by Parnell Hall
“Sherry, don’t be a nudge. It’s the armor! The suit of armor! Come on! Come on! Secret stair!”
Cora Felton practically dragged Sherry back down to the foyer.
“Okay,” Cora said, breathing hard. “So where’s the stair? I might ask the knight, but he’s not talking, is he?”
Cora went up to the suit of armor. The helmet had a visor. Cora reached up, and lifted the visor.
Nothing happened.
Cora refused to believe this, waited several seconds for a result.
“What’s supporting the battle-ax?” Sherry asked.
Cora looked. The knight’s right arm was bent, the chain mail glove holding up the frightening ax.
Sherry pointed. “I mean, it’s not like the ax had a long handle resting on the floor. That arm’s holding it up. If the armor’s hollow, how can that be?”
“Let’s find out,” Cora said. She reached up, pulled down on the hand with the ax.
The right arm of the suit of armor swung slowly down.
There came the metallic clang of a bolt releasing.
A wood panel in the wall next to the knight swung open.
“Sherry!”
“I see it. I see it.”
“Come on! Come on!”
Cora Felton had already pushed through the opening. Sherry followed, found herself in a narrow passageway running along the wall toward the back of the house.
“Slow down, you’ll miss something,” Sherry said.
“Slow, hell!” Cora said. “Where’s the stair?”
Cora forged ahead, reached a wall where the passageway turned left. Cora squeezed around the turn, plunged ahead.
Sherry followed at a more conservative pace. There were spiderwebs overhead, and there was dust on the floor. Shining the light, Sherry could see Cora’s footprints in the dust. As in the attic, theirs were the only recent footprints.
Sherry tried to let that thought calm her.
“Look!”
Cora Felton had reached a small spiral staircase. The metal treads twisted around up into the dark.
“Okay,” Sherry said. “You found your secret stair. Now, is there anything at the bottom?”
There wasn’t. Not that Cora was willing to search long, but a swift perusal with the flashlights showed there was nothing there.
“Let’s go,” Cora said, and flung herself onto the spiral staircase.
The metal swayed under her weight, but the stairs held. Cora grabbed the center pole, and clomped on up.
“Could you make a little more noise?” Sherry said.
“Hey, give me a break. There’s no one here, and we’re in the wall. Come on.”
Cora spiraled around to the second floor, stepped off the stairs, and found herself in a room not much bigger than a phone booth. She scrunched her shoulders, shone the flashlight.
Her eyes widened.
“Sherry! Look!”
Sherry Carter came up the stairs and squeezed in next to her aunt.
Cora’s flashlight lit up an eight-by-ten photograph taped to the wall. It was a head shot of an emaciated old lady with stringy white hair, dressed in a nightgown and propped up in bed. She looked like a creature from hell. Her eyes were sunk in their sockets, and yet they seemed to glow. And her smile was positively wicked. It was a devilish smile, crinkling the wizened remains of what had undoubtedly bendoubteden at one time a solid, bulldog jaw.
It was also a knowing smile.
The smile of someone enjoying a private joke.
“Emma Hurley,” Sherry murmured.
“Gotta be,” Cora agreed. “But what’s she laughing at?”
“And what’s she looking at?” Sherry countered.
“What do you mean?”
Sherry turned, shone her light at the opposite wall. There, directly in line with Emma Hurley’s photo, was written:
#5.
See your buddy
In the study
“Who’s our buddy?” Sherry asked.
“Who cares?” Cora replied. “Let’s get out of here.”
Cora shone her light, found a metal lever in the wall. She pulled it, and the wall swung out. Immediately ahead was another door. Cora pushed, and it swung open.
Cora and Sherry came out into the upstairs hallway.
“Where are we?” Cora said. “No, more to the point, where were we?”
Cora looked back, saw that they had just emerged from a linen closet. She reached in, pushed the wall with the shelves of sheets and towels until it clicked back into place.
Cora closed the closet door, then flashed her light on the door across the hall. “Is that the master bedroom?”
“I think so. I’m a little disoriented from being in the wall. Come on, let’s find the study.”
“Wouldn’t that be on the ground floor?”
“I should think so.”
“Wanna go down the secret stair?”
“Not on your life.”
They located the study just off the dining room. Their flashlights lit up a massive oak desk, a leather chair, and bookcases built into the walls.
“This must be the study,” Cora said.
“Unless it’s the library,” Sherry pointed out.
“Maybe it is,” Cora said. “But it’s really the same thing.”
“Then why call it the study?it the s”
“She probably couldn’t rhyme library,” Cora said promptly. “Okay, that’s the front window, so we don’t dare risk a light. Gimme a hand. Let’s check out the desk drawers.”
“You really think she used the drawers again? I mean, there’s a lot of places to hide something here.”
“I think she’ll stick to the tried and true. Give me a hand, and—” Cora stopped, put her finger to her lips.
“What is it?” Sherry whispered.
“Kill the light.”
Sherry clicked the flashlight off. Her aunt had already extinguished hers.
Cora grabbed her by the arm, squeezed. Hard.
Sherry tensed, cocked her head, listened.
A board creaked.
Then another.
Sherry grabbed her aunt’s arm, squeezed back. As she did, she realized Cora was fumbling in her purse. In the dim moonlight filtering through the window Sherry could see Cora’s hand clear the purse with something in it.
A gun.
Her aunt had a gun.
Sherry felt a sudden pang of guilt.
Because she was glad.
Because the footsteps in the hallway were either an heir, or a killer, or both.
Probably both.
Sherry held her breath, stayed still, flattened against the wall, heart thumping wildly.
The footsteps drew nearer to the study door, which they had left ajar.
The door creaked open.
A flashlight beam played around the room.
A figure stepped through the doorway.
“Hold it right there!” Cora thundered.
With a cry, the intruder dropped the light. It fell to the floor and went out, plunging the room into darkness.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Cora Felton bellowed.
Sherry Carter clicked on her flashlight … to find her aunt jamming her gun into the intruder’s stomach.
Becky Baldwin.
Sherry was instantly angry. Angry with Becky fo怅 r scaring her unnecessarily. Angry with herself for being scared. Angry because it was Becky. Angry that it made a difference because it was Becky. Angry with herself for letting it make her angry.
“What are you doing here?” Sherry said it as calmly as possible. Still, it came out hard as nails.
“You mind moving that gun?” Becky said. “It makes me a little nervous, being poked with a gun.”
“Then you might lay off the criminal trespass,” Cora said. “Or don’t the laws apply to you lawyers?”
“They apply to me as much as they do to you,” Becky Baldwin replied. “Look, I’d like to pretend to be very brave, but I’ve never had a gun po
inted at me before. Could you please put it down?”
“Once I’m sure you’re not armed,” Cora told her. “You dropped your flashlight. Where’s your purse?”
“In the car.”
“No one drove up. Where’s your car?”
“Down the road. I walked up.”
“So as not to be seen?”
“What do you think? I didn’t see your car outside either. Look, will you put away the gun?”
“I won’t put it away, but I’ll stop aiming it at you. If you start talking. What are you doing here?”
“You know what I’m doing here. I’m Daniel Hurley’s attorney.”
“And?”
“And Daniel didn’t kill anyone. I know it looks bad, but he didn’t. Someone planted the knife on him. He found it, he tried to get rid of it. It was a stupid thing to do. He should have come to me. If he had, I could have handled it. I can handle it still, but, frankly, I’m a little desperate. I need help. I have to find a clue.”
“Why look here?”
“Because this is where it all began. It all comes back to Emma Hurley somehow. And now this puzzle constructor’s in a coma. And word is out there’s something wrong with the crossword puzzle. At least, that’s what they’re saying on the news.”
“You mean Rick Reed?” Sherry said.
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Never mind. The point is, he’s saying it on the air?”
“Sure he is. And why not?” Becky gestured to Cora. “I understand you suspended the game. And not just because Daniel’s in jail. And not just because of the assault. Because there’s some question as to the puzzle’s authenticity. Which throws doubts on the will, which leadl, whichs us back here.”
“You been upstairs yet?” Cora Felton asked.
“No, I just got here. Why?”
“The will says the first clue’s in the master bedroom. If you questioned the will, you’d start there.”
“Then why are you down here?”
Cora frowned. “That’s on a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know, sweetie. Tell you what. Show of good faith. Wait outside this door a few minutes while Sherry and I decide what to do.”
“Wait outside the door?” Becky sounded appalled.
“Yeah. You stay there, you don’t run off, you don’t come in. You show us you’re cooperating. Convince us we shouldn’t turn you in for B&E.”
“Oh, yeah, like that’s really going to happen,” Becky Baldwin said. “When you’re breaking and entering yourselves.”
“I don’t really want to argue,” Cora said with commendable patience. “You gonna wait outside or not?”
“If I do, what happens then?”
“We shall see.” Cora gestured with the gun. “For one thing, I won’t shoot you.”
“That’s not funny.”
“No, it isn’t. You wanna wait outside?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Let me put it another way. You’re trying to get your client off. If he’s really innocent, the truth will help him, so helping us helps you.”
“You expect me to buy that?”
“I don’t care if you do. Just so you give us a few minutes alone so we can move this along.”
Becky Baldwin glared at her, then stalked out, and slammed the door.
Cora cocked her head and listened. Then she turned to Sherry and whispered, “Okay, she’s right there, so keep it quiet, but let’s hurry. We’ll try the desk first. I wish we could lock the door …”
“You don’t trust her?”
“Do you?”
“Of course not. Let’s get those drawers out.”
Quietly, they pulled the desk drawers out, shone their lights underneath.
This time it was the top drawer on the left. Cora’s flashlight lit up a ght lit white business-size envelope. The envelope was taped to the bottom of the drawer. On the face of the envelope was:
#6.
The flap of the envelope was open.
Cora reached her hand in, felt a piece of paper. But it was not the size of a letter. It was smaller, and of irregular shape.
Cora’s eyes narrowed at a sound from the hall.
The door clicked open.
Cora yanked the paper from the envelope, slammed the drawer, and struggled to her feet, thrusting the paper deep within her purse. She was suddenly impaled by the beam of a powerful flashlight.
Becky Baldwin walked into the room. But it was not she who held the flashlight.
“Aw, gee,” a voice said. “Aw, gee whiz.”
A man walked in, reached up, and flicked the switch.
The lights came on.
The man with the flashlight was Dan Finley. The young Bakerhaven police officer looked from Cora to Sherry and back to Cora again, then shook his head, disapprovingly.
“Miss Felton,” he said. “I’m sorry about this. I can’t tell you how sorry. I just hate this.”
He frowned, looked down, shook his head, then looked up at Cora like a child who knows he has to take his medicine, even though he knows it’s going to taste bad.
“You’re under arrest.”
“Don’t talk to them,” Becky Baldwin said.
“Oh, for goodness sakes,” Sherry said. “Can’t you see how silly this is?”
“I really don’t see why I can’t talk,” Daniel Hurley said.
“You don’t have to see,” Becky retorted. “That’s my job.”
“Well, I’m the one charged with murder.”
“Exactly.”
Sherry Carter, Cora Felton, Becky Baldwin, and Daniel Hurley were in holding cells in the back of the Bakerhaven police station. Daniel Hurley was in one, and the three women were in the other. As the cells were adjoining, there was every opportunity for them to talk, had Becky Baldwin allowed it. So far, all she would allow was a discussion as to whether they should.
Cora Felton sat on a bench in the back of the cell and kept an eye on the room o utside. In particular, she kept an eye on her purse. Cora Felton’s purse had not been searched and itemized, as would have been standard procedure for someone under arrest. However, Dan Finley was the only officer on duty, and at the moment Finley had his hands full. He was not used to arresting three people at one time—the paperwork alone was overwhelming—and he hadn’t even started fingerprints and mug shots yet, so itemizing the prisoners’ property was a very low priority. As a result, Cora Felton’s purse was hanging in plain sight on a hook next to a wanted poster.
In the bottom of Cora Felton’s purse was a gun. While that might have surprised Dan Finley, Cora Felton was not particularly concerned with his finding it. The paper from the envelope on the bottom of the desk drawer was another matter, however. And it wasn’t just that she didn’t want Dan Finley to see it.
Cora Felton was dying to know what the paper was.
Cora Felton held her tongue, watched the purse, let the others bicker.
The discussion as to whether or not they should talk was interrupted by the arrival of Chief Harper, who came stomping in, put his hands on his hips, and said, “Well, well, well. What have we here?”
Dan Finley, at his heels, said, “As I told you, Chief—”
“Yes, you did,” Harper interrupted. “And now I’d like to hear it from them. Miss Felton, what were you doing in the Hurley house?”
Before Cora Felton could answer, Becky Baldwin stepped in front of her. “Excuse me, Chief, but are you suspecting Ms. Felton of a crime?”
“I’m suspecting her of being stupid and doing something she shouldn’t.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Becky Baldwin said. “Under the circumstances, as an attorney, I would have to advise Ms. Felton not to answer your question.”
“You’re not her attorney.”
“No, I’m not. But she doesn’t have one, do you, Ms. Felton?”
“I don’t need an attorney.”
“See, Chief?” Becky Baldwin said. “She
doesn’t have an attorney, and she doesn’t think she needs one. That’s exactly the type of person the law was designed to protect. Ms. Felton is in jail. If you want to talk to her, and you suspect her of any crime, you have to advise her of her rights. And you must suspect her of a crime, or she wouldn’t be in jail. And if you don’t suspect her of a crime, you have to let her go. Those are her rights, and she should know them, whether she has an attorney or not.”
“Well, thank you for making that clear,” Chief Harper said dryly. He took out a set of keys, unlocked the cell door. “Miss Felton, Miss Carter, come with me.”
Cora Felton got up, followed Sherry Carter out of the cell. Becky Baldwin trky Baldwied to follow too, but Chief Harper closed the cell door and locked it again. “I’m sorry, Miss Baldwin, but at the moment I just need to talk to them. But I assure you, when I come back to talk to you, I will read you your rights.”
Chief Harper ushered Sherry Carter and Cora Felton into his office. “Sit down,” he told them. “Let’s try to make this as painless as possible. Do I need to point out to you two why you can’t go breaking into the Hurley house?”
“I don’t think so,” Cora Felton said.
“What were you doing there?”
“Looking for clues.”
“Did you find any?”
Cora Felton smiled. “I refuse to answer until you read me my rights.”
Chief Harper gawked at her. “Are you kidding me?”
“Yes, I am,” Cora Felton replied. “But there’s no reason to tell little Miss F. Lee Bailey that. As far as she’s concerned, I’d be happy if you gave her the impression we clammed up.”
“Done,” Chief Harper said. “So what exactly did you find?”
Cora Felton gave him a rundown of the thought process by which she and Sherry Carter had discovered the new clues.
Chief Harper was disbelieving. “You mean the whole crossword-puzzle game was a hoax?”
“That’s the way it looks right now.”
“Any reason you couldn’t let me in on this, instead of breaking the law?”
“Chief,” Sherry said, “you’d made an arrest. How would you have felt if we’d come in and said, You wanna help us find something to undermine your case?”