation, there’s a puzzle t;s a puzo be solved, I’ll bet you haven’t even had lunch yet, and you’re running around doing your laundry. I may not be the smartest reporter in the world, but sometimes an idea just hits you over the head. So, is there any chance, even a small one, any chance whatsoever, either the puzzle or the murder investigation has something to do with the laundromat?”

  “Aaron.”

  “I’m just wondering, if I were to pay a call on Minnie Wishburn over at the Wash and Dry, what she might have to say.”

  “Don’t do it.”

  “That’s practically a confirmation.”

  “Aaron, Chief Harper said to keep out of this.”

  “No, Chief Harper said he couldn’t tell me anything. Anything I find on my own is fair game.”

  Before Sherry could retort, Cora Felton put up her hands. “Whoa. Kids. It’s real nice having you talk back and forth across me like I’m not even here, but if it’s all the same with you I’m getting out of the car.”

  Cora flicked her cigarette ash out the window, backing Aaron Grant up, then pushed the door open and got out. Sherry got out too.

  “Aaron, this is absolutely unfair. You know we can’t tell you anything, but you think it’s all right to tail us around and report on what we do.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Then what are you doing now?”

  “I’m looking for a lead. Right now I need one bad. There’s news crews in town. I just went by the Wicker Basket, and guess who’s having lunch.”

  “Rick Reed and Becky Baldwin.” Cora Felton tilted her head back, blew a smoke ring.

  Aaron Grant looked at her. “How do you know that?”

  “Actually, I made it happen.”

  “Oh?”

  “Rick was trying to interview us,” Sherry said. “Cora gave him a better lead.”

  “Is that right?” Aaron said.

  “Yes, it is. Not a bad idea, huh? And I bet Becky photographs well.”

  Aaron frowned. “I wonder if she’ll go on camera.”

  “Better her than me,” Cora said.

  “That’s very interesting,” Aaron said. “So, you girls haven’t eaten? What do you say we have lunch?”

  It was nearly three-thirty and the Wicker Basket wasn’t crowded. Rick Reed and Becky Baldwin sat at a table by the window. The camera crew, who had obviously eaten earlier, sat at a table in the back, sipping coffee and looking bored and grumpy, probably due to the fact that the restaurant didn’t serve beer.

  Aaron escorted Cora and Sherry to a table across the room.

  A waitress appeared with menus. “Lunch?” she asked.

  “It’s too early for dinner, isn’t it?” Cora said.

  “The dinner menu starts at five.”

  “Then it’s lunch,” Cora decided. “Bring me a martini or a cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll have coffee too,” Aaron said.

  “Decaf,” Sherry said.

  “One decaf, two regular.”

  “You always have to be healthy?” Aaron asked, as the waitress retreated.

  “I don’t want to talk about coffee,” Sherry said.

  “Oh, why not?”

  “I’m just wondering what we’re doing here.”

  “We’re having lunch.”

  “We’re not spying on Becky Baldwin?”

  “Heaven forbid,” Aaron said. “Of course, if there was a story, I’m a little hamstrung not being able to write about you.”

  “Your interest in Becky Baldwin is professional?”

  “I hate getting scooped by TV in general, and him in particular.”

  “Gee. Maybe we should have sat closer so we could listen in.”

  “Kids, kids,” Cora said. “Quit squabblng and look at the menu.”

  “I know what I’m having,” Sherry said. “A BLT
on white toast, hold the mayo.”

  “You on a diet?” Aaron said.

  “Nonsense,” Cora said. “If she were on a diet, she’d hold the bacon.”

  “Oh, and what are you having?” Sherry said.

  “Well, the diet plate looks good,” Cora said, “if I were a rabbit. I’m thinking of the make-your-own omelet with cheddar cheese, onions, and peppers. What about you, Aaron?”

  “I’ve eaten.”

  They turned on him.

  “So you are just spying on Becky Baldwin?” Sherry demanded.

  Cora waggled her finger. “If you start bickering, there’s no dessert. Ah, thank you,” she added to the waitress, who slid coffee in front of them. “I’ll be having a cheddar cheese omelet with onions and peppers, and she’ll be having a BLT on white toast, hold the mayo. He’s just having coffee.”

  “And an oatmeal cookie,” Aaron said.

  “So what are we really doing here?” Sherry demanded, as the waitress moved away.

  “I would call it damage control,” Aaron said. “With all due apologies, Cora, throwing Becky Baldwin to the media may not be the best idea, at least as far as I’m concerned. As Daniel Hurley’s attorney, she knows more than I do. At least, more than I’m allowed to know. And if she wants to spill it to the TV people instead of to me, I don’t like that. I got a big enough handicap as it is.”

  “And how are you going to control that?” Cora said.

  “I don’t know,” Aaron replied. “We’re sitting here having lunch, not invading anybody’s space. We’re across the room, not trying to eavesdrop.” He jerked his thumb. “But if that crew gets up, that’s something else again. The minute they point the camera, Becky and Rick are fair game. It’s not a private conversation anymore, it’s the news. And I’ll step right up next to the camera and listen.”

  From outside came the growl of a motorcycle. It grew louder, then coughed, sputtered, and died. A minute later Daniel Hurley came banging in the screen door. He stood in the doorway, glanced around the room. Scowled at the sight of Becky Baldwin and Rick Reed. He stomped over to their table, and, in a voice loud enough to be heard across the room, said, “Hi, Becky. Who’s he?”

  Becky said, “Daniel, this is Rick Reed from Channel 8 News.”

  Daniel Hurley pursed his lips, cocked his head. Hesitated.