A Puzzle in a Pear Tree

by Parnell Hall

  “Rupert? What did he want?”

  “We have rehearsal tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock.”

  “You have got to be kidding.”

  “Not at all. We lost tonight’s rehearsal. We have to make it up.”

  “You mean we have rehearsal tomorrow afternoon and tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow night’s dress rehearsal, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I’m trying to. Well, how do you like that. The son of a bitch didn’t have the nerve to tell me to my face.”

  Sherry frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Cora told her about dropping in on Rupert’s Seagull rehearsal. “So there’s another motivation down the drain. The idea Maxine killed Dorrie to get that part.”

  “She might have thought she’d get the part,” Sherry suggested.

  “Not unless she’s a hell of a better actress than Rupert Winston gives her credit for. I’d swear she wasn’t interested.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I’m gonna check out the girl who got it, though. Laura something. She claims it’s a big surprise, but that may or may not be true. I’d also like to know if she was one of the virgins.”

  “Why? Even if she was the Virgin Mary, she wasn’t there when Dorrie got killed.”

  “I know. I’m grasping at straws. I have no idea what’s up in this case. I can use all the help I can get.”

  Sherry dunked a cookie, considered. “So what’s your present theory? Was the killer trying to kill Dorrie? Or was he or she trying to kill Becky Baldwin?”

  “There’s evidence to support both.”

  “Is there any evidence to support the theory that Becky Baldwin was the intended victim that doesn’t make me the killer?”

  “Not so you could notice,” Cora said glumly. “Becky let me look at her client list. She hasn’t been practicing long. There’s no one likely to hold a grudge.”

  “Anyone not on her client list?”

  Cora shrugged, picked up a stack of Oreos. “I suppose Rick Reed could have done it to boost his TV ratings. Or because she’s a lousy date.”

  “Becky as the victim simply makes no sense.” Sherry broke off at the sight of her aunt dropping cookies into her glass. “What are you doing?”

  “Well, why not?” Cora demanded. “I’ve got my spoon. These things are great in milk. Why pretend to dunk?”

  Cora dropped two more cookies in her glass, mashed them around. “What were you saying?”

  Sherry, mesmerized by the cookie milkshake, said, “I forget. Oh, yeah. How there’s no reason for anybody to kill Becky.”

  “Present company excepted, of course. There is no reason. The only one pushing that theory is Doddsworth.”

  “True,” Sherry said. “But there is the little matter of the sandbag.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Cora continued to mutilate her cookies.

  “The killer’s puzzle poems promised the death of the leading lady,” Sherry pointed out. “You’ve got two leading ladies. One is killed. The other is almost killed. Is it open season on leading ladies, or is the killer after one leading lady in particular? If so, which one? If it’s the first one, why try for the second? If it’s the second one, why the poem about eating for two? And if it’s both, why the clue Wrong girl ?”

  Cora nodded judiciously. “You said that very well.”

  “Do you have any answers?”

  “No, but it helps to state the question.” Cora gave the glass one last stir, brought up a huge spoonful of cookie glop. “Mmm, would you look at that.”

  Cora stuck the spoon in her mouth. Her eyes closed, her grin stretched from ear to ear. If she were a cat, she would have been purring.

  “Earth to Cora. Remind me. What do I do when you go into sugar shock?”

  Cora smiled. Her teeth, plastered with Oreos, made her appear a dental disaster. “In that happy event, you call our Bob Fosse wannabe and tell him I won’t be at rehearsal.”

  43

  “THERE’S ANOTHER ONE,” JIMMY POTTER SAID.

  Rupert Winston flung up his hands in despair. “Jimmy! It’s not your entrance yet. When it is your entrance, you will know it because the piano will be playing. You will know it because Becky will be singing. You will know it because you will hear the words ‘my true love gave to me.’ Did you hear any of those things, Jimmy?”

  “No, Mr. Winston.”

  “Then you should not be onstage. You should be offstage, holding your pear tree, waiting to come on. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”

  “Yes, Mr. Winston.”

  “Is your pear tree there?”

  “Yes, Mr. Winston.”

  “Is the partridge in it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Winston.”

  “Then why are you not standing offstage holding your pear tree, waiting to go on?”

  “There’s another letter.”

  “What?”

  “Another red letter.”

  Rupert Winston looked at Jimmy skeptically, breathing hard. “You mean there’s another puzzle in the pear tree, just like before?”

  There was a pause while Jimmy digested that query. “No.”

  “There isn’t an envelope in the pear tree?”

  “Yeah, there is.”

  “Then why did you say no?” Rupert bellowed in exasperation.

  “Not like before. Before, the partridge was gone. Now there’s a letter and the partridge.”

  “There’s a red envelope in the pear tree?”

  “Yes, Mr. Winston.”

  “Get it! Get it! Before someone takes it!”

  Jimmy went offstage, returned immediately bearing the pear tree. The partridge was perched crookedly on one branch. The red envelope nestled between two others.

  The actors emerged from the wings, crowded around.

  “It’s another one,” Harvey Beerbaum announced. “If it’s a puzzle, I should take charge of it.”

  Cora Felton, clutching her milking stool, exchanged a glance with Sherry Carter. “That’s right,” she said emphatically. “Harvey solved the first puzzle. He definitely should get a crack at this one.”

  Dan Finley, who had been watching dutifully from the back of the audience, pressed forward. “Don’t touch it,” he warned. “I’m calling Chief Harper. He’ll be right over. In the meantime, did anyone see where this envelope came from?”

  No one had.

  “Jimmy, was it there when you got here?” Dan asked.

  “I dunno.”

  “Why not?”

  Jimmy pointed to the basketball court. “Mr. Winston said sit out there. So I sat out there. While he talked. Then I went backstage, and there it was.”

  “You mean just now?”

  “No, before. When I came out onstage.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Rupert grumbled. “How long is this going to take? I’ve got a rehearsal to run.”

  “The chief should be here any minute.”

  He was. Chief Harper came stomping in from outside, spanking the snow off his coat. He glowered at the pear tree, which Jimmy had set on the apron of the stage. “All right, where did this come from?”

  “No one seems to know,” Dan Finley told him.

  “How is that possible? You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on things. This happened under your very nose?”

  “No, sir. It was probably here before we got here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Chief Harper eyed the envelope critically but did not pluck it from the tree.

  “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Harvey Beerbaum said excitedly.

  “I certainly am. But not with an audience.”

  “You mean you’re not going to open it here?” Harvey wailed.

  Before Chief Harper could answer, Jonathon Doddsworth burst in from the parking lot. His face was flushed, and his brow was creased in a scowl. “What the deuce is going on? Do I understand correctly there’s another red missive?”

  “See for yourself.” Chief Harper pointed to the pear tre
e.

  “Is it another acrostic?”

  “I haven’t touched it.”

  “Who’s responsible for this?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Well, someone must have lodged it there.” Doddsworth surveyed the group. “I see Miss Carter is onstage. Would she have had the opportunity to plant this envelope?”

  Chief Harper shrugged. “I just got here myself.”

  Doddsworth swung on the director. “Winston, you’re in charge. Could Miss Carter have placed that envelope in the tree?”

  “Any of the actors could have slipped backstage before the rehearsal started.”

  “I’ll consider that an affirmative.” Doddsworth shook his head. “Well, bit of a lark, now, isn’t it? I wonder if it might shed any light on the second murder. There was no clue with that.”

  “We’ll soon find out,” Chief Harper said grimly. “Mr. Winston, I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to borrow Miss Felton again.”

  “Gee,” Cora said. “I’m the one who really needs rehearsing. Why don’t you have Harvey do it?”

  Harvey Beerbaum eyed Cora suspiciously. “You’d rather rehearse than see what the puzzle is?”

  “I don’t wanna ruin the play. Go on, Harvey. I know you’re dying to.”

  “I’d be happy to do it,” Harvey Beerbaum informed Chief Harper.

  “I’m sure you would, Harvey, but I want her. Frankly, she’s faster than you. I need this solved now.”

  “That was with Sherry helping me write down the answers,” Cora reminded him.

  “Right. I need her too.”

  “Well, you can’t have her,” Rupert snapped irritably. He stabbed his finger at Cora. “And you can’t have her for long. None of this whisk-her-off-to-the-police-station stuff. There’s no one in the dressing rooms. Open the envelope in one of them. If there isn’t a puzzle in that damn envelope you won’t even need her.”

  “Fine,” Harper agreed. “We’ll use the girls’ dressing room. Go on with your rehearsal. We’ll get Miss Felton back as soon as we can.”

  “I’d rather you took Harvey.”

  “Sorry.”

  Chief Harper pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket, used a handkerchief to put the envelope in. “Dan. Stay here, watch Miss Baldwin. Miss Felton, you come with me.”

  Harper and Doddsworth walked Cora to the door. She flashed a look over her shoulder at Sherry as she went out.

  “Odds are it’s a puzzle poem,” Doddsworth said. “We didn’t get one with the second victim. In a way, we’re sort of owed one.”

  “On the other hand,” Cora said, “it could just be a message like Wrong girl.”

  “That would make your job easier,” Harper said. “But I’d bet my pension it’s a puzzle.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Cora told him glumly.

  The girls’ dressing room was dark. Chief Harper fumbled on the wall, switched on a light. “Well, no dead bodies.”

  “Were you expecting one?” Cora asked.

  “With this case, I don’t know what to expect.”

  “Come, come, let’s have a look,” Doddsworth said impatiently.

  Chief Harper set the evidence bag on the makeup table. He fished a pair of thin rubber gloves out of his pocket and pulled them on. He slid out the envelope and slit it open with a jackknife.

  Inside was a folded piece of paper. As Chief Harper carefully unfolded it, Doddsworth, looking over his shoulder, whistled.

  “What is it?” Cora said.

  Chief Harper turned the paper around.

  “So, it is a puzzle,” Cora said. “ cated. Let’s just get Harvey. . . .”

  “No. You do it.”

  “Or at least Sherry to help me . .

  Chief Harper shook his head puzzle.

  “No. Do it. Now.”

  44

  CORA FELTON FLOPPED HER DRAWSTRING PURSE DOWN ON the makeup table, rummaged through it, finally came out with a pen. She stared at the puzzle judiciously. “You want me to copy this over? I’m not sure I have a sheet of paper.”

  “Here’s one.” Doddsworth tore down a page that had been taped to the makeup table mirror. It was a cast list for the upcoming production of The Seagull, with handwritten notations next to each actor’s name.

  “That’s the costume lady’s measurements,” Cora protested. “She’ll have a fit.”

  “She’ll live,” Chief Harper said. “Go on. Write the answers. And make it snappy. I’m nervous about this. What if this tells us someone is going to be killed?”

  “Then you better xerox it. It’ll take me forever by hand.” Cora stuck the costume list tidily back on the mirror.

  “Bloody hell!” Doddsworth exclaimed. “Where’s the copy machine?”

  “Room by the business office.”

  “Wouldn’t that be locked?”

  “Jimmy Potter used it.”

  Doddsworth pulled out a handkerchief, grabbed the puzzle by the corner. “I’ll pop upstairs and run this off. Damn sight faster than arguing.”

  He was back in minutes. “All right, here’s a copy you can scribble on. No more stalling. What’s it say?”

  Cora frowned, then exhaled heavily. “Okay, let me take a look.”

  Cora peered at the puzzle. She fumbled in her purse, came out with a pack of cigarettes, lit one again.

  “Smoking in the high school?” Doddsworth could not have sounded more scathing had he accused her of burning the place down.

  “I am if you want me to solve this.”

  “There’s a dandy example to set for the students.”

  “What students? You see any students?”

  “If it makes her faster, I don’t care,” Harper interposed.

  “Faster? She hasn’t written a bloody thing!”

  “I have to find a clue I’m sure of.”

  “You’re not sure of any clues? Typical! Let’s get Beerbaum.”

  “Fine with me.” Cora blew out a smoke puff. “You want me to go up and send him down?”

  “No. I want you to stop stalling and do the puzzle,” Harper said irritably. “Leave her alone, Doddsworth, and let her get to work. Come on. Start filling in clues like you did in my office.”

  “Well,” Cora said. “Trains, seven letters, is probably teaches.”

  “Fine.”

  “Or subways.”

  “What?”

  “As in subway trains. See? That’s why I have to start with something I’m sure of.”

  “And that would be . . . ?”

  “Hard to find. This isn’t very well constructed.”

  “You had no problem last time.”

  “I was lucky. Some clues were obvious.”

  “And they’re not here?”

  “For the love of Mike!” Doddsworth exploded. “This isn’t a debate. Just solve it the best you can.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Cora bent her head to the puzzle. “Okay, let’s see. One if by land, five words, is going to be and two if by sea.”

  “What?” Chief Harper said.

  “ ‘One if by land, and two if by sea,’ ” Cora quoted. “And Blank Mrs. Robinson is going to be Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson. From the Simon and Garfunkel song. Let me fill those in and see what I’ve got.”

  Cora began scribbling. For once, the men didn’t interrupt her. Doddsworth even held out an old Styrofoam cup for her cigarette ash.

  In a matter of minutes, Cora turned the paper around.

  “There you go. Pretty interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Chief Harper said. “Don’t make me struggle with this. Just read it out.”

  “Sure.” Cora read from the page. “The author is A Friend. The title is A Helpful Hint. The poem goes:

  “Sometimes you get lucky.

  Sometimes things work out.

  Some things can be proven.

  Some things are in doubt.

  “You can fool some people,

  But you can’t fool them for long.”<
br />
  She paused, then said pointedly to Doddsworth:

  “When it’s clear your best friend

  Is the one who did you wrong.”

  Doddsworth’s face drained of color. For a moment he seemed too stunned to speak. He quickly recovered. “ ‘Best friend.’ That’s the ticket. The dead man’s mate. Who was Virdon’s best friend?”

  “You think this applies to Jesse Virdon?” Cora asked.

  “We had a poem for the first crime. This is the poem for the second.”

  “Then why wasn’t it with the body?”

  “It wasn’t written then. Which would fit right in. The killer had no plan to kill Jesse Virdon, but the murder became necessary. After the deed, the killer wrote a poem.”

  “Well, that’s fascinating,” Cora said. She didn’t sound a bit fascinated. “Now, if you boys don’t need me anymore, I’m going back to rehearsal.”

  Cora handed her cigarette to Doddsworth, grabbed her purse, and sailed out the door.

  Rupert was working on French hens when Cora returned.

  Sherry sidled up to her. “How’d it go?”

  “Like clockwork. I had one rough moment when I forgot what a tough gangster was, but since I knew the poem I was able to work backwards.”

  “See, I knew you could do it,” Sherry said. “For a minute I actually thought you were going to talk them into using Harvey.”

  “That would have worked too.”

  “Yes, but they’d have wondered often you get a chance to show off y

  “Yeah, great,” Cora said. “You letter?”

  “No problem. I slipped out w turtledoves.”

  “Anyone see you?”

  “Cool it,” Sherry hissed. “Here comes Harvey.”

  Harvey Beerbaum pushed his way up. “So, did you solve it? You must have, or you wouldn’t be back.”

  “Can we keep it down in the audience!” Rupert Winston screeched from the stage.

  “Oh, Harvey,” Cora sighed. “Now you blew it for everybody.”

  “Me? What do you mean, me?”

  “Puh-leeze!” Rupert thundered.

  “I can’t tell you anything.” Cora lowered her voice. “You have to ask Chief Harper.”

  “Where is he?”