by Parnell Hall
“Daniel.”
“Hey, no big deal. It’s not like we were going anywhere. Just down the road and back. Come on.”
Sherry didn’t want to do it. But she didn’t want to not do it. Which bothered her. Why did she care if Daniel Hurley thought she was an old stick in the mud?
And was that really the motivation?
Or was it what he said about Becky Baldwin and Aaron Grant?
No, not really. She just didn’t want to be the type of person who didn’t do things. No, not for Daniel Hurley—she couldn’t care less what he thought—just for her.
Sherry took the helmet. It was heavier on her head than she expected, and the strap was loose. Daniel reached up, adjusted it. His hand brushed her cheek, briefly, and for a moment Sherry thought he was going to say something. But then he was climbing onto the motorbike and motioning for her to climb up behind. Sherry threw her leg over the bike, scrunched up behind him on the seat.
“Hang on,” he said.
Sherry put her hands on his shoulders.
He craned his neck, grinned. “I’d hang on tighter than that.”
Daniel wrenched the handlebars, straightened the bike, kicked the kickstand free. He sta free. Hrted the bike, revved the engine, eased the clutch, and turned around in the drive. The bike tilted when he did, and Sherry found herself leaning the other way, trying to balance.
“Lean into it,” Daniel instructed. “I won’t tip over.”
He came out of the turn, straightened the bike, gunned the motor down the drive.
At the foot of the driveway he didn’t stop, just slowed to see that nothing was coming, and leaned the bike into a slow, lazy turn. Coming out of it, he shifted gears, revved the motor, and popped the clutch.
The motorcycle took off.
Sherry’s arms went around Daniel’s chest and she hung on for dear life.
The motorcycle rocketed down the winding road, flashing in and out of the tall maple trees. Sherry’s heart was pounding. The wind whipped at her face as the fields and trees flashed by. She forced herself to lean in when Daniel did, and then they were out of the turn and hurtling down the road.
Telephone poles flashed by, one after another. It occurred to Sherry she never noticed them in a car. Not like this.
She’d barely had time to have the thought when they were into the S-turn, streaking down the hill toward the turnoff on the way into Bakerhaven. Sherry found herself leaning first one way, then the other, frightened, but thrilled too. And there came a car around the curve, and how did they ever miss it? Though, to be cool and impartial, each vehicle was safely on its own side of the road.
Cool and impartial?
That was a laugh.
At the foot of the hill they reached the main road. For a moment Sherry thought Daniel was going to go back on his word, and keep on going into town. Then, at the last moment, he slowed the motorcycle, and, as no cars were coming, used the intersection to go out around in a semicircle heading back the way they came.
Coming out of the U-turn Daniel gunned the motor and popped the clutch again, leaving rubber as he took off up the hill.
Sherry wasn’t impressed. Or, for that matter, concerned. Whether it seemed safer speeding uphill, or whether she was just used to it, Sherry didn’t have the same sense of dizzying exhilaration she’d had coming down. The fear was gone. Sherry was an old hand. Riding a motorcycle was something she had done.
It was worth it just for that.
Or so she told herself.
Daniel Hurley drove his motorcycle up her driveway and stopped. Sherry hopped off, unbuckled the helmet, pulled it off her head. She turned and hung the helmet on the handlebars.
As she turned back, Daniel Hurley took her by the shoulders and kissed her.
Sherry twisted away. “Excuse me?” she said, stepping back.
Daniel Hurley grinned. grinned.01C;In motorcycle circles, when someone gives you your first ride, it’s assumed they’re entitled to a kiss.”
“I don’t travel in motorcycle circles,” Sherry replied.
“Of course not. That’s why it’s your first ride.”
“Nice try, Daniel.”
Daniel Hurley shrugged, made a goofy, aw-shucks gesture. “You could do worse. You know there’s a good chance I’m going to be a millionaire.”
“And of course I can be bought,” Sherry said coldly.
“Sorry. Stupid thing to say.”
Daniel smiled. Sherry suddenly realized he was the type of guy who softened everything with a smile. Even that knowledge was not enough to render the trait entirely un-endearing.
He asked, “You say your aunt’s at the Country Kitchen?”
“You’re not going to bother my aunt.”
“Absolutely not. But I would like to have a drink. Care to have one with me?”
“Not right now.”
“Too bad,” Daniel said. “It will be lonely, what with Becky tied up and all. Sure you won’t change your mind?”
“I’m sure.”
“Suit yourself.”
Daniel put on his helmet, climbed on the motorcycle, gunned the motor, and roared off.
Watching him go, Sherry wondered about his last remarks. Wondered how much his calling on her had to do with Becky Baldwin seeing Aaron Grant. Would he do that, chase another woman because she was chasing another man?
Chasing?
Becky Baldwin wasn’t chasing Aaron Grant. Any more than Daniel Hurley was chasing her.
He kissed her.
Big deal.
Had Becky Baldwin kissed Aaron Grant?
Sherry stopped, put up her hands.
No.
She wasn’t doing this.
She’d put it out of her head.
Think of other things.
Sherry felt hot and flushed after the motorcycle ride. She went in the kitchen, poured herself another lemonade. She took a sip and smiled. It was perfect. Not too tangy.
Tangy.
Sherry frowned.
Stop it.
Sherry took another sip of lemonade, eyes on the door of her office. The crossword puzzle was still on the computer screen. She’d left it on while she’d had her debut motorcycle ride. With the front door unlocked, anyone could have come in and seen it. Although no one had. Still …
Sherry went in the office, half expecting the puzzle would be no longer there, but, of course, it was. She sat at the computer, studied the screen. There was the puzzle, completely solved, teasing her with its unsatisfying riddle.
What could it possibly mean?
Sherry wondered if she’d ever know.
Even if she didn’t, tomorrow the whole game would be over.
Assuming Cora was in any shape to judge the contest.
Sherry sighed.
Wondered how her aunt was doing.
Cora Felton was winning.
There was nothing particularly unusual in that. A good player, Cora Felton often won at bridge. But not like tonight. Tonight, Cora was winning consistently, rubber after rubber. And it wasn’t just that the cards were running hot. But whoever Cora’s partner was—for the women switched partners after every rubber—always seemed to play well, and the women who weren’t partnered with Cora didn’t. As a result, Cora found herself riding an unprecedented winning streak.
The only thing slowing her down was the fact everyone wanted to talk about the Hurleys.
“It’s unbelievable,” Iris Cooper said. Bakerhaven’s first selectwoman as usual wore a dress as conservative as, yet conspicuously more expensive than, that of anyone else at the table. “I’ve known old Emma Hurley all my life. Annabel too, though not the same way. And Chester, that’s another story. Though I understand there was a time before he got weird. Not that I’m old enough to remember that.”
“Of course not,” Lois Greely said. A large, horse-faced, opinionated woman, Lois Greely was the proprietor of the general store, the one just over the covered bridge. Cora wondered if there was any way to tactfully
ask her if it had ever been referred to as a five-and-ten. Considering Lois’s overbearing manner, there probably was not.
“If you want my opinion,” Lois continued, “there’s not a good Hurley left, and that’s the truth. Annabel was a good woman. Poor, and a little strange, but basically good. Chester’s off his rocker, we all know that. And as for the others, they’re an ungrateful, greedy lot. I have that from Emma herself. So, if you want my opinion,” Lois said again, utterly discounting the possibility someone actually might not, “none of them deserves the money, and you should declare them all losers and give it all to charity.”
“And give it all to us,” Amy Cox piped up. A younger woman who was new in town but who had been welcomed into the inner social circle due to the fact her husband ran a major insurance company in Hartford, Amy Cox laughed unnecessarily loudly at her own joke, as she had a habit of doing.
The women kicked the topic of the inheritance around for a while, then started in on the murders. At which point Cora excused herself and went to get a drink. The table the women used for bridge was in a little room just off the bar, and in the past Cora had often availed herself of the proximity. Tonight she wanted a drink partly to celebrate her winning streak, and partly because Sherry had made such a point about her not having one. Cora needed to show Sherry she was capable of having a drink and still behaving responsibly. She also needed to show Sherry she couldn’t be told what to do. She also needed to think about something other than the Hurleys. A drink would be just the ticket.
As Cora came through the door of the bar, however, the first thing she saw was the long black hair of Daniel Hurley, who was sitting at the end of the bar. And there, not two stools away, sat Arthur Kincaid. Fortunately, the bar was full, and neither of them had seen her. Cora picked a spot about halfway down the bar and squeezed her way in.
“Tall gin and tonic with lime,” she called to the bartender.
Miraculously, he heard her. Minutes later, Cora was reaching eagerly for the glass.
“Miss Felton?”
The voice came from behind Cora. But at the moment nothing was going to distract her from her task. She grabbed the gin and tonic, pressed money in the bartender’s hand. She raised the glass to her lips and took a huge sip. Then turned to see who had accosted her.
Her face fell.
It was what’s-his-name, the constructor, the crossword-puzzle expert. Beerbelly? Beerbaum. That’s right. Her worst nightmare. Harvey Beerbaum.
Still, she smiled, said, “How do you do?” and tried to push by him.
But he grabbed her by the arm. “Miss Felton. Miss Felton. I must talk to you.”
“Yes, of course,” Cora said. “But not now. I’m playing bridge.”
“Yes, I know. But it’s important.”
“I’m sure it is, but so’s my bridge game. Do you play bridge?”
“No, I don’t. I have to talk to you. It’s about the puzzle.”
“I’m not talking about crossword puzzles tonight.”
“I didn’t say crossword puzzles. I said the puzzle. The one you’re working on. The one you’re judging. For the Hurley estate.”
“I particularly can’t talk about that.”
“All right, maybe you can’t. But in the abstract—can we talk in the abstract?”
Cora’s heart was pounding. This was worse than she’d thought. “No, we can’t,” she said. “I can’t discuss the puzzle specifically, I can’t discuss it in general, and I cannot, absolutely will not, discuss it hypothetically in the abstract. Is that clear? The puzzle doesn’t concern you, you shouldn’t be discussing it at all, I don’t want to hear anything about it.”
With that Cora pushed by Harvey Beerbaum and out of the room. She returned to the table, where gossip eventually wound down and the women actually got back to playing bridge.
Cora played, but her mind wasn’t on the game anymore. Harvey Beerbaum had distracted her. What could he have possibly wanted? And how did he know anything about the puzzle in the first place? Cora wished she’d been able to ask him. But for her, any discussion of the puzzle at all was entirely too dangerous. Particularly with him. One slip, one tiny slip, and he’d know. And she wouldn’t even necessarily know what constituted a slip. No, talking to him was out of the question. She had to put him out of her mind and play bridge.
Cora tried hard. She was aided by the fact that the cards kept running her way. The women played for a penny a point, and Cora wound up winning sixty-seven dollars. She won nearly every rubber, and even made a grand slam.
It didn’t help.
Harvey Beerbelly had spoiled her evening.
Sherry couldn’t help watching Aaron Grant. She stood in the back of Arthur Kincaid’s office next to Aaron, and tried to read Aaron’s body language. Was he relating to Becky Baldwin? If so, she certainly couldn’t tell. He’d given no indication whatsoever. No sign that he’d dated her the night before.
On the other hand, Daniel Hurley wasn’t relating to Sherry either. He’d strode in with Becky Baldwin, arrogant as ever, taunting his relatives with his TV performance, and sprawled out in his usual chair. He hadn’t even acknowledged Sherry’s existence.
Sherry reminded herself that she didn’t care.
She frowned as Arthur Kincaid called the meeting to order and turned the floor over to Cora Felton.
“All right, this is it,” Cora said. “This is the final piece of Emma’s puzzle. Once I hand it out, the race will begin. The first person to bring back the completed grid will be the winner.” She raised her finger. “Provided the grid is correctly filled in. If there is an error, you lose. So check your work. Don’t come complaining to me if you blow it.”
Cora Felton raised her chin, looked around the room. Philip and Phyllis didn’t look pleased, but as far as Cora could tell, the only one who out-and-out disagreed with what she’d just said was Sherry Carter. Sherry and Cora had been outside Odds and Ends when the cranky Mable Drake had opened up at eight-thirty that morning, and an exhaustive but surreptitious search of the store under the guise of shopping for a set of dish towels and a magazine rack had turned up absolutely nothing. Whereupon Cora had decided completing the grid would mean winning the game.
Much to Sherry’s disapproval.
“One more thing,” Cora said. “As I said, this time it’s a race. And I will be staying right here in this room until there’s a winner. No checking in. No calling on the phone. No leaving messages on my answering machine. You must be here in this room, personally hand me the grid. If it’s right, you win. If it’s wrong, you don’t. First correct grid wins. Now, if there are no questions, I will begin validating the grids.”
The heirs gathered around while Cora made the comparisons, as usual using the printout Sherry had provided.
Cora checked Phyllis Applegate’s first. Her grid was still perfect.
So was Philip Hurley’s.
Daniel Hurley handed his in with an insolent flourish, and didn’t even wait for Cora to look at it before slumping back into his seat. She said, “Yes, this seems to be correct,” and then stood there holding the grid, waiting him out until he had to get up and come around the table to take it back from her. He looked slightly pained as he did so. Still, he managed a strut, and an arrogant wink in the direction of Becky Baldwin, who looked on with what Cora would have characterized as fascinated disapproval of his behavior.
“All right,” Cora said, holding up the manila envelope.
“Here is the final set of clues. If you’d all care to form a line in front of the door. Not a single-file line, but a line straight across. Would the three principals—that is, Philip Hurley, Phyllis Applegate, and Daniel Hurley—if the three of you would line up next to each other. Then with the help of my niece, Sherry, I will be able to hand out the last set of clues to all of you simultaneously.”
Cora Felton slid the final set of clues from the manila envelope. She gave a copy to Sherry, took two for herself. They went around the table to the door, where
Philip and Phyllis were elbowing, jostling, and shoving each other, and doing everything except standing in an orderly line.
Cora Felon smiled. “This is the part that makes it all worthwhile. You will keep quiet and hold still. Until you do so, no one gets a clue. I will wait.”
After what seemed like forever, but couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds of grumbling accusations, blame shifting, and off-color language, Philip and Phyllis were quiet. Cora nodded to Sherry, and the two of them held out the clues. Philip and Phyllis grabbed theirs from Cora and bolted out the door.
Daniel Hurley took his from Sherry. As he took the page his hand brushed hers, and for an instant their eyes met. He smiled briefly, led briethen he was ushering Becky Baldwin out the door.
Outside in the street, car doors slammed, engines revved, and tires squealed, as the heirs took off on the final leg of the puzzle.
“Where do you think they’re going?” Aaron asked.
Cora Felton frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we know the Applegates are going to the library, but the rest of them? I mean, it’s a crossword puzzle. And it’s a race. If I were one of them, I’d sit down and do it right here.”
“Maybe,” Sherry said thoughtfully. “But then you’d have us all looking on. Which might inhibit you. You gotta remember, this is their fourth time around. So they got their little routines established, how they’re comfortable working. And it’s a small town. Nothing’s more than a few blocks away.”
“That’s well thought out,” Aaron said. “You have a real insight into how people solve crossword puzzles.”
Sherry blushed, and averted her eyes. She had a guilty thought, both for what she suspected, and for what she hadn’t told him.
Aaron turned to Cora. “Now that it’s over, you gonna let me see the grid?”
“It’s not over yet,” Cora reminded him.
“No, but it soon will be. We’re only talking one quarter of a puzzle left. Odds are you’ll have a winner before lunch. When you do, I want it. So, can I publish the grid?”