A Clue for the Puzzle Lady (17 page)

“Uh-oh,” Chief Harper muttered.

“What?” Aaron Grant said.

“That never even occurred to me.”

“What’s that?”

The chief turned to Cora Felton. “That’s right. Vicki Tanner was your friend. The killer taunts you with clues and then kills your friend. Is there a connection?”

Cora Felton sighed deeply. “I’d thought of that,” she said softly. “I really hope there isn’t.”

Chief Harper said, “I
hadn’t
thought of that. I’m thinking of it now. And I don’t like it at all. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. Now I gotta make sure your other bridge players are safe.”

“Not to mention her,” Aaron Grant said, pointing to Sherry. “If the killer really is targeting the Puzzle Lady, she’d be the main target.”

Sherry gave him a look, but Aaron Grant seemed serious.

“See here now,” Cora Felton said. “You’re a nice young man, but I won’t have you frightening my niece. In point of fact, she has nothing to worry about.”

“Oh? And just why is that?” Aaron Grant said.

“Because Sherry’s smart enough to stay away from the killer. Which Vicki wasn’t. Which doesn’t seem right somehow, though I guess I can understand it.”

“What do you mean?” Chief Harper said.

“Well,” Cora Felton said. “Obviously the killer is a handsome young man, attractive to women. Which is how he is able to get close enough to kill them. Picking up a runaway from the Midwest couldn’t have been hard. Picking up Vicki Tanner would have been difficult. I still can’t figure out how he could have done it. She leaves the Country Kitchen in her car intending to go home. Or so she says. Vicki would not be the first woman ever to tell a fib. Especially if she thought she was on her way to meet a young lover.”

“Are you serious?” Chief Harper said.

“It’s one possibility, and seems most likely. Vicki said she was going home. Instead she went to a rendezvous which got her killed. If that rendezvous was not planned in advance, if Vicki didn’t know where she was going when she left the Country Kitchen, then how would the killer intercept her? Was he waiting in the restaurant
parking lot? That would certainly be risky. If anyone saw him talking to her there, he’d be on the hook for murder. I can’t imagine him taking such a risk.”

“So if he didn’t …?” Chief Harper asked.

“Then we have an even bigger problem. Vicki Tanner leaves the Country Kitchen and heads home. Now the killer has to intercept her car. Get her to drive to the high school. And how is he going to do that?”

“I have no idea.”

“Neither have I. And that’s the thing we have to figure out if we have any hope of solving the case. But looking at it logically, everything points to the fact Vicki Tanner knew where she was going before she left.”

Chief Harper snorted in disgust. “Fine. That’s all well and good. You want to help me with my problem here? We have a puzzle clue—or rather,
I
have a puzzle clue, because as far as anybody else is concerned, I
don’t
have a puzzle clue. Because they don’t
know
I have a puzzle clue. Because you swiped it off the corpse. Now, if that comes out, it will cost me my job. And not just for not telling people about the clue, but for being so incompetent as to let you steal it in the first place.”

“You weren’t even there,” Cora Felton said. “How can they hold you responsible for something that happened before you even got there?”

“Aunt Cora, I don’t think he wants to debate this,” Sherry said, glancing apprehensively at Chief Harper’s face.

“I most certainly don’t,” he said. “What I
would
like is for you to tell me what it means. This clue you stole from the crime scene.”

“No fair. I gave it to you,” Cora Felton said.

“Right,” Chief Harper said. “Making me an accessory to the crime. Tampering with evidence is usually not advisable for a police chief. It is not the best career move one can make.”

“Your sarcasm is noted,” Cora Felton said.

“Good. Now that we all understand the situation, do you think you could help me out with the clue?”

Cora pointed to the computer monitor. “It would appear you’ve already done that.”

“Your niece has played around with the words. What do you think of her solution?”

Cora Felton smiled. “Sherry is extremely clever. I’m sure she’s done well.”

“That’s not what I mean. Try not to be deliberately dense. If someone is sending you a message about these murders, I need to know if you’re getting it. Have you decoded the clues?”

“No more than you see there. And as for fitting them into a grid, I don’t see how that can possibly help.” She gestured to Sherry. “Though you should certainly go ahead with your efforts because, on the other hand, it can’t possibly hurt.”

“Are you telling me you can’t help me with this?” Chief Harper snapped.

“Well, I like that,” Cora Felton said. “When I bring you the shoes. If you stopped to think, you’d realize they’re ten times more valuable than some idle speculation about some possible clues.”

“They’re more than just possible now,” Chief Harper insisted. “This last clue came from the killer. And while there’s no proof as yet, it would appear identical to the one sent to the paper.”

“You going to have them analyzed?” Aaron Grant asked.

“I certainly am. But there again, I’m in the position of having to do it so nobody knows about it.”

“You want me to do it for you?” Aaron Grant said.

“Thank you, that’s all I need,” Chief Harper said ironically. “Just in case I was able to justify withholding these clues for a while, I’d also have to explain turning them over to a newspaper reporter. I will find an expert who can keep his mouth shut. I will also have this sheet of paper tested for fingerprints, though if they’re able to find any, they will most likely be hers. And mine.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Cora Felton said, but she didn’t look sorry. She fished a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket in her dress, pulled one out, and lit it.

“You smoke?” Chief Harper said it disapprovingly.

“Only in times of great stress,” Cora Felton answered. She took a deep drag, smiled. “I smoked as a teenager. Managed to quit until my second marriage. Arthur got me started again.”

“Your husband encouraged you to smoke?”

“No. Arthur hated cigarettes. My smoking annoyed him.” When Chief Harper and Aaron blinked at that, Cora said, “Anyway, the clue’s old hat. I would think you would want to get moving on the shoes.”

“What about ’em?”

“Well, for one thing, fingerprints. If the killer took them off Vicki’s feet, he might have left his prints. Granted, it’s a long shot. The killer’s probably too smart for that, the shoes are messed up from the garbage, any prints you find are probably mine.” Cora took another drag, blew out more smoke, squinted thoughtfully. “Still, it probably ought to be done.”

“It will be,” Chief Harper said. “Anything else?”

“Yes. The other girl’s shoes. You never found them, did you?”

“No, we didn’t. What’s your point?”

“It must be significant. The two women are killed in the same manner. In each case, the killer takes the shoes and socks, leaves his victim barefoot. There has to be a reason why.”

“Can you think of one?”

“The obvious answer is he does it to leave her helpless, so she can’t run away. But how effective is that? A woman facing death is going to be slowed down by her feet hurting on the pavement?” She gestured with the hand holding the cigarette. “That’s assuming this happened in the high school parking lot.”

“In Vicki Tanner’s case?”

“Or the other. Everything else about the killing is the same. The other girl could have been brought there too. The only difference is, she’s a runaway, so she doesn’t have a car.”

“Interesting,” Chief Harper said.

Sherry Carter looked at him in amazement. He was actually buying this.

“You have any more theories for me?” Chief Harper asked Cora.

“Was the cause of death the same?”

“Uh huh. Blunt instrument to the back of the head. Does that fit in with your theory?”

“Yes, it does. The two crimes are identical. Beginning with placing the body at the grave. Because of that, I would expect to find as many similarities as possible.”

“From which you conclude?”

Cora Felton shrugged. “The killer wants the crimes to be recognized as his. Which is the same reason for the puzzle clues. It’s like an artist signing his work.”

“That’s an ugly thought.”

“Yes, it is.” Cora Felton took another drag. “That’s all I have so far. Except for what I said before. The killer must be a handsome young man. Toward that end, you need to look to Vicki Tanner’s husband. He’s young, good-looking. And, if she was indeed having an affair—” Cora Felton put up both hands, “—though I don’t have any reason to believe that was the case—but if she were, that would certainly make for some interesting possibilities. On the one hand, it would give her husband the motive. On the other hand, whoever she was having the affair with would probably be a much better bet. Because he would undoubtedly fit the description I’m talking about, a young man irresistible to women. In which case, I don’t think you have to worry about my bridge group.”

“Why is that?”

Cora Felton smiled. “Well, now, you don’t know them, do you, Chief? Vicki Tanner was our youngest member. By a wide margin. I can’t imagine Iris or Lois taking up with the young man I’m talking about. Assuming he is that young. Perhaps the killer’s a dashing forty-five, but I don’t think so. There’s something youthful, almost childlike about this whole thing. Anyway, I don’t think the other women are in danger. And as for Sherry
here, needless to say she can take care of herself. I can’t see her giving the killer the time of day.”

Cora Felton blew a perfect smoke ring. She smiled, gestured to Aaron Grant. “Unless, of course, the killer was this young man here.”

Sherry dreamed Dennis was breaking down her door. He had found her somehow, and he had come to get her, and a locked door wasn’t going to stop him. He was pounding and pounding in a drunken fury, screaming at her, trying to break the door in. Sherry was pushing against the door with all her might, but it was flimsy, would not hold, and any minute a fist would come crashing through and he’d be on her.

The door wasn’t broken yet, it was still solid, but Sherry could see him through it, that’s how she knew it was Dennis. She recognized him by his clothes, by his long stringy hair.

By his face.

But it wasn’t his face.

It was Aaron Grant’s face.

Aaron Grant was the one who was breaking down the door.

Sherry blinked. It couldn’t be. She looked again. Who was it? Aaron? Dennis?

Neither.

It was the killer. A nameless, faceless killer, pounding
relentlessly, trying to get in, pounding and ringing the doorbell.

The doorbell?

That seemed strange. Why would a killer trying to break in be ringing the doorbell?

Sherry woke with a start to find sunlight streaming in her bedroom window. She’d overslept, it was late, and someone was at the front door. Sherry pulled on a robe, staggered down the hall.

Cora Felton’s door was open. There were dirty clothes on the floor and her bed was unmade. Her aunt was up and gone.

The doorbell rang again. Sherry yelled, “Coming!” hurried through the living room, and opened the door.

Standing on the front steps were a middle-aged couple. The man was solid, muscular, good-looking, with a broad face and graying hair. He wore a suit jacket but no tie.

The woman was a wreck. Her face was pale, her eyes were red. Her brown hair was tangled and uncombed. She clutched a handkerchief with which she dabbed her eyes. She was a frail woman, and clung to the large man, who had his arm around her protectively.

The man glared down at Sherry. “Cora Felton?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry. I think she’s out.”

“You
think?”

“I just woke up. Her bed’s empty. But she might be in the house. Let me see.” Sherry leaned out, looked past the couple. A station wagon was the only car in the driveway. “No,” she said. “Her car’s gone.”

“And who are you?”

Sherry frowned. While the man was clearly upset, she was not prepared for such rudeness. Especially before her morning coffee. “I’m Sherry Carter. Cora Felton is my aunt. Who are you?”

“I’m Raymond Burnside. This is my wife, Laura.”

“What do you want?”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t. I was asleep. You rang my bell.”

“And your aunt didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Raymond Burnside had a folded newspaper under his arm. He thrust it at her.

Sherry took the paper, flipped it open. There on the front page was a huge headline,
MURDER LINKED TO BURNSIDE TRAGEDY???

The story was by Aaron Grant. He led off with the subheadline,
POLICE SHELVE PUZZLE THEORY
.

The second paragraph was headed
NEW THEORY EMERGES
.