Cherringham--The Last Puzzle

by Neil Richards

Couldn’t think of more spooky place to be, Jack thought.

  And knowing what legend said had happened here, he could feel something ancient, evil.

  Then he looked for a hiding place … well away from the centre of the hill and the circle of stones that marked this as a historic, even mystical site. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to hide up here in the line of duty.

  Then he remembered a place.

  There was a fat tree just where the hill started to slope down.

  Perfect.

  He hurried there and crouched down behind the trunk — again his bones aching in response.

  And waited.

  The sky lightened a bit more.

  But other than that — so quiet up here. No small animals hopping about, no birds screaming at the sky to wake everyone up.

  His steady breathing in and out making small clouds.

  And, all alone, he had trouble shaking off his doubts.

  Thinking: we got it wrong.

  Sometimes when the evidence wasn’t there — despite all the odd circumstances — there could be nothing.

  Then — from below he saw a pair of headlights racing around the curvy road that led this way.

  The car’s lights occasionally vanishing behind tall hedges so that only their glow was visible, then reappearing, like animal eyes in the night.

  Coming right here, he thought.

  Until he saw the car take a loop that would bring it right to the foot of the hill — away from Jack’s hidden Sprite.

  Lights on one moment, then off.

  But not before he watched two people step outside of the car, dark shadows barely visible against the ever-lightening sky.

  Well, Jack thought. There we are.

  Only way two people would show up here, now, was if they had put together their mysterious pieces of the clue that fell out of the sky.

  Because they were working together all along …

  Now — all they had to do was come up.

  Walk around the stones.

  Find that one special stone — and they would have the answer to the Last Puzzle.

  And Jack would see it all.

  He pulled his coat close, his leather gloves barely keeping his hands warm and waited as the two people trudged their way up Mabb’s Hill.

  16. 11:23 a.m.

  Sarah had tumbled into such a deep sleep that only Chloe, tapping her shoulder — as she had asked her daughter to do in a note stuck on the fridge — finally got her to rouse.

  “Hmm,” she said, blinking.

  “Mum — you said to wake you.”

  “Oh, right.”

  She smiled at Chloe who smiled back.

  All was well with the world. Then a sudden worry.

  “Hey — shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “It’s Easter holidays, Mum — remember?”

  “Of course, love. Sorry — been so busy …”

  “You properly awake?” Chloe asked, a doubtful grin on her face.

  Sarah nodded, then sat up — though falling back between the warm sheets seemed irresistible.

  But she wanted to do some last-minute digging after Jack had texted her.

  What more could she learn before the meeting in Tony’s office?

  Could she get that phone number from her friend in London?

  Tony had been alerted, Alan — Cherringham’s lone policeman — as well.

  So the only surprises would be for the quartet who showed up for the end of this game.

  She was still in her clothes, all rumpled now.

  A few minutes to run a comb through her hair, grab a coffee on the run.

  Then, after gathering all she had found, heading to Tony’s office.

  And as tired as she was, she knew that by the time it all started, she’d be completely wide-awake.

  Halfway out the door — her phone vibrated in her hand.

  *

  Tony Standish sat at his desk.

  One by one, Sarah watched the potential heirs walk in.

  Each said nothing, just a nod to one or the other, before sitting down.

  The carer, the spy, the lover, the brother …

  And Sarah saw that — as each sat down — Tony looked up, gave them a quick smile, then went back to the papers on his desk.

  Finally Quentin’s brother Patrick cleared his throat.

  “Shouldn’t we be getting on with this, Mr. Standish?”

  Tony looked up again.

  He’s clearly enjoying this, she thought.

  “Oh, we shall Mr. Andrews. Two little matters. First, it is not yet …”

  Tony pointed to the massive wall clock over his desk, an emblematic item for someone who billed by the hour, Sarah imagined.

  “The right time, still only eleven twenty. A few minutes more, as you can see.” Then Tony let his smile fade.

  “And one of our designated ‘observers’ is not here.”

  At this, all eyes went to the sixth and empty chair off to the side.

  Sarah hoped that Jack hadn’t given in to the temptation to lie down.

  But then she heard his voice outside the office, saying a loud ‘good morning’ to Tony’s secretary … and she knew she had nothing to worry about.

  He wouldn’t miss this for anything …

  He entered the room quickly, smiling at everyone as he took his chair.

  “Sorry, folks. Running a bit late this morning. Busy night.”

  So funny …

  “Not a problem, Jack. We still have,” another look at the clock — “another minute left.”

  “Good,” Jack said, rubbing his hands together.

  And like the cat about to eat a whole bunch of canaries, Jack sat back, folded his hands together, and waited for those last sixty seconds to run out.

  *

  Then … Tony stood up.

  “Dear friends of Mr. Quentin Andrews. The deadline has fallen, and it is time to reveal which one of you, if any, has won Mr. Andrews’ substantial fortune.”

  He picked up one envelope, and used a thin, slivery letter opener to neatly slice the top open and pull out a sheet of paper.

  “Ah, Ms. Emma Carter. And I see, yes, you have all the squares filled in. But, well, many are quite clearly incorrect.”

  Emma looked from Sarah, then to her the others. “Lots of guesses, mostly. Marty and me, just guessing.”

  “Sorry,” Tony said. Then, more brightly, “Next …”

  Another slice, and another sheet unfolded. “Mr. Patrick Andrews. And well, hmm … looks nearly perfect.” Then Tony looked up. “Save for the clue in the centre. ‘Confusion’ is the answer you have?”

  Patrick nodded. “Yeah, cos I was bloody confused.”

  “Sad to say it is not correct. So close …”

  “Bollocks,” Patrick said. “This whole thing is—”

  Tony put up a hand.

  “We can discuss any complaints you might have with your brother’s process when we’re done. Agreed?”

  “If you mean me taking legal action afterwards … agreed.”

  Sarah looked over at Jack. Still in his same position.

  Two envelopes left.

  From the last two heirs.

  If anyone looked over, they’d see no sign from Jack that he knew … or expected what was to happen.

  “Onwards,” Tony said. And he picked up a third envelope.

  *

  Envelope three opened, and Tony scrutinised the crossword puzzle. “From Mr. James Carlisle, and sadly — that central clue space is empty.” He looked up, right at Carlisle. “Must have been a tricky one, hmm?”

  “Not my kind of puzzle,” Carlisle said back, as affably as if he had merely misplaced his coat check.

  Tony picked up the last envelope, and held it up like a cleaver. “Only one left. Shall we see what will be happening to dear Mr. Andrews’ fortune?”

  No one said anything.

  Though Sarah felt everyone shift in their seats as the letter opener made its quick tea
ring noise.

  Tony unfolded.

  “Oh my,” he said.

  Again silence. Sarah looked over at Jack.

  Had something gone wrong?”

  Finally in what must have clearly been a theatrical move by Tony, he looked up, gesturing with the finished crossword puzzle.

  “From Ms. Tricia Guard. A perfect solution.”

  All eyes turned to the glamorous woman, who acknowledged her ‘win’ with a serene nod.

  “And that means that Mr. Quentin Andrew’s entire estate will go to Ms. Guard, post-haste, including all funds, all properties, as per the will.”

  Which is when Jack finally unfolded his hands, cleared his throat, and stood up.

  “Not so fast, Tony …”

  And as if a major actor in a drama had somehow appeared in the last row of the orchestra, everyone craned around to look back at Jack.

  Who was not above some theatrics himself.

  *

  “’Fraid we have a few problems here.”

  “What Jack — do tell?”

  “Oh, God,” Tricia Guard said, “Leave it to an American to have questions.” The woman turned back to Tony. “We are done here, yes? Can we get on with it?”

  “Oh –” Tony said, “I think we have time to hear what my good friend Jack has to say …”

  “Thanks, Tony. So, as observers, Sarah and I were able to learn a few things …”

  Sarah looked over at Emma, sitting here alone. On her way in, she’d seen Marty sitting in the reception area alone. Banished from the confidential inner sanctum of Tony’s office.

  Sarah felt bad for the carer, who had been put in such a difficult spot.

  “First, thanks to Emma, we know that some of you … I’m guessing … all of you had met with Quentin and learned about this will.” Jack nodded. “With none of you too happy about that.”

  “I thought …” Patrick said, “that he told only me?”

  “Thought wrong,” Jack said. “But see … it seems as though someone went back for another visit.”

  Pin dropping time, Sarah thought.

  Jack was so good at this.

  “Someone here wanted another … chat with Mr. Andrews. That person even arranged for Marty Kane to pick up Emma Carter early. Clearing the decks, so to speak.”

  Jack looked around the room. “Only when that person showed up, it wasn’t any ‘chat’ she wanted.”

  At the word ‘she’ Sarah could feel everyone in the room straighten up in their chairs and then turn … to look right at Tricia Guard.

  Which is when Jack walked over to her, sitting in the chair. “Now, isn’t that right Tricia?”

  “I don’t have a bloody idea what you are talking about.”

  “I’m afraid you do. See, Marty told me how you asked him to pick Emma up early that day. Money talks, hmm?”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  Sarah watched Jack as he turned to face the room, his back to the woman.

  With timing like this, he would have made a great lawyer, she thought.

  “And afterwards, with the death looking completely like an accident, would they ever tell anyone?”

  Now Jack turned back to Tricia Guard: “Guess … you thought you were perfectly safe, Ms. Guard?”

  “Stupid Yank.”

  She sat there for a moment as if the accusation could go away.

  “You were the last person to see Mr. Andrews alive. Only one reason you would neglect to tell the police that … because you did all you could do to trigger a heart attack for Quentin Andrews. Maybe said things, about how he betrayed you for his wife? Something like that.”

  “God. So he had an attack. The old man died. No law broken there.”

  Jack nodded, then looked around the room as if there might be some merit in what she just said.

  “Except — you moved those pills of his. Put them on the table. They’re running prints on them right now.”

  “I’ve never heard such nonsense!”

  “I guess one thing we’ll never know for sure — did you have to hold him down Ms. Guard? That frail, old man. Did he beg for the pills? Reach for them …?”

  And at that, the glamorous woman, eyes flashing, stood up.

  *

  “I still get the money. I solved the puzzle. And you can bet I will hire the best legal protection I can. Not some village … bumpkin—”

  Sarah turned to see Tony take the comment like a smack to the face.

  ‘Bumpkin’ wasn’t a word she’d normally associate with him.

  But Jack turned to Tony as well. “Tony, um, maybe you can explain to everyone about the contest. What happens?”

  “Why, yes. You see, the rules as set out by Mr. Andrews were quite clear. Any evidence of collusion by the winner or winners, and the full inheritance goes to Seafarers UK. It is very clear on that point.”

  “Collusion? But I solved the puzzle, and I am the sole—”

  Sarah cleared her throat.

  She was waiting for this moment, dreading the idea of going head-to-head with the powerful woman.

  But now — the moment here — it seemed exactly what she wanted to do.

  “It was, I’m afraid …” Sarah started softly, “clearly collusion. You each got an email containing a hint to the last puzzle, one a reference to a hill, the other to ancient stones. With the executor’s blessing, of course — once we had suspicions. Maybe you thought you’d sent them to each other …?”

  As she spoke she saw Guard look at Carlisle, his face grim, set — a man who knew when a trap has been spring.

  “You see, only by putting those two hints together, could you come to that final place, to Mabb’s Hill.”

  “How could you—”

  “—where Jack here watched the two of you — you and Mr. Carlisle — tromp up the hill to find the stone from the clue, ‘the stone pointing not right at all’.”

  “Got a bit of video of that on my phone, by the way,” Jack said.

  Silence.

  And Sarah knew — in that silence — that the strange journey of Quentin Andrews, his fortune, his death and his last puzzle … would end here.

  With a woman who wanted that money now.

  Who had allied herself with Carlisle, someone else equally greedy.

  Who would keep an old man from his life-saving pills.

  Quite the cold customer.

  And as the dreams of those millions faded into the air for all — and Tony buzzed his assistant to admit Alan Rivers to let the police carry on with this — Sarah looked at Jack.

  And she thought …

  The two of them had also been on Quentin’s grand quest.

  And one more thought …

  Quentin Andrews would have so loved how this had all turned out.

  17. A View from the Hill

  Sarah dug into a backpack and removed a bottle of champagne. Then very carefully, she took out four flutes, each wrapped tightly in newspaper.

  “You know,” Tony Standish said, atop Mabb’s Hill, turning, looking around. “I don’t think I’ve ever been up here. Knew the history, of course. But this view.”

  “One of the reasons we moved back here, all those years ago,” said Michael, at his side. “You can see half the county.”

  Tony nodded. “Makes one appreciate our lovely village all the more.”

  Sarah handed Jack the bottle of bubbly. “Jack, do the honours.”

  “Oh, I’ve had some mishaps with these things before. Seems most goes shooting out.”

  Michael walked over. “Trick is, Jack, just ease the cork out slowly, let the pressurised air escape. Not as dramatic — but certainly saves some of the champagne.”

  It had — of course — been Tony’s idea to come up here, to the site of the last clue, to raise a glass in honour of the dead puzzler.

  And even the weather had cooperated. A hint of glorious spring in the air. Not a cloud in the sky. This winter had been tough, and everyone Sarah knew couldn’t wait until sun
and warmth returned.

  “You know, Jack … one thing I don’t get.”

  Jack unwrapped the foil covering and now was taking his time getting the cork out.

  “Ask away, Tony.”

  “That last crossword answer. I mean, the clue led up here, to these stones. I can see that. But how did you know the correct stone, and how did that give you the bloody answer?”

  A small pop and hiss, and the cork was off. Jack reached over and poured some into Sarah’s glass.

  “Oh, it had me stumped. For a bit. No puzzler, to be sure. But the clue said the stone wasn’t ‘right’. Means different, hmm? And so — look around—”

  Jack waited to pour the champagne until he had done a survey of the ancient stones that circled the site.

  “See over there. One stone, flat down. I walked over after Carlisle and Guard left. Come on … I’ll show you. But first—”

  Jack poured some champagne into Tony’s glass, then Michael’s.

  Then Sarah followed as he led the way to a stone which lay flat on the ground.

  Jack crouched down. “See how the stone makes a jagged pointer. Like a compass, right?” Jack went to the pointed tip of the flat stone. “And the direction it points?”

  “Northwest,” said Michael.

  “Exactly,” said Jack.

  “Brilliant,” Tony said.

  “Well, Guard and Carlisle got it too. Working together, Carlisle let her submit the prize winner, spoils to be shared later.”

  “She tried to make out she wasn’t interested in the puzzle,” said Jack. “But all along her pal was out there gathering the answers for the two of them.”

  “You think they were an item?” said Michael.

  “Once upon a time, oh yes,” said Jack.

  “They both left ‘the service’ in the early eighties under a cloud,” said Sarah.

  “And word is that Quentin picked up a medal soon after for clearing out some bad apples,” said Jack.

  “So you think they were the bad apples?” said Tony.

  “Looks like it,” said Jack.

  “They both went off the radar for a while,” said Sarah. “But then they popped up working together as security consultants in the Middle East.”

  “Security consultants?” said Michael. “Came across a few of those in my time.”

  Sarah looked across at her father. Growing up in an RAF family she’d got used to the postings all over the world. But only now as an adult had she begun to wonder what his experience had been during those years.