A Clue for the Puzzle Lady (22 page)

“Yes, he was.”

“And when he saw the car off the road, did he get out of his car? Did he go and look?”

“Yes, he did.”

“She was thrown from the car. Did he find her body? Try to revive her? Realize she was dead?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Her injuries were extensive?”

“Very. She went through the windshield, hit her head on a rock. It wasn’t pretty.”

“So there was no question about it. He’d have known right away that she was dead.”

“Oh, yes. It was perfectly obvious.”

“Was there blood on his clothes?”

“Blood?”

“Yes. If he touched Barbara, tried to help her, wouldn’t he have messed himself up?”

“He would, and he did. The car jumped a guardrail, went down an embankment, hit a tree. He went in after it. Snagged his pants, ripped his shirt, got blood all over himself. I had a feeling he got to her, grabbed her, before he knew what was what. You know, like she was facing away, and he couldn’t see how much damage had been done.”

“Uh huh. And was he drunk at the time?”

“He’d been drinking. I could smell it on him. He was a little out of it, but part of that would be shock. I didn’t do a blood level on him because he wasn’t driving. Well, he was, actually, when he found her. But he didn’t have an accident. He probably shouldn’t have been driving a car, but no one made an issue out of it in light of the other thing.”

“His story checked out, that he was worried about Barbara, borrowed a car, and went to look?”

“Yes, it did.”

“Who’d he borrow the car from?”

“Kid at the party. Billy Spires.”

“And Spires confirmed the story?”

“Yes, he did. Somewhat reluctantly, as I recall, but he confirmed it.”

Sherry pounced on that. “Reluctantly?”

Ed Hodges shrugged, sorry to let her down. “Sure. He was a kid. Kids hate to admit to anything. If you were a
cop, you’d know. Billy Spires didn’t want to admit to loaning his car to someone who might be drunk. I had to convince him that wasn’t what I was after. Once I did, he backed the story up. That’s one witness. For the rest, practically everybody at the party saw Kevin Roth come running in after he found her. He called us, and the kids all went to look.”

“The kids at the party were all there at the scene when you got there?”

“Yes. Just like I said.”

“So they could have tampered with the evidence?”

“What
evidence? I know you’re trying to make a mystery out of this, but you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. There was no evidence to hide. Nobody strangled this girl and then made it look like an accident. These are not criminal masterminds here, these are a bunch of drunk kids. The car ran off the road. No one staged that. If you’d seen it, you would know. No one ran it off the road to make it look like that’s how she died. You’d have to be crazy to try that. ’Cause more than likely you’d get killed doin’ it.”

“Uh huh,” Sherry Carter said. She frowned. “I’m not getting anywhere.”

“Because there’s nowhere to get.”

“Maybe,” Sherry said. She took another sip of ice tea, looked through the dirty porch screen into the backyard. A bluejay on a trellis seemed to be eyeing the garden. Sherry watched the bird while she tried to focus her thoughts. She replayed the conversation in her mind, searching for a thread. She asked: “Anyone confirm the fight?”

Ed Hodges had been looking at the backyard too. “What?”

“The fight they had that made Barbara run off—was there a witness to that?”

“No, there wasn’t.”

“How come?”

“The way I understand it, there wouldn’t have been.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, the way the boyfriend tells it, the impression I
got—because this is not exactly how he tells it—but the way it seems to me is, the fight was the type that was apt to occur when they were alone.” The old chief was trying to choose his words carefully.

Sherry Carter’s bright eyes narrowed. “You care to elaborate on that?”

“That’s my impression,” Hodges said. “From the way Roth acted. And the fact that she was so drunk—considerably drunker than he was—I had the impression maybe he tried something with her and she didn’t like it. You know, that it was
that
kind of fight. Which he would naturally not want to admit.”

“You have any evidence of that?”

“No, I don’t. But when you asked me about this—was there anything about it that didn’t seem right—my first reaction is no, absolutely not. And my personal opinion is still, no, absolutely not. But if you want any part of it that don’t add up total, one hundred percent, well, it’s the bit about that fight. Because there’s no confirmation because it happened when they were alone. And the boyfriend isn’t supplying the details that would explain
why
they were alone. So I’m supplying them from what
I
think happened. Not that it makes any difference one way or another. It was still an accident. You’re not gonna get away from that.”

“Uh huh,” Sherry Carter said. “Can you think of anything else that might help?”

“I don’t see how any of this helps.”

“I’m not sure it does. But thanks anyway.” Sherry got up. “And thanks for the tea.”

“Don’t mention it. Wish I could have been more help.”

Sherry drove off, feeling somewhat ambivalent about her performance. She hadn’t gotten much, but as Ed Hodges had said, there probably wasn’t much to get.

Still, she couldn’t help wondering if Cora Felton could have done better.

Cora Felton paced the kitchen like a caged tiger, and wondered how Sherry was doing. She wished she were with her. It was so frustrating, being stuck without a car. Cora felt like she was back in college, grounded, campused, confined to her room. And just when things were getting good.

The Barbara Burnside business was certainly interesting. Cora knew the old accident had nothing to do with the murders, that simply made no sense. Still, it was certainly significant that someone didn’t want it investigated. That had to indicate something was wrong.

Unless.

Unless, it was
the murderer
who was warning people off the Barbara Burnside investigation in order to draw attention
away
from himself.

Cora Felton mulled that explanation over, liked it a lot. Wished there was someone to share it with.

The sound of tires in the driveway brought her to life. Sherry back so soon. Thank goodness.

Cora was halfway to the front door before it occurred to her it might be the TV people again. She peered out the window to see a police car coming up the drive.

Great. Chief Harper. She’d tell him her theory and give him a piece of her mind.

Cora went outside to meet the chief, but it was a young officer who climbed out of the car. He was wide-eyed, and seemed somewhat awkward and self-conscious.

“Miss Felton?”

Cora’s thoughts leaped to Sherry. Sherry alone investigating. Sherry out in her car. “What’s wrong?” she said.

The officer put up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. There’s nothing wrong.” He grimaced, took his hat off, held it in front of him. “Oh. Gee. That’s pretty stupid. I guess I can’t say that today. I mean nothing
else
wrong.” The young policeman was particularly gawky, seemed to be falling all over himself. “I’m sorry, Miss Felton. I’ve seen you around, of course, but I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Dan Finley. I was at the cemetery last night.”

“Yes, of course,” Cora said.

“Terrible thing,” Dan said. “I understand you knew Vicki Tanner?”

“She was my bridge partner,” Cora said. She looked the young officer over, trying to account for his nervousness. “How about you? Did you know her?”

“Sure,” Dan said. “Since high school. Nice girl. As a matter of fact, she was in my class.”

“Oh?”

That was all the prompting Dan needed. “That’s right,” he said. “She was Vicki Johnson then. Poor thing. Lived here all her life. Well, except for college. She went away for that. Smith, as I recall. She came back, lived with her parents right up till she got married. They’re both dead now. Her parents, I mean.” Dan shook his head. “I was at her father’s funeral just last year. Good man, Mike Johnson. Ran the Old Mill Inn on Clemson Drive. Best food in town. Been closed up ever since he died.”

“I see,” Cora said.

Dan Finley blushed. “I’m sorry. Here I am, rambling
on, and I didn’t tell you why I’m here. I’m collecting typing samples, and I need to get one of yours.”

“Typing samples?”

“Yes. Chief Harper says you know, and I can just ask you direct. Which is a pleasure, believe me. Everyone else I’ve had to trick.”

Cora Felton smiled. “Let’s be sure we’re communicating here, young man. What is it I know that you don’t have to trick me about?”

“The letter. Aaron Grant got a letter, telling him to lay off Barbara Burnside. Chief Harper wants to know where it came from, he’s got me collecting samples from every typewriter in town.”

“In town?”

“Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But from interested parties. Plus any typewriter in any public place anyone could go in and use.”

“I see,” Cora Felton said. She smiled to herself. Chief Harper had told Dan Finley he was collecting samples to compare with the Barbara Burnside letter. Of course, the chief also wanted samples to compare with the two typed puzzle clues. In that way the Barbara Burnside letter had been a godsend, giving him a legitimate excuse for collecting the samples.

And for keeping quiet about collecting them.

“Anyway, no one’s supposed to know about it,” Dan Finley said. He hesitated, then ducked his head, shuffled his feet, and acted embarrassed again. This time Cora recognized the behavior, and figured she knew why.

She was right.

“I have to tell you, Miss Felton,” Dan Finley said. “I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Oh, really?” Cora said. Fans made her nervous, because there was always the danger they might want to discuss some recent crossword puzzle which she of course knew nothing about.

“Yes,” Dan gushed. “I guess that’s why I was rambling on before. Celebrities make me nervous. And, like I say, I’m a fan.”

When meeting a fan, Cora always found a way to
change the subject. This time it was easy. Eyes twinkling, she said, “But you still want my typing sample?”

Dan Finley put up his hands. “I know it’s stupid. You’re the nationally famous Puzzle Lady. No one suspects you of anything. But the chief said get it, and what can I do?”

Cora patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t be silly. Of course you can have a sample. Come in.”

She led Dan Finley through the living room and into the office, wondering what it would do to the young officer’s assessment of her as the nationally famous Puzzle Lady when he found out she wasn’t even sure how to turn on the computer.

Fortunately, it was on. Sherry had left the computer running, although the screen was blank. Cora knew how to deal with that
—It’s a screen saver, hit any key
. Cora touched the space bar, the computer hummed, and moments later a bunch of icons faded onto the screen.

Cora moved the mouse, clicked on the icon
WordPerfect
. Cora had actually written letters on the computer before, but always when Sherry was there. This was her first solo flight.

She was gratified when a new document came up. “What would you like me to type?” she asked.

“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Dan Finley grinned. “That’s what the examiner of questioned documents said to ask for.
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
. It has every letter in the alphabet.”

“Really? Did you have everybody type that?”

“No, of course not. Because I couldn’t tell ’em. You, I could tell. And any machines I type on myself, that’s what I type. So, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Cora Felton typed
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
. She took care to do it, hoped he wouldn’t notice how slow she was.

“Now I have to print it out,” she said.

Cora had printed things before, again with Sherry’s help. She clicked on the printer icon, checked the screen
that came up, verified that it was set for
Print
and not
Fax
, and the number of copies was listed as
1
. Cora moved the mouse and clicked
Print
.

The printer whirred, spat out the page. Cora pulled it out, tried not to look as amazed as she always felt when the machine actually worked. She gave the page to Dan Finley, who sealed it in a plastic bag.

“Okay, thanks a lot, Miss Felton,” he said. “I wish they were all this easy.”

As Cora watched him back out of the driveway, it occurred to her how lucky she was the reporters hadn’t shown up while he was there. It would have been a little awkward denying her involvement in the case with a policeman right in the house, not to mention explaining her interest in quick brown foxes and lazy dogs.

Cora remembered she’d left the printer on. Plus she hadn’t exited from the document, or from
WordPerfect
, or done any of the things Sherry was always asking her to do.

Cora went back into the study, switched the printer off. She clicked the mouse on
Exit
, and the computer asked her if she wished to save her document. Cora couldn’t think of a reason to do so, clicked
No
. The document imploded, and
WordPerfect
shrank back to a tiny icon, nestled among the others on the computer screen.

One icon caught Cora’s eye. A tiny black and white checkerboard, labeled:
11×11
. Cora clicked on it. The icon vanished, and moments later a crossword puzzle grid appeared on the screen.

Cora looked at it, realized it was the grid Sherry had been working on. Aside from that, it meant nothing to her.

Underneath the grid, Sherry had typed:

4)
D — LINE
(5)

14)
A — SHEEP
(3)

18)
D — YES VOTE
(3)

The puzzle clues.

It occurred to Cora if she were really the nationally famous Puzzle Lady they might mean something to her.