Last Puzzle & Testament

by Parnell Hall

  “What? What jumps out?”

  “Look.” Cora Felton held up the third and fourth sets of clues, side by side. “Look at the typing. It’s entirely different. It’s not even the same size.„ size.&D;

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. Look. The first three sets of clues all look alike. They were probably done on the same machine. They could even be computer printouts. But the last set, the type is smaller—I think they call it elite. And, look, it’s dirtier, was obviously done on a typewriter. It’s a photocopy, but you can still tell.”

  “Good lord,” Sherry said. “We’ve gotta show this to Chief Harper.”

  But Cora Felton stopped her. “He’s awful busy right now, and he won’t wanna hear it. I say we find Chester.”

  Sherry looked at her in surprise. “We can’t leave.”

  “Why not?” Cora said. “The Chief’s done with me, and he doesn’t want you.”

  “He doesn’t want me?”

  “No, I asked him. You weren’t in the Country Kitchen last night.” Cora tugged at Sherry’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  Sherry wasn’t convinced. “Shouldn’t we tell him we’re going?”

  “I wouldn’t bother him right now,” Cora Felton said decisively. She went to the door, flung it open. “Come on, come on,” she said.

  As they went out the front door, Cora murmured, “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mind if we go, but why take a chance?”

  As they drove up to the cabin, Chester Hurley’s truck was nowhere to be seen.

  “Just our luck,” Cora groused. “He’s not home.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Sherry told her. “He hides his truck down the road so people will think he’s not here. He could be inside, with his gun trained on us right now.”

  “Why would he do that?” Cora objected. “We’re obviously not here to hurt him.”

  “Oh, sure,” Sherry said. “We suspect him of assaulting Harvey Beerbaum and rigging the game, but we’re really no threat.”

  “I don’t suspect him of assaulting Harvey Beerbaum. ’Cause the odds are the same person who attacked Harvey also killed Annabel Hurley, and I can’t see Chester doing that. Can you?”

  “I don’t know what he’s capable of,” Sherry said. “I’m just saying be careful.”

  “I’m always careful,” Cora said mendaciously.

  She was already out of the car and up on the porch. She banged on the door, tried the knob. “Locked,” she declared. “I bet a stiff kick would open it …”

  “Aunt Cora.”

  “Just making an observation. Is there another door?”

  “Around the side.”

  The side door was fastened with a hook.

  “Hmm, latched from inside,” Cora said. “But not that well. You’ll notice there’s a crack between the door and the jamb.”

  “So what? The point is, Chester’s not here.”

  “I thought you said his truck could be hidden.”

  “And he’s hiding inside and not answering the door?”

  “It’s a thought.” Cora slipped the bulging drawstring purse off her shoulder, rummaged in it, came out with a pocketknife.

  “What are you doing?” Sherry asked in horror.

  Cora flicked the knife blade open. “Making a little experiment.”

  Cora slipped the knife blade between the door and the jamb.

  “Aunt Cora, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Then get back in the car.”

  “Aunt Cora—”

  “Oops,” Cora said, as the knife blade popped the hook out of the eye. She turned to her niece. “Well, the door seems to be open, so I’m going in. Why don’t you sit in the car and honk the horn if someone comes?”

  “Phooey on that,” Sherry said, and decided she sounded just like Cora. “If the door’s open, let’s go.”

  Cora and Sherry slipped inside. They found themselves in an exceptionally dingy kitchen. The sink was piled with dirty dishes. The electric range was missing two of its four burners. The refrigerator was of the kind with the exposed motor on top, which made it look just one small step up the evolutionary scale from an icebox.

  On the table was a large brown paper bag. Cora peered inside it, then whistled. “Take a look at this,” she said, and pulled its contents out of the bag.

  It was a dish rack with a rubber tray.

  “How about that,” Sherry said. “Isn’t that the same one we just bought?”

  “It sure is. And Mildred Sims too.”

  “What’s going on here? Everyone’s buying a À9;s buyidish rack.”

  “It means we’re on the right track.” Cora rubbed her hands together, eyes sparkling. “Okay, let’s toss the place. Open the cabinets and look under the sink. In particular, look for a large tin of sugar. Sugar canisters are a prime male hiding spot. An old coot like Chester will figure it’s the last place anyone would look.”

  Sherry found the sugar canister, but, disappointingly, it was empty except for a dead cockroach. A quick search of the kitchen turned up canned and powdered foods, mostly of the cheaper brands, and some boxes of stale crackers.

  “Living room next?” Sherry suggested.

  Cora shook her head. “Only if it’s in plain sight. A man’s ten times more likely to hide something in his bedroom.”

  “You’re an expert on what a man’s likely to do?”

  “Well, I married enough of ’em.”

  Chester’s living room was stark, with a couple of chairs, a table, and a dilapidated couch. The only bright spot, a working fireplace, might have been cheery in winter, but didn’t help in July.

  The women pushed on into the bedroom. Though also poorly furnished, it was far more comfy. There was a double bed with sagging box springs and a brass frame, a rickety bureau piled high with clothes that wouldn’t fit in the drawers, a bookcase made of cinder blocks and planks filled two rows deep with well-thumbed paperbacks, and a straight-backed chair practically buried in dirty clothes.

  “Typical,” Cora said. “The man could use a laundry hamper.”

  “When he inherits the Hurley fortune, maybe he can buy one,” Sherry said. “Uh oh. Look at that.”

  Sherry stepped gingerly between the possessions strewn on the floor. In a corner of the room, resting on a stack of faded newspapers, was a small, portable Smith-Corona typewriter.

  “You think this could have typed the last clue list?” Sherry asked.

  “There’s one way to find out,” Cora said.

  There were sheets of paper on the floor next to the typewriter. Cora ratcheted one into the machine, typed The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. She ripped the paper out of the roller, said, “We can compare this later. Right now we search the room. Okay, I’m Chester Hurley and I’ve got something to hide. So, it’s either under the mattress or taped to the bottom of a bureau drawer.”

  Cora marched to the bed, flipped the quilt down, reached her hand between the mattress and the box spring.

  “Aha,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I certainly hope this isn’t a men’s magazine.”

  What she pulled out from under the mattress was a manila envelope.

  “Don’t tell me,” Sherry said.

  “What do you mean, don’t tell you. It’s what we were looking for.” Cora unsnapped the envelope, pulled out the sheet of paper. “Well, well,” Cora said. “Fifty across, ____ Ababa (Ethiopian city); fifty-three across, Idiot; fifty-four across, Tax man.”

  “Let me see,” Sherry said. She took the paper, looked it over. “It’s the missing clues all right. How does the typing look?”

  “It looks okay. What do you say we get out of here before Chester comes back and blows us away?”

  “Best idea you’ve had all day.”

  Sherry and Cora hurried out of the bedroom to the kitchen. Sherry half expected to find Chester Hurley waiting at the screen door with a scowl on his face and a huge pistol in his hand. Of course, there was no one there. They slipped out,
hopped in the car, and took off. Sherry’s heart didn’t really stop racing until they reached the main road.

  “Okay, let’s go home, put this up on the grid,” she said.

  “You think it’s from the original puzzle?”

  “I don’t see what else it could be.”

  “What’s the long clue?”

  “Bakery, so to speak?”

  “Bakery? How is that a pun?”

  “I have no idea until I solve the puzzle.”

  “Can’t you solve it in the car?”

  “If I had a Dramamine.”

  “Oh?” Cora said. “Am I driving too fast?”

  “Well, I didn’t see a speed limit posted, but I bet it isn’t eighty-five.”

  “This is practically an emergency,” Cora said, spinning the wheel. “There’s a killer on the loose, and we hold the key to his identity.”

  “That might be a legitimate excuse if we were heading for the police station.”

  “We can’t go to the police until you solve the puzzle,” Cora objected. “If I drive in there now, he’ll expect me to solve it.”

  “Yes, I know,” Sherry said.

  “So hang on and let me get you home.”

  It took less than five minutes. Cora sped up the driveway, screeched to a halt. The car was still rocking as they hopped out.

  Àjustify"01C;Okay,” Sherry said. “Let me boot up the computer.”

  “Can’t you do it by hand?”

  “Actually, it’s faster this way. Much faster, since I left the computer on again.”

  Sherry clicked on Crossword Compiler, pulled up a blank grid. “Let’s see, I need the third quadrant. What did I save that as?”

  Sherry clicked on it. A grid filled the screen.

  “Now the new clues,” Sherry said.

  She propped them up beside it.

  ACROSS

  50. ____ Ababa (Ethiopian city)

  53. Idiot

  54. Tax man

  58. Bakery, so to speak?

  62. Mail delivery org.

  63. Rub out

  65. Medieval instrument

  66. Drugged

  DOWN

  37. Fraught with incident

  42. Take on again

  46. Out of work

  47. Beveled 51. Extinguish

  54. Fellow

  55. Say cheese

  56. Mimicked

  59. College

  60. Sold out

  She looked up from the computer. “Care to have a crack at it, Cora?”

  “No, I’d like to have you do it. Before someone shows up and you can’t.”

  “There’s a thought,” Sherry said. “Okay, what have we got here?”

  The phone rang.

  Sherry and Cora looked at it, then looked at each other.

  “I can’t think of anyone I wanna talk to,” Sherry said.

  “Me neither,” Cora said. “Why don’t we let the answering machine pick up?”

  “Good idea. Why don’t you monitor it, see who it is.”

  “Gotcha,” Cora said. But when she reached the kitchen, the answering machine had already picked up.

  “Hey!” snarled the irate voice of Phyllis Applegate. “What’s going on? I solved the puzzle, I went to the lawyer’s, and there’s no one there. That’s a fine kettle of fish, no one there. You said you’d be there, and you aren’t. The lawyer’s not there either. And the office is locked. I’m calling from a pay phone, and I’m serving you notice. If I lose this inheritance, you’d better have insurance, ’cause I’m suing you for every dime.”

  Phyllis Applegate banged the phone down, and the answering machine reset. When that happened, Cora noticed it was blinking many times.

  “Uh oh,” Cora said.

  She pressed the button.

  Beep.

  The first caller was Philip Hurley in an absolute tizzy.

  “This is Philip Hurley! Something’s happening, you’ve gotta stop the game! There’s been another assault! Another attack by the killer! The police are investigating and asking questions, and how can I possibly play with that going on? You gotta call a time-out, you gotta call a do-over. You gotta stop this, right here, while there’s still time, before anybody else gets hurt.”

  There was a sound like, “Huh?” then low mumbling, then Philip Hurley came back on the line.

  “Not that I’m not doing great. Not that I’m not in position to win. I just don’t want to win like this. Just shut it down right now, I’ll pick it up again as soon as the police clear up these attacks.”

  Beep.

  “It’s Aaron Grant. I got nowhere at the hospital. The puzzle guy’s still in a coma. I could use a jump on the TV people, save me something if you can.”

  Beep.

  “This is Chief Harper. I don’t recall telling you to go anywhere. When you get this message, get back in here. And I mean now.”

  Beep.

  “Miss Felton, Arthur Kincaid here. Chief Harper is most unhappy. I don’t know where you went, but it wasn’t my office, because Chief Harper just drove me back here to find you, and wasn’t pleased when he didn’t. He just called you from my phone. I’m not sure he mentioned where he was. He probably didn’t, he was rather upset. He just left, and I’m all alone here waiting for the heirs, who aren’t going to be too happy either. Call me as soon as you can. Please.”

  Beep.

  “Hey!” the Phyllis Applegate message began again. “What’s going on? I solved the puzzle, I went to the lawyer’s, and there’s no one there—”

  Cora clicked the answering machine off.

  Sherry burst into the kitchen with a paper in her hand. “Okay, I got it,” she said. “Here, take a look.”

  Cora grabbed the paper.

  ACROSS

  50. ____ Ababa (Ethiopian city)

  53. Idiot

  54. Tax man

  58. Bakery, so to speak?

  62. Mail delivery org.

  63. Rub out

  65. Medieval instrument

  66. Drugged

  DOWN

  37. Fraught with incident

  42. Take on again

  46. Out of work

  47. Beveled

  51. Extinguish

  54. Fellow

  Àlow

  55. Say cheese 56. Mimicked

  59. College

  60. Sold out

  “Flower shop?” Cora said.

  “That’s right.”

  “How does that work?”

  “Perfect,” Sherry said. “It’s a bad pun, just what we expected. A bakery is a flower shop. Flour shop. F-l-o-u-r shop. Get it?”

  “So what’s the point? What does flower shop mean? And why did Chester Hurley go to such trouble to send us to a five-and-ten instead?”

  “Obviously, to keep us away from the flower shop.”

  “What flower shop?”

  “I don’t know. Where’s the phone book?”

  The Yellow Pages of the Bakerhaven phone directory had no listing for flower shops.

  “Of course not,” Sherry told Cora. “It’s not flower shops. It’s florists.”

  There were no florists either.

  Sherry looked at the Yellow Pages in disbelief. “In the whole town?”

  Cora Felton shrugged. “Well, it’s not that big a town.”

  “Even so, they must have flowers.”

  “Maybe it’s listed as something else.”

  “What could it possibly be?”

  “I have no idea.” Cora Felton’s eyes widened. “Oh!”

  “What?”

  “People magazine.”

  “I thought that was next week.”

  “It is.”

  Sherry looked at her aunt in exasperation. “Aunt Cora.”

  Cora Felton put up her hand. “Sherry. Sweetheart. What was I doing for People magazine?”

  Sherry frowned. Then her eyes widened. She smiled.

  “Planting flowers.”

  The Cedar Grove Greenhouse was no
rth of town in a secluded meadow about half a mile off the main drag. The proprietor, Vince, a middle-aged man with horn-rimmed glasses and dirty hands, smiled when he saw Cora Felton.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the Puzzle Lady. How did the interview go?”

  “Haven’t had it yet,” Cora told him. “This is something else. Is that Chester Hurley’s truck outside?”

  “You bet. He’s been here all day.” Vince waggled his hand. “Off and on. And yesterday too. Out in the greenhouse, pawing through the pots.”

  “He tell you what he’s doing?” Cora asked.

  “Of course not. Tight-lipped old coot. Off his rocker. I mean, here’s his niece newly dead, and he’s spending all day here.”

  “Did you ask him why?”

  Vince shook his head. “No use. Never get a word out of him. I did tell him he couldn’t browse all day. This isn’t a library. You want something, you buy it. You don’t come in just to look.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “Took a zinnia, bought it, put it in his truck. Came back in to look some more. And what am I supposed to do then? The worst he is, is a slow shopper.”

  “Where is he?” Sherry asked.

  “Last I looked he was in the coleus house. That’s straight through marigolds, straight through geraniums, left through pansies and petunias. It’s the third wing on the left.”

  “How big is this place?” Sherry said.

  “Plenty big. And he’s pawed through most of it.”

  Sherry and Cora pushed though the double doors into the greenhouse, which consisted of a series of long, narrow, glass-enclosed rooms. Each was climate-controlled, with subtle variations for the different varieties of plants. There were fewer than half a dozen customers, which made the sprawling greenhouse seem practically empty.

  Sherry and Cora made their way through the brightly hued flowers following the proprietor’s directions. Chester Hurley was in the coleus house, as Vince had said. Chester was alone, which was not surprising—no customer would have wanted to go near him. Aside from his appearance, he was acting like a man obsessed. As they watched, he moved down a row of pots, snatching one up, peering at its bottom, looking at its top, poking his finger into the dirt, squinting at the spot where the pot had been, putting it back, grabbing the next. His concentration was such they were sure he had no idea they were there.