A Clue for the Puzzle Lady (13 page)

He took the paper and pencil, went out and sat at the big oak table in the reading room, and began copying the list.

He got three entries made before his mind began to wander. That was his problem with school too. Why he had so much trouble with his homework. He could never stick with it for any length of time without beginning to daydream. And that was under normal circumstances, when there was nothing going on.

Not like now.

Jimmy Potter couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. The dead girl. The girl in the cemetery. No, not Barbara Burnside. The other one. The one lying by the grave.

A young girl. Teenage. Like the one sitting at the other end of the table. The young girl in the Bakerhaven High sweater who was bent over a spiral notebook copying something out of a book. She’d be about the same age. Only this girl was alive and that one was dead.

Dead.

What a strange concept. The girl had been alive, every bit as alive as this one here. And now she was dead. One minute she was alive, the next she was dead.

It was so strange.

Jimmy looked at the girl across the table. Imagined her dead.

His mouth fell open. What a horrifying thought. But what an electrifying one too. His body tingled and he felt afraid. Why had he imagined this young girl dead?

And who was she?

The girl seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. He’d gone to Bakerhaven High just last year, but she would have been behind him in school. Way
behind. She didn’t look old enough to be a senior. She was a sophomore or a junior. Maybe even a freshman. Which would make her an eighth grader last year.

So young.

A pretty girl, but so young.

It was hard to think of her dead.

Jimmy Potter’s eyes were very wide.

The girl’s pencil snapped. She frowned, looked up in annoyance.

Her face froze. She blinked, hastily looked back to her paper. Her heart was pounding.

He was looking at her
.

He’d immediately averted his eyes, but in that split second, she had seen. The image was still there, like a photograph, before her. The look on his face as he’d been looking at her. She shivered just thinking of it.

Her homework was no longer an option. Her pencil was broken, she wasn’t going to sharpen it, or even look for a new one. She’d found what she was looking for. She didn’t have to copy it, she could remember it and write it down when she got home.

Clara Harper shoved her notebook and pencil into her backpack, snatched it up, and hurried out the door.

“Daddy, he’s weird.”

“Who is?”

“That boy. I tell you, he’s really creepy.”

Chief Harper wasn’t surprised. His daughter was at the age to find boys creepy. “Uh huh.”

“Da-ad! Are you listening to me?”

He actually wasn’t. He was trying to watch the ball game on TV. Not easy to do with a teenage daughter. “Of course I’m listening to you.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t even know who I’m talking about.”

“Some creepy boy.”

“Da-ad! I’m talking about Jimmy Potter. The librarian’s son.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Is that all you have to say? Oh?”

“Jimmy isn’t weird. He’s just a little slow.”

“He’s creepy. He’s got this strange way of looking at you.” Clara shuddered. “So, what if it’s him?”

“Huh?”

“What if he’s the one?”

Chief Harper was somewhat preoccupied by the fact
the Yankees, trailing three to two, had runners on first and third with one out. Still, that statement registered. “The one? What do you mean, the one?”

“You know. The killer.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes.”

“Da-ad!
Someone
did it. Why couldn’t it be him?”

Chief Harper smiled. “And what makes you think it is?”

“You should see the way he looks at me.”

“Maybe he likes you.”

“Da-ad!”

“Clara, you have school tomorrow. Did you do your homework?”

“And that’s another thing,” Clara said. “Why is he here? I thought he went off to college.”

“He must have got out.”

“I’m
still in school.”

“Some colleges get out early.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not. But you’re right about one thing.
You
still have school. Did you do your homework?”

“But don’t you see?” Clara said. “He’s away at school. He comes home, and, bang!, right away this girl gets killed.”

“I don’t think it’s cause and effect.”

“Dad!”

Chief Harper was vaguely aware of the fact that there were now two outs and the Yankee runners were still on first and third. “I hear you. He’s on my list of suspects. He won’t get away. Now, did you do your homework?”

Clara gave him a look and stomped off.

Chief Harper settled back in his chair to enjoy the game.

The Yankees managed to load the bases before Sam Brogan phoned in a missing persons report.

Sherry Carter scooped up the phone. “Hello?”

“Sherry? Hi, it’s Aaron Grant.”

“Oh. Hi. I didn’t know we were on a first name basis.”

“I’m sorry. You want me to call you Miss Carter?”

“I don’t want you to call me at all.”

“I’m not calling you. I’m calling your aunt.”

“Oh, is that right? Am I supposed to be crushed?”

“No, you’re supposed to call her to the phone.”

“She’s asleep,” Sherry said.

From the kitchen came an exclamation and the sound of breaking glass.

“Really? Then perhaps I should let you get back to your party.”

“Why did you call?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you calling my aunt now, this time of night?”

“To ask her a question.”

“I assumed that. What were you going to ask her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Don’t be that way. If it has anything to do with what we were working on, I’d be interested to hear it.”

“It doesn’t, directly.”

“So what is it?”

Before Aaron could answer, Cora Felton came into the room carrying a tall gin and tonic. Her hair was mussed and her glasses were slightly askew. There was perspiration on her brow.

“Sherry, I must be getting old,” she said, in a slightly too loud voice. “I just broke a glass. Oh, you’re on the phone. Who is it?”

“Is that her?” Aaron Grant asked. “Put her on.”

Sherry frowned, looked at her aunt. Cora Felton had gotten home, changed out of her clothes, and put on what Sherry referred to as her Wicked Witch of the West dress, a long, loose, flowing, black, pullover shift that had seen better days. Stained, tattered, ripped, and freckled with cigarette burns, it was her favorite dress, the one she always wore lounging around at home. To the many battle scars, Sherry noted, had now been added the stain of whatever was in the glass Aunt Cora had just broken.

Holding the phone, Sherry became aware of the fact she had not answered Aaron Grant, particularly when he said, “Hello? You still there?”

Her face began to redden. “Sorry. Aunt Cora isn’t available at the moment.”

“Sherry. Don’t be a nudge. Of course I am. Who is that?”

“Sounds to me like she’s available,” Aaron Grant said. “Can’t she come to the phone?”

“She’s just getting ready for bed, and—”

“I’m doing nothing of the kind. Sherry, give me the phone.”

Aaron listened to the phone being surrendered. Moments later he heard Cora Felton’s voice, slightly slurred, say, “Hello?”

“Miss Felton, this is Aaron Grant. Sorry to bother
you, but something has come up. Were you playing cards at the Country Kitchen tonight?”

Cora Felton guffawed. “You’re not going to put
that
in the paper, are you?”

“No, I’m not. One of the card players was Vicki Tanner?”

“Yes. Why?”

“She hasn’t come home. Her husband’s very upset.”

“She isn’t home?”

“No.”

“That’s ridiculous. What time is it?”

“It’s after eleven.”

“She should be home.”

“She’s not.”

“It’s not right,” Cora Felton said. “And I’ll tell you what you should do. You should call the police.”

“The police know. They called me.”

“They called you?”

“Yes. They’re looking for her now. They didn’t call there?”

“Sherry, did the police call?”

“Police? Aunt Cora, what’s going on?”

“No, no one’s called here. Why would they?”

“To find out where Vicki Tanner went when she left the Country Kitchen.”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t leave then.”

“Who did?”

“Iris and Lois. Stick-in-the-muds. Can’t stay for one round.”

Aaron Grant said, “Miss Felton, this may be nothing, but your friend Vicki Tanner is missing. The police obviously aren’t taking it that seriously if they haven’t even called you. But her husband’s quite upset, and—”

“Of course he is. Let’s go find her.”

“What?”

“If the police aren’t going to find her, we have to. Why don’t you come pick me up.”

“Now?”

“What, you’re afraid of the dark? You’d like to wait till tomorrow, perhaps? Sherry and I will go with you. Come pick us up.”

“Aunt Cora—” Sherry protested, but Aaron Grant had already hung up the phone.

“You’re not going to wear that dress.”

Cora Felton lit a cigarette, took a drag, blew out the smoke. “I most certainly am. This is not a date. I’m working here.”

“Drink your coffee.”

“I don’t need coffee.”

“You need something. You can barely walk.”

“Well, thank you very much.”

“Aunt Cora. You’ve gotta understand. This is a newspaper reporter.
Newspaper reporter
. Those are the people we try very hard to make a good impression on.”

“I think he likes you.”

“Aunt Cora. You’re not listening.”

“Yes, I am. You’re talking about that handsome young reporter.” Cora Felton took a sip of coffee, cocked her head. “And you’re afraid I’ll mess up your chances with him.”

“That is
not
what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid you’ll blow your image. Then you won’t have a puzzle column anymore, and then we won’t be able to afford this house.”

“You worry too much.”

“Because you don’t worry at all. I’m shouldering the whole load.”

“And very nicely too, dear,” Cora Felton said. She frowned at her cup. “Do you suppose you could spike this coffee just a touch?”

“Aunt Cora.”

“Just a thought.”

“What a nightmare. Won’t you change that dress?”

“Why? He’s not coming to see me. You can change if you want, but there’s no need. You look good in a T-shirt and blue jeans. I bet he finds them sexy.”

“Aunt Cora.”

“I wonder what he’s wearing this time of night. Surely not a suit and tie.”

“Really,” Sherry said. “The things you think of.”

Headlights pulled into the driveway, cast shadows through the front window.

“Here he is,” Cora Felton said. “No time to change now. It’s a come-as-you-are-when-invited party.”

She set the coffee cup down, shuffled through the living room, and went out the front door. Sherry trailed along behind.

Aaron Grant stood by the open door of his car. He was wearing a short-sleeved cotton pullover sports shirt with collar, and a pair of dark slacks. Sherry was irritated with herself for noticing, and blamed her aunt for bringing it up.

Aaron Grant waved. “Hi, are you ready? Let’s go.”

Cora Felton crossed the front lawn in long strides, talking as she went. “There you are, young man, nice to see you again. Please forgive my dress, Sherry said I should change, but then this isn’t a social occasion, is it? I’ll just sit in the back if you don’t mind. Sherry, you sit up front. Hop in, hop in. You can tell us all about it as we go.”

Cora Felton climbed into the backseat and slammed the door shut, leaving Sherry Carter alone with Aaron Grant.

Sherry didn’t know what to say. She felt like apologizing for her aunt, but realized doing so would be wrong.
She also felt like telling Aaron Grant this wasn’t her idea, but then he knew that, and there was such a thing as protesting too much. So Sherry mutely marched to the passenger door, flung it open, and got in.

The engine was still running. Aaron Grant hopped in, threw the car into reverse, and backed out of the driveway.

“Where are we going?” Cora Felton asked.

“The Country Kitchen,” Aaron Grant said. “I thought we’d start there, try to trace Mrs. Tanner’s route home.”

“Isn’t that what the police are doing?”

“Probably.”

“Then we should do something else.”

“Like what?”

“Actually,” Cora Felton said, “the Country Kitchen’s not that bad an idea. I’ll go in, interview the bartender, find out what time Vicki left.”

“We know what time she left,” Sherry Carter intervened. “You know when she left.
You
saw her leave.”

“I didn’t note the time. Wouldn’t the time be an important factor in this case?” Cora inquired mildly.

“Perhaps,” Aaron Grant said. “But you’re right about not duplicating the police, Miss Felton. Questioning the bartender is the first thing they’ll do, so we should do something else. I just thought the Country Kitchen was a good place to start driving from, but there’s no reason to go inside.”

“Is that so?” Cora Felton said. “But what if Vicki Tanner never left at all? What if she said good-bye and then went in the bathroom? Then she came out later after we’d gone, and she’s sitting at the bar right now.”

“Are you serious?” Aaron Grant said.

“No, she’s not,” Sherry said irritably. “She’s just trying to get her own way.”

“Well, I like that,” Cora Felton said. “Here I am, only trying to help …”

“You can help with her car,” Aaron said. “You happen to know what kind she drives?”

“Blue Nissan. I don’t know the license number.”

“Would you know it if you saw it?”

“The car or the license number?”

“Either.”

“I’d probably know the car. The license number I never paid attention to.”

“Then it’s not a vanity plate. If she had a word on the license plate, you’d probably have noticed.”

“I suppose.”

“Anyway, let’s keep a lookout for the car.”