A Puzzle in a Pear Tree

by Parnell Hall

  “Well, perhaps you can help us with how,” Chief Harper retorted. “You had a rehearsal this evening?”

  “That’s right.”

  “During rehearsal your tech crew was plugging lights.”

  “One of them was. Alfred Adams.”

  “Who is not the young man there?”

  “No.”

  “And that would be?”

  “That’s my tech director. Jesse Virdon.”

  “Why was he here?”

  “I assume he was touching up the paint on the set.”

  “He was here when you left?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was anyone else here?”

  “Alfred Adams. He had to finish plugging lights.”

  Doddsworth raised his eyebrows. “Rather late for a school lad. Why didn’t you stay and help him?”

  Rupert Winston looked at him coldly. “I can’t do everything. I’m teaching class. I’m rehearsing the Christmas pageant. I’m directing a play. I’m putting on The Seagull, and I just happen to have lost a key actress. You have no idea what it will entail working another girl into the role.”

  “I assure you I don’t,” Doddsworth said. “Nor can I fathom how you could be thinking about that now.”

  “I’m not thinking about that now,” Rupert snapped. “I was responding to your irrelevant and insensitive question as to why I wasn’t working tonight. I was working, just not on lights.”

  “I think we get the picture,” Chief Harper interposed, to forestall any further sparring between the two men. “Now, why would anyone want to kill your tech director?”

  “You’ve got me.”

  “Was he a witness to the murder of Dorrie Taggart?”

  “I have no idea. Didn’t you take statements?”

  “Yes, we did. I don’t recall his.”

  Rupert shrugged. “Then I guess he wasn’t.”

  “Was he part of the live Nativity?”

  “I think so.” Rupert pointed to Doddsworth. “You have my schedule.”

  “Yes, I do. According to which, Mr. Virdon portrayed Joseph from nine-fifteen to ten-fifteen in the A.M.”

  “That sounds right, but I really wouldn’t know.”

  “Uh-huh,” Chief Harper said. “And what can you tell us about the means of death?”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “The body was hanged from a rope, the rope was tied off at the pinrail.”

  A warning cough from Doddsworth cut off this exchange. “We know what you know, Chief. Let’s have a listen what the witness has to say, shall we?”

  “I fail to see how I’m a witness,” Rupert protested.

  “You needn’t see,” Doddsworth said shortly. “Tell us about the rope.”

  Rupert Winston looked up at the stage, where a single rope now hung from the flies to the floor. “That’s the rope you mean?”

  “But of course. Pray illuminate us. What might it be?”

  “It’s similar to the rope that dropped the sandbag. Except that was downstage center, this is upstage center. And I gather there was no sandbag attached. A noose?”

  “No. Just a knotted rope,” Harper told him grimly. “A poor knot, but good enough to hold. It did the job.”

  “Any chance it was a suicide?”

  “None.” Chief Harper jerked his thumb at the grid. “There’s no place to jump from. Whoever did this tied the rope around his neck and hauled him up.”

  “Chief Harper,” Doddsworth said in his most pained voice. “Mr. Winston pled a busy schedule. Perhaps we should allow him some sleep.”

  “I appreciate it,” Rupert said. “This is a terrible tragedy. Still, the show must go on.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Chief Harper said.

  Rupert looked stricken to the very soul. “You can’t shut down my show.”

  “He’s the chief of police,” Doddsworth pointed out. “He can do anything he wants.”

  “Except speak for himself,” Cora muttered under her breath.

  Sherry nudged her in the ribs.

  The two sat quietly and were good while the director was ushered out. Then Doddsworth instantly turned his attention to them. “So. This is what comes of an anemic judicial system where we release suspects on their own recognizance, then scratch our heads in bewilderment when another murder results.”

  Cora Felton’s eyes blazed. “Are you accusing my niece of this crime?”

  “Merely making a general observation. But that certainly is a most intriguing notion. Chief Harper, would you mind terribly if I posed a question or two in order to clarify the situation?”

  Chief Harper looked like he minded a great deal but couldn’t think of an easy way to say so. “Be my guest,” he muttered.

  “Miss Carter,” Doddsworth said. “Do tell us how you happened to find the body.”

  Cora bristled. “Just a minute. Let’s not lose sight of the fact Sherry’s been charged with murder. Before she answers any questions, she should have her lawyer present.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Sherry said.

  “Sherry, honey, you haven’t a clue what’s necessary. So I suggest you either clam up or you pick up the phone and call Becky Baldwin. I don’t imagine she’ll be real pleased about it, but she’ll be a lot happier than waking up tomorrow morning and finding out you spilled your guts.”

  “Whaddya think?” Sherry asked Doddsworth. “Should I call my lawyer?”

  “Perhaps we may try another tack. Miss Felton, I don’t fancy you’ve been charged with anything, now, have you? Do you need a solicitor before you speak?”

  Doddsworth was practically daring Cora, egging her on, goading her into speech. Surely the best way to thwart him was to keep quiet. But to refuse to answer? To claim she needed a lawyer . . .

  Cora hesitated. Glared at him.

  He was smiling at her, a smug, taunting smile. His crooked teeth ruined the effect. So did his dress shirt, which in his haste he had buttoned wrong. The uneven collar was ridiculous. What could she possibly have to fear from such a man? After all, she had done nothing wrong.

  Cora stuck out her chin. “What do you want to know?”

  “Nothing to fret about.” Doddsworth practically purred. “Merely finding the body.”

  “What about it?”

  “The door to the gymnasium was secured?” Doddsworth said, slipping right into interrogation mode.

  “That’s right.”

  “You tried the door and couldn’t open it?”

  “That’s how I knew it was locked.”

  “So how did you gain entrance?”

  “I found a back window that was open.”

  “And how did you get through this back window?”

  “I climbed.”

  “Was that easy?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “But you had help?”

  Cora pressed her lips together.

  “This is not a big admission, Miss Felton. You and your niece came here together. I assume Miss Carter assisted you through the window. At any rate, you entered the gymnasium and saw immediately that something was wrong.”

  “I wouldn’t say wrong.”

  “What would you say?”

  “I saw that the lights were aimed incorrectly. Some were aimed out over the audience instead of at the stage. One was actually aimed at me in the door.”

  “So you investigated these misaimed lights and spotted the young man hanging over the stage.”

  “I saw his boots.”

  “Of course. You knew at once who it was?”

  “Actually, I thought it was the techie. Alfred Adams. He had the same boots.”

  “And what made you think it would be young Adams?”

  “I had talked to him earlier in the evening. About playing Joseph in the Nativity.”

  “So, when you saw the boots hanging there you imagined your inquiries had come to a most dreadful fruition.”

  “I was afraid I’d stirred something up, yes.”


  “And in fact, you hadn’t. The dead man in question, this Jesse Virdon, you don’t know at all. Is that correct?”

  “I knew he was the tech director.”

  “But you never conversed with him?”

  “I was there when he bawled Alfred Adams out for not wearing his headset.”

  “When was that?”

  “Tonight. During rehearsal. He came by while I was talking to Alfred.”

  “And just where was this?”

  “In the light booth.”

  Doddsworth raised his eyebrows. “Jesse Virdon observed you and Alfred Adams having tea and crumpets in the light booth? Fascinating.”

  Cora stuck her chin in the air, said nothing.

  “You weren’t concerned for Mr. Virdon’s welfare?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “But you were concerned for the welfare of young Mr. Adams, whom you spoke to earlier tonight?”

  “I said I was.”

  “And that is why you came by the theater. To make sure everything was all right with Mr. Adams?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “At two in the A.M. Rather late to be checking up.”

  “It’s a good thing I did. Or you wouldn’t have found the body until tomorrow.”

  “Granted,” Doddsworth agreed. “I’m merely wondering why you did. Particularly with regard to these misaimed lights. Did you perchance check on the theater because the lights were on?”

  “What if I did?”

  Doddsworth smiled. “Well, then, my next query would be, how did you know the lights were on? Who told you the lights were on? Who aroused your curiosity to such a degree as to send you out at two in the A.M.? It is a thorny dilemma, indeed. Particularly in light of the fact you are in your nightdress and your niece is fully clothed. Is it a fair inference, Miss Felton, that your niece motored by the gymnasium, spotted the lights on, drove home, told you about it, and the two of you ventured out to investigate?”

  Cora pressed her lips tighter and said nothing.

  “You see my problem,” Doddsworth mused. “Here’s a young woman, charged with homicide. Her solicitor gets her released. That very night she visits the site of an attempted murder, and, lo and behold, another murder occurs. This is a trifle much. She can’t report it to the authorities without falling under suspicion. She needs someone else to find the body for her. It was your niece who informed you of the lights in the theater, was it not?”

  Cora sat mute.

  “Well,” Doddsworth concluded smugly. “For once the prosecuting attorney will know what questions to ask.”

  34

  AARON GRANT BURST INTO THE GYM, RUSHED UP TO SHERRY, grabbed her shoulders. “Sherry! Are you all right?”

  “Relax, Aaron. I’m fine.”

  “Oh, yeah? Have they charged you with this one yet?”

  “Not yet,” Sherry answered. “I think they may be having a little trouble with the motive.”

  “Oh, no problem there,” Doddsworth said blandly. “Clearly the poor bloke was killed to cover up the first murder.”

  “I’m glad that’s clear to you,” Cora said. “I’d be tickled pink to have it pointed out to me.”

  Chief Harper had had enough. “Well, I wouldn’t. This case is not going to be argued in the press. Aaron, you can’t stay. The morning paper’s already printed. You’ll get everything you need for your story tomorrow. So get on home. And do me a favor: Take Miss Carter with you. She’s had enough excitement for one day. If you could drive her home, I’d be very grateful.”

  “Why can’t Miss Felton take her?” Doddsworth asked.

  “I need Miss Felton here.” Chief Harper shooed Aaron and Sherry out. “Go on. Get.”

  Aaron reluctantly walked Sherry out.

  Doddsworth watched them go, then cocked a bushy eyebrow at Chief Harper. “Do you really think having Miss Felton here is wise?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. But I’m not having any more people murdered in my town. So I’m talking to you, I’m talking to her, I’m talking to anyone I can. You may not like each other, but you happen to be the best minds I got. So bury the hatchet and help me out.”

  “Very well.” Doddsworth said it grudgingly.

  “Can you do that, Miss Felton?”

  “Of course,” Cora said unconvincingly. She and Doddsworth eyed each other like two dogs contesting a chunk of meat.

  “Fine,” Chief Harper said. “Now, let’s forget for the moment we’re on different sides and solve this damn thing.” He gestured to Doddsworth. “You say this murder was done to cover up the first crime. How do you figure?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. The tech director is not important in and of himself. A lonely man painting scenery, who could really care? With a previous crime, there must be a link.”

  “That’s your only reason to think so?” Cora said. “The fact you have no other theory?”

  Doddsworth bristled. “Have you another theory?”

  “I don’t even have the facts. Though my theory’s sure to differ from yours, since you are so confused as to who committed the other crime.”

  “Hang on,” Chief Harper interposed irritably. “Now, that’s just what I don’t want. Stick with issues, please. If this Jesse Virdon is killed to cover up the first murder, how is that possible? When did he play Joseph?”

  “From nine-fifteen to ten-fifteen.”

  “And when did Dorrie play Mary?”

  “From eleven to twelve.”

  “See? It doesn’t work. When the crime happened, Virdon wasn’t even there.”

  “How do you know?” Cora asked. “Maybe he hung around.”

  “Couldn’t have done,” Doddsworth said. “He had to go change. To leave his costume for the next Joseph. They were only rotating two, as you recall.”

  “You’re arguing against your own theory?” Cora observed.

  “Not at all. I’m merely pointing out what must have happened. When relieved, Jesse Virdon must have changed. Leaving his costume in the town hall. Where it was worn at eleven-fifteen by Lance Ridgewood. But that doesn’t mean Virdon left. He could have been there in street clothes when Dorrie Taggart came on at eleven.”

  “Big deal,” Cora snorted. “Suppose Jesse Virdon was hanging around the Nativity. What could he have possibly seen?”

  “How about the killer putting his hand on Dorrie Taggart’s neck?” Chief Harper suggested.

  “Then why doesn’t he tell the police?” Cora said. “If he had such direct evidence, he surely would.”

  “I quite agree,” Doddsworth said.

  “Then how do you support your theory?”

  “The young man didn’t know what he’d seen. Or didn’t understand its importance.”

  “Interesting,” Cora said.

  “It follows that Virdon went to the killer purely out of curiosity, with no notion the killer might be the killer,” Doddsworth said. “The poor chap had merely observed something he wished explained. Something he thought could easily be explained.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  “It’s also obvious the killer was someone he never would have expected. Someone he would have felt totally comfortable with. The techie Alfred Adams fits the mold. He relieved him playing Joseph. He was in the crèche when Dorrie took her place.”

  Cora nodded. “He seemed unduly nervous when I talked to him.”

  “He’ll be questioned,” Harper assured them. “Now, how about this. So far we’ve found no clue. No puzzle poem. Do you think we will?”

  “No,” Cora and Doddsworth said together.

  “Interesting,” Chief Harper said. “And why is that?”

  “Because we took Miss Carter’s envelopes,” Doddsworth said, “leaving her with none.”

  “Because the envelopes were planted in her house,” Cora corrected, “leaving the killer with none.”

  “Assuming the availability of envelopes, would you or would you not expect a puzzle poem?”

&n
bsp; “Difficult to say,” Doddsworth mused. “But I would lean toward no. The other rhymes were devised in advance. They were used in connection with a well-laid scheme culminating in death. The killer had no poems planned beyond the first murder, because the killer did not anticipate making a mistake. This crime, being improvisational, off-the-cuff, and committed for the sole purpose of covering up the other, would involve no puzzle. First, because no such puzzle would be ready. Second, because the elimination of such a one would involve no vitriolic verse.”

  “Is that your opinion also?” Chief Harper asked Cora.

  “I’ll go along with the fact the killer’s not prepared. But he still might leave an uncoded message, just like the Becky Baldwin one.”

  “How about that?” Harper asked.

  Doddsworth shook his head. “Miss Baldwin is without question part of the original equation. Part of the killer’s plan. As such, she must needs be explained. Gloated over, even. But this young fellow has nothing to do with anything. No one cares about him. He is merely an inconvenience to be removed. Not worth tuppence.”

  “You expect no clue at all?”

  “That’s the ticket.”

  “Then I guess we’re going to have a pretty bad night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Harper shrugged. “Looking for something that isn’t there.”

  35

  BECKY BALDWIN’S OFFICE WAS A MODEST, ONE-ROOM AFFAIR just off Main Street over the pizza parlor. It boasted an ancient oak desk, a half-filled bookcase, a four-drawer metal file cabinet, and two straight-backed client’s chairs. Apparently any third-party actions were out of luck. Becky seemed embarrassed by the office. If so, it was the first time Sherry could recall ever seeing her embarrassed.

  “You should have woken me up,” Becky said huffily.

  “There was nothing you could do.”

  “How do you know? At least I could have kept you from making damaging statements.”

  “I didn’t make any statements.”

  “You told them about finding the body.”

  “Actually, Cora told them.”

  “I could have shut her up.”

  “You could have tried.”

  “This is not a game. This is not a joke. You know what they teach you in law school? Crime statistics. Wanna hear one? Most crimes aren’t solved. You tell yourself you’re not guilty, and when everything gets sorted out everyone will realize that and you’ll be free. All you have to do is sit back and wait for them to catch the killer. Well, guess what? Doesn’t happen. So you have to ask yourself, what if they don’t catch this killer? What if no killer emerges? What if all they’re left with is you?”