by Nero Blanc
By way of response, the librarian (Sylvia Meigs, according to the nameplate on the desk) burbled a cheerful, “I’m really so very happy you stopped in, Miss Graham. Happy and honored. You know, we have a number of crossword aficionados in Taneysville, and I can tell you they’ll be tickled to—”
“Please call me Belle.”
“Belle, of course … And you’re considering purchasing property out here?”
“I’m just in the initial stages … but I thought I’d take a look around, see what the village feels like, how the residents interact. The library seemed a logical first stop.”
“A lexical first stop,” Sylvia added. She beamed.
Belle smiled in response.
“Well, I can assure you that you have some very stalwart fans in the neighborhood, if that makes any difference: May Hoffmeyer, John Stark, Father Matt—”
“He’s the priest at the church I passed?”
Belle watched another brief cloud flit across Sylvia’s face—covered swiftly with a bright: “Yes, he is. And a nicer young man, we couldn’t wish for. Plus, he believes wholeheartedly in reading! He even started a special story hour for the children. Even if they don’t go to Sunday school, they get a good dose of Father Matt’s graceful good humor. Although, he doesn’t like Cheeky Chimpanzee series. Says the monkey encourages kids to act crazy, that they’re liable to hurt themselves if they follow the antics in the books. You know, I never looked at the books that way. But I guess he has a point …”
Belle only nodded. “Do the Bazinne children come to story hour?”
“Frank’s and Luke’s little ones?” Sylvia laughed. “Oh, my, no!” Then her eyes opened wide and her mouth snapped shut around the final “o.” Belle could see she was thinking. Hard. “Let me show you around our cozy space, Miss … Belle. You may not know it, but this used to be Taneysville’s school back in the old days … a one-room affair with a second chamber at the rear to house a teacher, who was responsible for educating the students as well as maintaining the building, keeping the woodfire burning, and all …” Sylvia babbled away as she led Belle through the stacks.
“… And this is where we keep pictures of our past and present … That’s Tree Hoffmeyer, you see there. He’s from Taneysville, if you didn’t already know … May, who I just told you about? She’s Tree’s grandmother. Her husband, Milt, owns the general store. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree out here … Oh, my, I didn’t mean to force that awful pun on you.” Sylvia laughed, giggled actually, her round face breaking into childlike dimples. “Anyway, the town’s awfully proud of young Milt. Our favorite son, I guess you might say … May lent me those boyhood snaps … wanted to inspire the local kids … That’s Amanda Mott in that picture with him …” She hesitated. “Well, no matter … As I was saying, we’re all mighty pleased for young Milt’s success …”
Belle let the chatter continue, but her mind kept returning to the Bazinnes. What was Sylvia Meigs avoiding? What was she purposely omitting? What was troubling her so much she needed to change the subject every time the family was mentioned? As Belle pondered these questions, her eyes traveled over the shelf of photographs: the library as a school; a waifishlooking, black-clad young woman standing rigidly among what obviously were less-than-enthusiastic pupils; an evening lecture captured in 1940s black and white, the glare of the flashbulb bouncing off darkened windows, the men sporting coats and ties, the women in dresses with dirndl skirts; then sixties Kodachrome and sixties fashions, although the adults were caught in poses almost identical to the previous generation’s. Then snapshots of kids sprawled on the floor doing craftwork and drawings, a man Belle assumed was Father Matt reading from a large picture book, and finally several newspaper clippings yellowed with age. It was here that Belle’s casual glance stopped.
“Who’s this? Katie Vanovski?”
Sylvia Meigs did a little gasp and jump. “You’d know her as Paula Flynn.”
Belle stared blankly, so Sylvia continued:
“An actress. In Hollywood. She started life as ordinary Katie Vanovski of Taneysville. A long time ago—”
“I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of her, but she must be a favorite daughter of the town if Tree Hoffmeyer’s the favorite son.” Belle smiled as she spoke, but Sylvia’s expression grew suddenly taut and wary.
“Not Katie. She just walked out, walked away from the community, straight to Hollywood, and never looked back … Never kept up with her family, never shared even the smallest part of her good fortune … and I would imagine it was considerable. Not that she was a major star, but she was successful … had any number of roles. That was way before my time, though.” As if she couldn’t help herself, Sylvia continued with a quiet “Katie—or Paula, as she decided to restyle herself—is … well, she’s Jeanne Bazinne’s aunt. Frank and Luke’s aunt, too, of course. Though I don’t think they ever really knew her …”
Belle took all this in. No wonder the woman pumping gas was bitter. How would it feel to be barely scraping by when your blood relative was living in the lap of luxury?
While Belle pondered these issues, Artie, the mailman, casually slipped his day’s offerings into her postbox in Newcastle. The assorted junk mail, catalogs, and bills were dropped atop an envelope that had been placed in the box a scant half an hour earlier: an envelope that contained a black-and-white grid. Someone else seemed to have money on their mind.
“CHANGE” OF HEART
Across
1. 35-Across, e.g.
4. Block up
7. Doc’s org.
10. ___the ante
13. ___Maria
14. One of the Peróns
15. Winner
16. La La lead-in
17. Dudley Moore movie
18. Theater where there’s no talking?
21. Oppose
23. Mr. Capote to friends
24. “Mother___”
26. Lyric poem
28. Whacks
32. Dad’s dad
35. Expert
38. Wrath
39. Word with steak or sauce
40. Reminder
41. By way of
42. Mint a locution
45. Turkish title
47. Hirschfeld girl
48. Acting awards
51. The good earth
52. Mr. Williams
53. Cap
54. Flower base
56. Desire
59. Vitamin doses; abbr.
60. Grill
63. Won out
66. Eleven leader
70. Certain acct.
73. Falter
74. Whichever
75. Also
76. Annoyed
77. The last mo.
78. Shad delight
79. Extra periods; abbr.
80. Summer in France
Down
1. Mr. O’Brien
2. “___Got a Secret”
3. Amusement hall
4. Disavow
5. Rara___
6. Portuguese territory
7. Iron or Gilded
8. Tuna ___
9. Cupid
10. Shoshonean
11. For
12. Diego or Marcos
19. Dramatist Thomas
20. Burns & Allen, e.g.
22. Try
24. MBA’s goal
25. Mr. Parseghian
27. Apiece
29. F. W. Woolworth, e.g.
30. Just before Sat.
31. Ocean
33. Grease___
34. Palmer with an army
36. St. John’s bread
37. Remove
40. Retreat
43. Mr. Williams
44. Startle
45. Fool
46. Retrieved
49. Inlet
50. Court time?; abbr.
55. Scratch
57. Decline
58. “Cool”
61. Headliner
62. Vegas game<
br />
64. Tax
65. Knocks silly; abbr.
66. Oft-used Latin letters
67. “Look Back in Anger” star, Mary
68. Bow
69. Bread choice
71. Sell out
72. Summer drink
To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords
CHAPTER 28
Belle recognized the car a full block away. Rosco’s ancient red Jeep, parked smack dab in front of Hoffmeyer’s General Store. What was he doing down here instead of prowling around the Quigley/Gordon work site as they’d discussed? And the second question—the really big question—was: How was she supposed to walk into Hoffmeyer’s, order up a sandwich to go, and avoid broadcasting to all and sundry that the guy who was supposed to be building inspector Bill Parker was really her husband, i.e., private eye Rosco Polycrates?
“Darn,” Belle muttered under her breath. Her top-notch gumshoe scheme was obviously over before it began.
She pulled herself from her car and trudged disconsolately toward Hoffmeyer’s. She didn’t even look like a potential home buyer, nor did she resemble a city dweller out for a drive through the countryside.
The picture that first arrested her when she entered Hoffmeyer’s—aside from the timeless appearance of the place: the floors with their oiled-wood planking, the antique cash register, the wall placards advertising products long-since defunct—was her health-conscious husband removing a large bag of extra-thick, spicy, fried pork rinds from the snack shelf.
Belle gaped. “Pork rinds?” she said as she pulled abreast of him. “You’re eating pork rinds? What about cholesterol? What about fat content? Don’t tell me you’re actually planning to ingest that stuff!”
Startled by his wife’s voice, Rosco looked up. He proved a good deal better at concealing their relationship, however. But then, he’d had a head start in the training department. “What’s it to you, lady?” He smiled when he said this, and assumed a jocular ease: the look of a guy on the make. Belle, though, turned scarlet at his words. Even her blond hair looked pink.
Near Rosco stood a thin young man sporting a carefully combed ponytail. He’d also been reaching for a bag of pork rinds when Belle appeared. Instead of continuing with his purchase, he now dropped his hands to his sides, angling his face so that he covertly watched Belle while seeming to gaze at other products on other shelves.
“I … well, I … I just …” Belle struggled for words as Rosco held on to the cherished snacks. “I thought … well, you’re right … It isn’t any of my business.” She moved to the rear of the shop and the sandwich counter while Rosco’s silent companion nudged him hard in the ribs.
“You don’t do that, man … A foxy chick like that comes up to you, comes on to you, you smile, dude … You smile. You don’t give her no lip … See, a chick walks over to a guy, and instigates the conversation—meaning, she starts it—well, you got it made in the shade … know what I mean …? Like, you’re gold, dude …!” He put out his hand. “Name’s Stu, by the way.”
Rosco shook it. “Bill Parker.”
“Parker … right … Bill Parker …” Stu nodded as the light slowly dawned. “Right… You met my partner, Big Otto? Up to Eddie’s Elbow Room? Otto told me ISD put on a new guy …” His concentration returned to Belle, who was busy ordering her lunch. “Dude, you really blew it with that babe. And she’s a real looker, too. I wouldn’t mind makin’ a little time with her myself. What can I say, bud? You gotta take some lessons on handlin’ the ladies …” Stu began moving away from Rosco, then immediately returned.
“Hey, you’re gonna put them dang foreigners up to Quigleys’ out of work, ain’t you? Permanent-like?”
“Well, I—”
Stu raised his hand in a conspiratorial gesture, leaning forward as he whispered, “That’s okay, bud. You don’t have to say nothin’ in no public place … Otto told me you was a good guy, though.” He then walked to the rear of the store, hitching up his trousers and proudly flipping his ponytail.
Rosco followed close behind. His “subcontractor” for the Polycrates Agency was about to experience an interesting exchange.
Belle’s incipient conversation with her would-be suitor was forestalled by the arrival of another customer—this one in a clerical collar; out of breath and making a beeline for the crossword queen. “Sylvia told me you were here, Miss Graham, and that you’re considering purchasing property, too … Well, this is certainly Taneysville’s lucky day!”
Stu stopped in his tracks. To say that his eyes were nearly jumping out of his head would be an understatement. First the schmo of a building inspector got the pretty chick’s nod, then the nebbishy priest started trailing after her. “Huh …? You know this lady, Padre?”
“Ahh, Stuart. And how are you? I didn’t see you standing there …” Father Matt smiled warmly.
“Just fine.” Stu seemed to have run out of conversational gambits.
The priest nodded and smiled at Big Otto’s “partner” again. “In answer to your question, Stuart, I know Miss Graham only by reputation. I’m one of her biggest fans …” He turned slightly and extended his hand to Belle. “I’m Matt … Father Matt from Trinity Church.”
Stu stared at Belle. “I thought you looked like somebody special. You been on TV, right?”
“Oh, no, Stuart, Miss Graham’s a wordsmith … She creates crossword puzzles for the newspaper. Very clever puzzles, too—”
“Huh?”
Father Matt gave Belle his full concentration. “It’s a shame your husband couldn’t join you, but Sylvia said you—”
“Husband?” Stu interjected, then glanced at Rosco as if to say: You and me both got burned, dude. Big time.
“Miss Graham’s husband is a private investigator.”
Stu took this in while his feet began doing a slow backward shuffle. He moved close to Rosco and winked in stagy sympathy, while Belle stared from Father Matt to the long-haired electrician to the “building inspector.” Rosco noticed she was at a total loss for words—unbelievable as that seemed.
“Oh, yeah, I read about him,” Rosco said. “The PI who used to be a cop … Supposed to be a pretty tough customer.”
A response finally found its way into Belle’s still-wide-open mouth. “Maybe that’s because he doesn’t eat pork rinds … just so he can stay pretty.”
“Dude!” whispered Stu. “Let’s get out of here.”
But Rosco put out his hand and shook Belle’s. “Nice to meet you, Miss Graham. I guess it must be difficult being so famous that everyone knows you wherever you go. If you’re thinking of purchasing property, like Father Matt here says, I’d be happy to do an inspection on it. On my own time—if you get my drift.”
“Dude …” Stu muttered again while Belle considered giving her husband a swift kick in the shins.
“Thank you, Mr. Parker. I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Well, you know what they say: It’s a nasty job, but someone’s got to do it.”
Rosco tipped his Red Sox hat and followed Stu out the door.
“Oh, Katie Vanovski …” Father Matt dragged out … the name as he and Belle strolled up the road toward Trinity Church. As he spoke, his boyish face turned immeasurably sad. “That was way before my time …”
Belle waited for the priest to continue, but instead he retreated to pensive silence.
“Well, it seems to be quite a story, Father,” Belle said, “a Hollywood actress and the family she left behind. I went to the library hoping to learn a little of the town’s history, and instead—”
“Matt.”
“What?”
“Matt. Please call me Matt. I haven’t really gotten used to the ‘Father’ part yet—especially coming from people old enough to be my parents.”
Belle arched an eyebrow, but didn’t otherwise respond.
“I don’t mean you, of course, Miss Graham. I assume we’re more or less the same … well, the sa
me generation—”
“Belle.”
“Belle … Sure … okay …” Belle could tell from his hesitation that he was trying—but not succeeding—to put her into the category of peer. “Well, I’m glad to show you Trinity’s archival materials, if that would be of help in learning more about the town’s past. We have a scrapbook, too. A number of them, actually.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Belle watched Rosco drive past, heading to the former Quigley place. He waved cheerily as he popped a large pork rind into his mouth. She didn’t return the greeting.
“I guess you’re subjected to a lot of inappropriate male behavior,” Matt observed.
“Some days, it’s more difficult to cope with than others.”
As promised, the priest produced a plethora of documents for Belle’s perusal. She munched her sandwich, making certain to keep one hand mayo-and-egg-salad free as she sifted through Trinity’s archives. There were lists of marriage banns, wedding and funeral announcements, old service leaflets, newsletters, decades’ worth of minutes from vestry meetings—as well as the promised scrapbooks detailing innumerable church suppers, Sunday school classes, and special liturgical gatherings. Belle noted that most of the family names were repeated through multiple generations: some existing from the church’s founding, some, like Quigley, appearing and then vanishing, others, such as Hoffmeyer and Stark, remaining in the forefront. Nowhere was there mention of Bazinne or Vanovski.
“Why is that, Father?” Belle asked as she sifted through the piles of paper.
“Matt.”
“Matt.” Belle smiled as she looked up. Her question had been merely curious, but as she looked at the priest’s unhappy face, she wondered what unpleasant truth she might have stumbled upon.
“I guess none of them have ever been churchgoers …” His words were quiet and halting.
“Not even for a wedding? Or a funeral?”
The priest frowned. “I try to reach out to Jeanne and her brothers, but they’re not comfortable around strangers.” His frown deepened.
Belle nodded. “It must be tough knowing a relative has so much when you have so little.”