Last Puzzle & Testament

by Parnell Hall

  Daniel Hurley sat with Becky Baldwin in the first row behind the defense table. In spite of his recent incarceration, he looked none the worse for wear. He had showered and shaved and put on clean clothes, and he had clearly washed his hair, which was glossy, flowing down the back of his head. To Sherry, who had been married to a rock musician, the image grated.

  Next to him, Becky Baldwin looked chic, modern, attractive, and coolly efficient, in a smart, no-nonsense ivory pants suit. Her image was a triumph of understated elegance and calculated simplicity. The overall effect was to make her look good without trying, which was almost unfair.

  Particularly since Daniel and Becky were sitting with Aaron Grant. Which was not Aaron’s fault—this was the press row, it was where he was supposed to sit. They were the interlopers. They were the ones who had been offered seats in the jury box and had not taken them. The fact they were sitting together was in no way Aaron Grant’s fault. Sherry knew that. It didn’t stop her from blaming him for it.

  Chester Hurley stood in the back of the courtroom on the side opposite Sherry. If he had dressed for court, she would not have known it. He wore a faded yellow T-shirt with a frayed collar, and a pair of ancient overalls, only one shoulder strap of which he had bothered to button. He was unshaven. A baseball cap of dubious vintage was on his head. Though she was way too young to tell, Sherry suspected the B on the cap was not for the Red Sox, but either the Boston Braves or the Brooklyn Dodgers.

  Arthur Kincaid was there. Sherry saw him moving through the courtroom, conferring with various groups. As she watched, the lawyer leaned over the jury box rail to talk to Mildred Sims.

  Glancing around, Sherry could pick out people she knew in the crowd. Minnie Wishburn from the Wash and Dry had a seat next to a tiny man with a big nose and thick glasses who Sherry figured must be Ray. If so, he was not at all what she expected. From Minnie’s description, Sherry had pictured some hulking fisherman.

  Also in the crowd were Jimmy and Edith Potter from the library, Mable Drake from Odds and Ends, Betty Roston from the post office, the young waitress from the Wicker Basket, and the bartender from the Country Kitchen.

  Conspicuous by his absence was crossword-puzzle constructor Harvey Beerbaum.

  The news crews had squeezed in too. The TV cameras were set up along the sides of the room, where the on-camera reporters had carved out niches for themselves from which to shoot their lead-ins. Rick Reed was shooting one now, though what he was saying, Sherry couldn’t begin to guess. Other cameras were focused around the court, picking up shots of the principals in the case. Several of the cameras, Sherry noted, seemed to be focused exclusively on Becky Baldwin. At least, that was Sherry’s impression. Though, to be fair, she had to admit Becky was sitting next to Daniel Hurley, the chief suspect in the case. Even so, the coverage seemed excessive.

  Judge Hobbs banged the gavel, trying to quiet tn she crowd. With so many people in the courtroom that took quite a while. When the rumbling had subsided somewhat, he pulled the microphone to him and said, “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. If I may have silence, please, I would like to start out by making something clear. Court is not in session. This is not a courtroom proceeding. At the request of the Bakerhaven Chief of Police I am allowing my courtroom to be used at this time. The media are in town. We wish to welcome them, not turn them away. The courtroom has the facilities to allow them to film, although I cannot recall the last time we have ever done so. But through the coverage generated by this case, it would appear there is a need.

  “Now, before I turn the floor over to Chief Harper, I have some housekeeping to take care of. The charges against Daniel Hurley have been dismissed. They have been dismissed without prejudice. I would like to explain what that means. All it means is Daniel Hurley is not a defendant at this time. There are no charges against him, and he is not under arrest. This does not mean he is not a suspect, this does not mean he has been cleared of suspicion. And no jeopardy has been attached. This dismissal is in no way a bar to a future prosecution, should evidence be uncovered linking him to the crime. All it means is he is not under arrest at the present time.

  “You are now going to hear from various parties in this case. They will speak from the witness stand. That is because there is a microphone there. But they are not witnesses, they are not testifying under oath. They are speaking from the witness stand merely as a matter of convenience.

  “With that, I will turn the floor over to Chief Harper.”

  Chief Harper walked over to the witness stand, sat down, pulled the microphone over. “I must admit, this feels rather strange,” he began in a rather strained voice. “But then this whole case has been bizarre. There have been several recent developments, and I have called this meeting to bring you all up to speed. I have been in consultation with prosecutor Henry Firth, and Dr. Barney Nathan, and here is what we know.

  “First off, prosecutor Firth is not only in accord with, but it is on his recommendation that the murder and assault charges against Daniel Hurley have been dropped. As a show of good faith, and on advice of counsel, Daniel Hurley has signed a waiver of false arrest. But none of that, as Judge Hobbs has pointed out, would be a bar to future prosecution.

  “And from Dr. Barney Nathan I have the following news.” Chief Harper’s manner made it clear that no matter how much the prosecutor and doctor were cooperating, he was not about to let either speak. “The condition of Harvey Beerbaum, the man brutally attacked two nights ago, has been upgraded from critical to stable. He would appear to be out of danger. He has not yet regained consciousness. However, when he does we are hoping he can shed some light on the attack.

  “The blood on the knife Daniel Hurley attempted to dispose of has been typed to the blood of the decedent Annabel Hurley. DNA testing is yet to be done, but there is every indication we will get a match, and the knife will prove to be the murder weapon.”

  Chief Harper winced at the excited buzz that statement produced. Judge Hobbs assisted him by banging the gavel.

  “I know,” Chief Harper continued. “This new evidence would not seem consistent with letting Daniel Hurley go. However, further evidence has come to light. I know you are all aware of the contents of Emma Hurley’s will. She left a puzzle for her heirs to solve, and appointed the Puzzle Lady, Cora Felton, as the judge and referee. Emma Hurley charged Miss Felton with solving the puzzle first. I might even say, she challenged Miss Felton to do so.

  “Well, I am happy to announce that, this morning, Miss Felton solved the puzzle. And in so doing, uncovered a key piece of evidence. She is going to present that evidence to you now. Miss Felton?”

  Cora Felton got up from her seat at the defense table, walked to the witness stand and sat down. Her eyes were bright, her manner dignified.

  “Thank you very much, Chief Harper.”

  She opened her drawstring purse, took out a manila envelope, pulled the microphone to her.

  “I discovered this envelope early this morning. It is the final piece of the puzzle. Written on the envelope are the words, Last Clue. Underneath, just in case there was any doubt, are the words, Yes, this is it. In the envelope is Emma Hurley’s final communication to her heirs. I shall read it to you now.”

  Cora Felton pulled the pages from the envelope and began to read.

  “Congratulations. You have won the game. Are you familiar with the term Pyrrhic victory? If you’ve gotten this far, I would imagine you probably are. But in case you aren’t, another way to put it is: you’ve won the battle but lost the war.

  “Unless you’re Chester.

  “Is it you, Chester? Somehow I doubt it. I can’t see you caring enough, at least about the money. But you might just want to know. And maybe that would be enough. So maybe it’s you. If so, you will probably understand what I’ve said. Though in your case it will not apply.

  “But if it’s one of the other heirs. Particularly Philip or Phyllis. I almost hope it is. It pleases me no end, the thought of one of you reading this now
. You, whose sibling rivalry is unparalleled. I can imagine the lengths you must have gone to to get here. Clawing and sniping at each other. Using every underhanded, dirty trick in the book. Lying. Cheating. Making up stories. Hurling false accusations. I wouldn’t even rule out accusing each other of murdering me. Though I can’t imagine anyone foolish enough to believe such a stupid premise.”

  Cora Felton cleared her throat.

  “But down to business. I presented you with a forty-year-old puzzle. I now present you with its solution. You have earned the solution by ignoring the elaborate trappings I laid out. The mysterious treasure hunt that led nowhere. The cont yountest that wasn’t a contest, but was made to look so by the dramatic and extravagant gesture of hiring a judge. Extravagant in one sense, though if you are reading this, she has undoubtedly earned her fee.

  “And what, you ask, is she rambling about? Why can’t the old crone be direct? She tells us we’ve won, but we haven’t won. What can she possibly mean?

  “It was just over forty years ago that my father, Evan Hurley, died. He had been sick for some time with cancer, though not as long as he would have lasted nowadays. As the disease ate him up, he surveyed his life.

  “And made his will.

  “You are familiar with the terms of that will. Evan cut his other heirs off with fixed sums, and left the bulk of his estate to me. I’m sure you know why.

  “My brother Randolph predeceased him, and while there were children, Father never entertained a thought of skipping generations.

  “Of my sister, Alicia, the less said the better. Suffice it to say Father was rather straitlaced, and Alicia’s actions did not meet with his approval.

  “Then there was Chester. Dear brother Chester. Dear odd brother Chester. What we would call nowadays a nerd or a geek. Did we have those expressions then? I’m getting old, and I can’t recall.

  “But I’m rambling again. If I were alive, you could get mad at me. As it is, you’ll just have to take it. At any rate, dear Chester, Father’s will bypassed you. And for those reasons. For giving the impression of being not all there.

  “It is plausible. It was possible. It was accepted without question by the other heirs.

  “But it wasn’t true.

  “It was a lie.

  “It was a falsehood.

  “It was a forgery.

  “Yes, Chester. I can’t imagine you were really fooled. You, who were so smart to begin with. And yet you were never keen at social situations. Not particularly adept at reading social cues. But did you really think Father disapproved? When he was such a prim, proper, prudish man himself? Did you really think he’d see you as odd? A chip off the old block, is what you were. The logical successor, most likely heir.

  “Then how did I inherit and not you?

  heig

  “Well, that’s another story. Yes, you may groan while I digress. But I have a tale to tell. A tale of unrequited love. And isn’t love an awful thing, the things that love will make one do?

  “Like altering a will.

  “You see now why you have not really won the game? Why you may hold an empty prize?

  “The lawyer does.

  “The lawyer who prepared the will.

  “Prepared it twice. As written, and then with the substituted page.

  “For love, unrequited.

  “Ironic, isn’t it, that I should never marry, live my life alone? Supported by the wealth supplied me by the man I rejected.

  “But more ironic, I think, for the fact I did not know it.

  “No, my dear relatives, whatever else you might think of me, I was not that. Scheming, lying, deceitful, covetous. None of those adjectives applied. I was as shocked as any by my vast inheritance.

  “It was a most pleasant surprise.

  “But having inherited so much, it was no surprise when suitors arrived at my door. Indeed, in that respect Father’s money was a curse. It drew suitors like flies. And I turned them away, knowing why each had come.

  “One was persistent, however. He would not give up, and could not go away, acting, as he was, as my solicitor.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sherry Carter saw Arthur Kincaid, who from the beginning of this speech had been working his way toward the back of the room, slip out the door.

  “I staved him off,” Cora continued. “Deflected his advances. Dismissed them with a joke.

  “I should have been direct.

  “I should have just said no.

  “Because, years later when I finally did, he told me what he’d done. How out of his regard for me he’d altered my father’s will, transferring the bulk of the estate from my brother to me.”

  One other person had observed the lawyer’s departure. While Sherry watched, on the far side of the room a baseball cap with the letter B could be seen weaving among the spectators, heading for the back door.

  “I was devastated by this confession,” Cora read. “And I wanted to make things right

  And yet …

  “It came so late. Years had gone by. I was used to a certain lifestyle. As was my brother. A reversal of fortunes could have destroyed me, and would not have benefited Chester. Or so I told myself. And it would not have affected the other heirs, whose bequests would not change. So why speak out?

  “Yes, I was weak.

  “Yes, I went along.

  “And it has eaten away at me all these years like a cancer.

  “Which is why I devised my game.

  “Did you figure it out? Before you got this letter, I mean? There were so many clues. The fact I placed the banker, not the lawyer, in charge of my house. Because, of course, the lawyer might realize what I’d done if he were to peek at my will.

  “Did you do that, Arthur? Frightened by a sealed will, and my instructions to summon the heirs, did you steam the envelope open to see why I had barred you from my home? Did you panic? Did you do something foolish?

  “Or is it you who is reading this now?

  “You see, in my game even you had a chance, Arthur.

  “Even you might have gotten away.

  “Did you get away?

  “If not, let me state here and now, lest there be any doubt, that it was Arthur Kincaid, forty years ago, who altered my father’s will, transferring our father’s fortune from my brother Chester to me. Chester was and is my father’s rightful heir. And the money conveyed by my last will and testament is rightfully his.”

  In the jury box, Philip Hurley shot to his feet. “No!” he cried. “It can’t be! That money is rightfully mine!”

  “The hell it is!” thundered Phyllis Applegate. She lunged to her feet, brushing her husband aside. “It’s mine and you know it!”

  Brother and sister charged forward. They met in the middle of the jury box, clawing and scratching at each other in savage fury.

  The gunshot stopped them. They froze with their hands on each other’s throats. Looked toward the sound.

  The shot came from outside the courthouse.

  There was a moment’s stunned silence, then everyone began shoving toward the exit. A crush of heirs and bystanders and media tried to push out the doors.

  Chester Hurley fooled them. Wily as ever, he avoided them all, slipping in the side door while they were rushing out the back. He made his way calmly around the jury box, down the press row, and through the gate. He walked up to Chief Harper, pulled the enormous gun from his overalls, and laid it on the defense table.

  “I’m turning myself in,” he said. “I just killed Arthur Kincaid.”

  “Don’t you want to take my picture with the flowers?” Cora Felton said. Cora was all decked out in her gardening togs and holding a trowel.

  “Oh, absolutely,” the interviewer from People magazine said. A thin woman with angular features, she gestured toward the young man with a light meter and three cameras slung around his neck. “Roger will be shooting while we talk. Pay no attention to him, pretend he’s not there. We’ll just have a little chat.”

  “Woul
d you like to see the marigolds? I’m very proud of my marigolds.”

  “I’m sure you are. I have a few questions first. It’s not every day you see someone gunned down in the street.”

  “I didn’t actually see it,” Cora Felton said meekly.

  “No, but you made it happen, didn’t you? I mean, you were in the courthouse, reading the will.”

  “It wasn’t the will. It was more of a confession, really. Can I get you some tea? I make the most wonderful iced tea. My niece, Sherry—that’s her over there with the young reporter—would be delighted to get you some.”

  “Not just now.” The interviewer checked the volume on the microcassette recorder she was holding. “Now, the woodsman shot the lawyer for cheating him out of fifteen million dollars?”

  “No,” Cora Felton said. “Chester couldn’t have cared less about the money. He shot him for killing his niece. Annabel Hurley. Chester couldn’t forgive him for that.”

  “It was Chester Hurley who shot the lawyer?”