by Parnell Hall
The proprietor’s face became animated for the first time. “Isn’t it now? Murdered. What a shocking thing. Who would want to kill a sweet woman like that?”
“Well,” Cora mused, “there is a lot of money at stake.”
“You mean the will? I guess so.” The proprietor’s ugly eyes widened. “Oh, for goodness sakes. It’s you, isn’t it? Well, that’s a stupid thing to say, of course it’s you. You’re the one in charge of the will.”
Cora Felton smiled. “Well, actually, the lawyer’s in charge of the will. I’m just judging the contest. I’m Cora Felton. Very nice to meet you.”
The proprietor shook her hand. “And I’m mighty pleased to meet you. I’m Mable Drake, and this is my little shop. Isn’t it terrible about Annabel? I was telling Mildred Sims just this afternoon—she’s the housekeeper, you know—I was telling Mildred she’s a lucky woman just to get a fixed amount, and not be mixed up in the whole mess. No offense meant, I know you’re just doing your job. But isn’t that a foolish way to leave one’s fortune? Is it any wonder people are getting killed?”
“You think Annabel Hurley was killed because of Emma’s will?”
“Don’t you?”
“It’s certainly possible,” Cora said pleasantly. “Do you have any reason to think so? Other than the amount of money involved?”
“Well, Mildred said …”
“Yes?”
“I probably shouldn’t repeat it.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Cora agreed. “If you promised you wouldn’t.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly promise …”
“Well, if you feel you shouldn’t,” Cora said.
It was the right tack. Prying would have sealed her lips.
But faced with the suggestion that she not tell, Mable couldn’t wait to spill it.
“It’s that boy.”
“Oh?”
“Mildred Sims doesn’t trust the boy. With his beard, his motorcycle, and his nasty ways.”
“Nasty ways?”
Mable immediately began to backpedal. “Well, I don’t know about his nasty ways. I’m just going by what Mildred said. And she wasn’t happy, that’s for sure. Never seen her look so glum.”
“She was in here this afternoon?”
“That’s right.”
“Just to talk about the will?”
Mable Drake frowned, and her ugly eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“She didn’t come shopping, she just came to talk?”
“Don’t be silly,” Mable said. “What kind of a business would that be, people just come in to talk? She bought a new dish rack. Rack and tray. You know, the rubber tray that goes under. Always a good idea to replace. The mold builds up, no matter how well you think you clean.”
“That’s certainly true,” Cora agreed. “In fact, now that you mention it, ours is a disgrace.” She glanced around, saw Sherry ransacking a bin in the back of the store. “Sherry,” she called. “We need a dish rack and tray. Now, where would that be, Mable?”
“End of the third aisle.”
“Third aisle, down on the end. New dish rack, and a rubber tray to go under it.” Cora turned back to the proprietor. “Was that all Mildred bought?”
“This time, yes. Of course she’s in here all the time.”
“And she suspects the young Hurley boy? The one with the motorcycle?”
The proprietor put up her hands. “Now, did I say that? Mildred doesn’t like his manner, that’s all it is. And she only mentioned it in passing. She came in to buy a dish rack.”
“Uh huh,” Cora Felton said. “And what about Annabel Hurley? Was she in here all the time too?”
“Well, not like Mildred Sims. But she was certainly in here enough.”
“Like yesterday, for instance?”
“Yesterda201C;Yesy?”
“Yes. That would be something, wouldn’t it, if Annabel had been in here just before she died?”
“I suppose it would if she had.”
“You mean she hadn’t?”
“That’s right. When I heard about what happened to her, it occurred to me I hadn’t seen her in weeks.”
“Is that right?” Cora seemed more interested in examining a display of nail polish than in the answer to her question.
“Yes, it is.” Mabel glanced at her watch. “Now, you got four minutes, and I’m locking the door. Once I lock the door, you can buy what’s in your hands, or you can go out. But you can’t browse. I don’t sit around after hours watching people browse.”
“Good operating procedure,” Cora said. “I think I’ll give my niece a hand.”
Cora hurried to the back of the store where Sherry had found the dish racks and was examining the bottoms of the rubber trays. She set down the last one and straightened up.
“Anything?” Cora asked.
“Nothing at all. And there’s nothing under the counter and there’s nothing on the floor. Are you sure this was where she was?”
“Mildred bought a dish rack.”
“Maybe she needed one.”
“Hers was moldy. How is ours?”
“We have a dishwasher.”
“Oh? So we don’t need a dish rack?”
“You don’t know we have a dishwasher?”
“At the moment it is not uppermost in my mind. Sherry, think. We got two minutes before we’re out on our ear. Is there anyplace something could be hidden?”
“There’s no way to tell. You’d have to turn the store upside down.”
“We’re not prepared to do that. Yet.”
“So what do we do?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cora Felton could see the proprietor locking the front door.
She grimaced.
“We buy a dish rack.”
“That’s right,” Daniel Hurley said. He ducked his head, flashed his eyes, and smiled for the camera. “I happen to be engaged in a multimillion-dollar, winner-take-all contest for the Hurley estate. Which would be a real blast—if someone wasn’t bumping off the heirs.”
Rick Reed’s tone was lightly mocking. “Do you feel you’re in any danger?”
Daniel Hurley countered with a good-natured grin. “I’m smart enough to look out for myself.” He cocked his head. “I can’t speak for the other heirs.”
Rick Reed’s handsome face filled the screen. “Well, there you have it. Once again, more murders in Bakerhaven. And, once again, the police have no leads. This is Rick Reed, Channel 8 News.”
“Well, that was mercifully short.” Cora Felton switched off the TV.
“Yeah,” Sherry said dryly. “Rick used up all his time on Becky Baldwin.”
“Who had nothing really to say,” Cora pointed out. “But she certainly photographs beautifully.”
Sherry got up from the sofa, padded into her office, sat at the computer, and stared glumly at the screen.
Cora Felton came up behind her. “What are you doing? The puzzle’s solved. It’s all over.”
“I don’t like it,” Sherry said.
“Don’t like what?”
“There’s something wrong.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Take a look.”
Cora Felton peered over Sherry’s shoulder. There on the screen was the completed grid.
Cora read the answers over, shrugged. “Looks okay to me.”
“Looks okay to me too,” Sherry said.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The answer five-and-ten.”
“What about it?”
“I told you. It’s not a pun.”
“So it’s not a pun, but isn’t it a joke?”
“How is it a joke?”
“It’s a joke by not being a joke. It’s a nonjoke. What’s fifteen? Five and ten. It’s kind of funny.”
“It’s a huge stretch,” Sherry said.
“Maybe so, but there you are. Or are you telling me five-and-ten isn’t the correct answer?”
“No, it has to be. I’ve ch
ecked it and double-checked it. It has to be right.”
“So what’s bothering you?”
“The fact there’s nothing there. We got a bad clue leading to a solution where there’s nothing there. The two things taken together would tend to indicate something was wrong.” Sherry held up her hand. “I’m not saying there is.”
“I’m not thrilled myself,” Cora said. “But you can’t argue with the facts. There’s nothing at Odds and Ends, at least nothing we can find without getting a court order. But I wouldn’t expect that there’d be anything there because all we have been finding are crossword-puzzle clues, and what’s left to find once the puzzle’s complete?”
“I’ll grant you that,” Sherry said. “But the ten-letter word in the quadrant is five-and-ten. And every other ten-letter word in every other quadrant has been a location where something important was hidden. Here’s the last one and you’re telling me nothing’s hidden there?”
Cora grinned. “Role reversal. Here I am, saying a puzzle’s just a puzzle, and here you are, making a mystery out of it. But I’ll tell you something. If we can’t find anything at the five-and-ten—and it would appear that we can’t—then whoever solves this puzzle is the winner. And that’s my ruling. That means tomorrow it’s done, and the first person to turn in this completed grid is the heir to the Hurley fortune.”
“I think you’re being hasty,” Sherry said.
“Oh? What would you have me do?”
“We’ve assumed the five-and-ten is this particular store. Odds and Ends. Because a gas station attendant told us it was.”
“And because the housekeeper went there after talking to Chester Hurley,” Cora pointed out.
“She needed a dish rack. And there aren’t that many stores in town.”
“You’re saying you think it’s the wrong five-and-ten.”
“I’m not sure what I’m saying,” Sherry said.
The phone rang.
“I hope that’s Aaron,” Cora said. “You could use some cheering up.”
The call was for Cora. “It’s my bridge night,” she told Sherry as she hung up the phone. “I’d completely forgotten, with everything that’s going on.”
“You’re not going?”
“Of course I’m going. I could use some cheering up myself.”
“Cora—”
“It’s not like we have anything to do. The puzzle’s solved, the stores are closed, we’ve got to wait till tomorrow morning. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have a little fun.”
Sherry swiveled around in her desk chair. “Aunt Cora,” she said. “I don’t know how to impress upon you the importance of the meeting tomorrow morning. You have to be in charge, you have to be in control, you have to be sharp.”
“I’ll be terrific. Sharp as a knife.”
“It’s not a great night to be going out.”
“I’m just playing bridge.”
“In a bar.”
Cora Felton’s chin came up. “I don’t want to have this conversation. I’m going to change. Then I’m going to play bridge. I’ll come home when I’m done, I will not stay out late, I’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning. But I do not appreciate being told to do so, no matter how important it might seem to be.”
Cora stormed out of the office. Sherry could hear her crashing around in her bedroom, trying on clothes. Minutes later she was back, in a simple gray and white dress that buttoned up the front, and a rather outlandish red, green, and yellow scarf, which Sherry figured was probably for her benefit, to spite her for her remarks.
In full array, Cora announced, “Don’t wait up,” and flounced out the door.
Sherry smiled indulgently, shook her head, and went back to the computer.
The puzzle was bothering her, and it wasn’t just five-and-ten. The whole thing just didn’t seem right. For instance, fifty-four down, the answer to dead heat, was a tie. Which was wrong, really. The answer to dead heat would be tie, not a tie. Poorly edited, that was the impression Sherry got. Of course, the puzzle was forty years old, and she had no idea what editorial standards might have been back then. Still, she wondered what newspaper it was from. Or if it even came from a newspaper.
It was hot in the office. Sherry got up, went in the kitchen, filled a glass with ice, and poured herself some lemonade. She took a sip, nodded approvingly. She made good lemonade. Tangy. Not too much sugar. Just right.
Sherry went to the front door, opened it, looked out. The driveway was empty. Her aunt was long gone.
Sherry closed the door, went back in the office, sat at her desk. She stared at the computer screen, sipped her lemonade.
Wondered what Aaron was doing.
Actually, she knew what Aaron was doing. Writing his column. That was the problem with being a newspaper reporter. He worked odd hours.
dd hours
Sherry heard the sound of a motor approaching, and tires in the driveway. Could it be her aunt returning? No, it was a different motor sound.
Very different.
Sherry went to the front door and opened it to find Daniel Hurley climbing down off his big motorcycle. He wore his leather jacket in spite of the heat, and a shiny white motorcycle helmet. He unstrapped his helmet, hung it over the handlebars. Shook the long hair off his face.
“If you’re looking for my aunt, you’re out of luck,” Sherry told him. “She just left.”
“Yeah, I thought I passed her on the road,” Daniel said. “Where’s she heading?”
“It’s her bridge night.”
“Is that right? Where does she play?”
“At the Country Kitchen. And she won’t appreciate you bothering her.”
Daniel Hurley grinned. “Yes. She made that pretty clear at the meeting. I assure you I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I came to see you. We didn’t really get a chance to talk the other night. After all, I’m an old friend of Dennis’s.”
“That’s hardly a recommendation.”
He put up his hand. “I know, I know. Listen, you got anything to drink? It is so muggy tonight.”
Sherry hesitated. The thought flashed through her mind that the puzzle was still on her computer screen. She immediately told herself she was being silly. He wasn’t going to overpower her and storm the office. “I have some lemonade. Come in.”
Daniel took the glass of lemonade greedily. Under the kitchen lights the perspiration beaded on his brow. He was sweaty from his ride. He took a huge gulp, grinned, wiped his mouth.
“Not bad. Could use a little sugar.”
“You must have a sweet tooth. It’s actually just right.”
“Well, it hits the spot,” Daniel said. “A little tangy, perhaps, but good. So, you see me on TV? Whaddaya think? Will it drive the others wild, or what?”
“Daniel, do you really have time to be doing this? Shouldn’t you be solving the puzzle?”
“Maybe I already have.”
“Oh?”
“And maybe I haven’t. But what’s the big deal? The way your aunt’s playing it, I’ve got till ten A.M. tomorrow, and who couldnȁ>couldn&9;t solve the puzzle in that much time?”
“Particularly with help.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Isn’t your lawyer helping you with it?”
“No, she isn’t.” He shrugged. “But even if she was, who could object? Anyway, Becky’s not helping me, she’s too busy chasing after that reporter.”
“Rick Reed?”
“No, the other one.”
Sherry said nothing.
“Well, you must have noticed she has designs on him. Even that first night in the bar. She’s hanging around him every chance she gets. Claims she’s doing research. Maybe she even believes it. All I know is it’s a good thing I don’t really need a lawyer.”
“Then why do you have one?” The question came out harsher than Sherry had intended.
“I don’t really.”
Daniel’s smile was a smirk. Sherry wondered if he was aware he was nettling her. “I consulted Becky about breaking Auntie’s will. But that was when I thought I had no chance to win.”
“And now you think you do?”
Daniel tossed off the last of the lemonade, set his glass down on the butcher block table, and sized Sherry up. “I didn’t come here to talk about the will.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“I told you. To see you.” He smiled, stroked his beard. “I remember you in college. Little Miss Perfect. So studious all the time. And yet, there was something about you … I always thought Dennis was so lucky.” He chuckled. “Which he was, wasn’t he? More charm than talent, right? Good salesman. Great self-promoter. Still, it amazed me you fell for it.”
“I don’t want to talk about Dennis.”
He nodded. “Of course not. End of subject. Anyway, how you doing now? You’re here in this small town, you said you were teaching school. But it’s summer. So what are you up to now? Are you just hanging out?”
“I told you. I work with my aunt. On the crossword puzzle thing.”
“Yes. That figures. You always were terrific with words. What do you do for fun?”
“Fun?”
“Bakerhaven is not my idea of a hot spot. Young woman like you, I’d think you’d be bored.”
“You’d think wrong.”
“Uhy"> huh.” He jerked his thumb. “Come on. Let’s take a ride.”
“On your motorcycle?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have a helmet.”
“Wear mine.”
“Then you won’t have a helmet.”
“Big deal. It’s not like this town was crawling with cops.”
“I wasn’t thinking of a ticket. I was thinking of brain damage.”
Daniel grinned. “Hey, I’m not worried. If I rap the bike, I probably kill myself, helmet or no helmet.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“It should be.” He took her by the arm and led her through the living room out the front door. “Here we go. You take my helmet.”
“I don’t know …”
“You ever ride on a bike before? No? Well, no time like the present.” Daniel took the helmet off the handlebars. “Here, put that on.”