A Clue for the Puzzle Lady (23 page)

But they didn’t.

Cora sat down, rubbed her head.

It was torture, in the middle of an actual murder investigation to be stuck at home with nothing to work on but a crossword puzzle. And an electronic one at that. The ultimate insult to one who regarded the computer with distaste, considered it a natural enemy, would have preferred an old-fashioned Smith-Corona.

But there was nothing else to work on.

Cora Felton leaned back in her chair, cocked her head, studied the screen.

Sherry did much better this time. Maybe she’d learned something from Ed Hodges, or maybe she was just more confident the second time around, or maybe it was because the man she was questioning gave the impression there might be something to get. But, whatever the reason, Sherry gained confidence, zeroed in, and actually began to enjoy herself. After all, she realized, it was basically a logic problem. You asked questions, and you looked for discrepancies, contradictions, and omissions, then you boiled them down and asked more questions. If the witness was hiding something, you ferreted it out. Easy as pie.

Of course, it helped that Billy Spires wasn’t all that bright.

Billy Spires worked in a used-car lot in Danbury. A little man in a shiny blue suit and polka dot tie, Billy Spires thought Sherry Carter could use a new car.

“Nothing against the Japanese,” Billy Spires said, “but you really ought to go American.”

“I’m not here for a car.”

Billy Spires nodded enthusiastically. “I know the feeling. Half the people walk on this lot, they’re not looking
to buy. They think they’re set, they think they’re doing fine, but then, why are they here?”

“I’m here to see you,” Sherry said.

“And I appreciate it,” Billy Spires said. “And I’m grateful to whoever gave you the recommendation.”

“That would be Ed Hodges.”

“Who?”

“Ed Hodges. From Bakerhaven. Former chief of police.”

“Oh, yes. And he recommended me?”

“Let’s say he remembered you. With regard to an accident.”

“An accident.” Billy Spires put up his hands. “Hey, look, we’re not responsible once they leave the lot.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Sherry Carter said. “Let’s try this again. My name is Sherry Carter. I’m from Bakerhaven. I’m looking into the Barbara Burnside accident.”

Billy Spires’ mouth fell open. “Barbara Burnside.”

“Yes.”

“But that was years ago.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You heard about the murders in Bakerhaven?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You happen to see this morning’s
Gazette?
”

“No, I didn’t. This is Danbury. Why would I get the
Gazette?
”

“Well, there was a column this morning about Barbara Burnside. I’d like to follow up.”

“Follow up on what?”

“The story. There’s always a story. And I figure you’d be the one to know.”

“Know what? What the devil are you talking about?”

Sherry Carter smiled. “Come on, Billy. I talked to Ed Hodges. And now I’m talking to you. Piecing together what happened that night.”

“What happened that night. Everyone
knows
what happened that night. Barbara Burnside got sloshed, ran her car off the road.”

“And why did she do that?”

“What?”

“Why
did she get in her car, drive away, and run off the road?”

“She had a beef with her boyfriend. Kevin Roth.”

“How do you know that?”

“Everybody knows that. That’s what happened.”

“Did you see the fight?”

“It wasn’t a fight. Just an argument.”

“Did you see the argument?”

“Nah.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Kevin told me.”

“And who found the wreck?”

“Kevin did.”

“Uh huh. How did that happen?”

“What do you mean? He was real worried, and he went to look for her.”

“On foot?”

“What?”

“When he went to look for Barbara—was he on foot?”

“No. He took my car.”

“You let him take your car?”

“Yeah. Why shouldn’t I?”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’m just asking if you did.”

“Yeah, I let him take my car.”

“He wasn’t drunk?”

“No, he wasn’t drunk.”

“But he’d been drinking, hadn’t he?”

“It was a party. We’d all been drinking.”

“And he wasn’t too drunk to drive?”

“No, he did fine.”

“So,” Sherry Carter said. “Kevin Roth and Barbara Burnside had an argument. She took off in her car. Kevin came to you, told you about it, said he was worried about her, and asked to borrow your car. You said, sure, and gave him your car keys.”

“That’s about right.”

“About right? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, you’re making up a conversation.”

“You didn’t have that conversation?”

“Not like that.”

“What conversation did you have?” Sherry asked patiently.

“Well, almost like that. We talked about the car. About him taking it. About how it was all right.”

“That he took it?”

“Yeah.”

Billy Spires seemed interested in a button on his jacket. Sherry Carter watched him fiddling with it, and pondered.

“But not the bit about the car keys?”

“What?”

“Well, that’s the only thing you left out. You talked about him taking the car and how it was all right. The only thing you didn’t talk about was giving him the keys.”

“Oh.”

“Is that right? You didn’t talk about the keys?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Billy Spires continued to play with the button. “The keys were in the car.”

“Oh, is that what you told him?”

“No. He told me.”

“He told you your keys were in your car?”

“Yes.”

“How did he know that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t tell me that. It’s been a long time. How can I remember?”

“You seem to remember pretty well, Mr. Spires. I told you a conversation, you said it wasn’t quite right.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“So you remember that. If you know what’s wrong, you must know what’s right. So what was the bit about the keys?”

Billy Spires looked up from his button then. “Hey, wait a minute. You’ll pardon me, but why are you asking? You’re interested in Barbara Burnside, well how
come? Here’s something happened a long time ago, over, done with, finished, and you’re bringing it all up again. And you said something about the murders, but you didn’t say what. I
asked
you, and you didn’t say. And you expect me to talk to you?”

“Well, actually,” Sherry said, “I asked you if you happened to read the
Gazette
. And you pointed out this is Danbury. But there’s an article in the morning paper how the two killings in Bakerhaven might be connected to the Barbara Burnside accident.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s what
I
said. Only problem is, every time I try to dismiss the theory someone keeps it alive. By stonewalling and covering things up. So, when I see you doing the same thing, it makes me say, hey, maybe there’s something to this stupid idea after all.”

“I’m not covering anything up.”

“So what’s the bit about the car?”

“There’s no bit about the car. It happened just the way I said.”

“And the way you said is Kevin Roth told you about the keys. Which doesn’t make much sense. At least, not the way you tell it. Because how would he know the keys were in your car?”

Billy Spires said nothing, set his jaw.

“No,” Sherry said, “the only thing that makes sense to me is if Kevin Roth took your car without telling you. He had an argument with his girlfriend, she took off in her car. Your car was sitting there with the keys in it. Kevin hopped in and went after her. He was right behind her. He didn’t come along later and find the wreck. He
saw
her go off the road.”

“You’re making that up. You don’t know that happened.”

“You’re telling me it didn’t?”

“I’m not talking to you anymore. You twist a person’s words. You make things up. You’re not quoting me in the paper, because I’m not saying squat.”

“You already told me about the keys.”

“I didn’t tell you nothing. You made a lot of guesses, and they’re probably all wrong.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Sherry said. “If they were, you wouldn’t have stopped talking. So, that’s very interesting. From your refusal to discuss this matter, I can assume there’s something to the supposition. Kevin Roth was there when Barbara’s accident happened. Is it possible he ran her off the road?”

“No, it’s
not
possible,” Billy Spires said. His hands tightened into fists. “If you’re asking me if he banged up my car, the answer is no. That’s the stupidest idea I ever heard.”

Sherry Carter suppressed a smile. Speaking of stupid, Billy Spires was not the swiftest person in the world, either. Anything he knew wasn’t true he was happy to deny. Which made his refusal to talk on certain points all the more illuminating.

“So, he didn’t bang up your car,” Sherry agreed, “but he still could have spooked her off the road.”

“You think he killed her? Is that really what you think?”

“You tell me.”

“Don’t be dumb. He loved her. He wouldn’t have hurt her for the world.”

“But he did.”

“He
didn’t. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but if it weren’t for the argument, she wouldn’t have run away.”

“You blame him for that?”

“No. But maybe he blames himself.”

“Maybe he does. But so what? Arguing with someone ain’t a crime.”

“No, it isn’t. But murder is.”

“Who said anything about murder?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Sherry said.

She smiled. Shrugged.

“Too bad you don’t read the
Bakerhaven Gazette,”
she told Billy Spires.

Cora Felton smiled. “That’s right. There is absolutely no foundation to the story in the
Bakerhaven Gazette
today. I never meant to suggest that the tragic death of Barbara Burnside was in any way connected to the murders. I merely used it as an example of how meaningless the note found in the dead girl’s pocket was. People were suggesting it was a crossword puzzle clue. I said it would be just as logical to assume it meant the fourth grave down in line five. But please understand I am not advancing either of these theories. I think they’re utterly ridiculous.”

The TV picture cut to Rick Reed of Channel 8 News standing in front of the town hall. “And there you have it. The Puzzle Lady, herself, insisting that there is no puzzle. Yet the police are baffled, and have no clue as to the identity of the perpetrator or perpetrators of these two dastardly crimes that have traumatized this peaceful little community, leaving the townspeople afraid even to walk the streets at night. To the residents of Bakerhaven, it is an intolerable situation. County prosecutor Henry Firth feels something should be done.”

The prosecutor appeared on the town hall steps. Belligerent,
righteous, aggrieved. “This can’t go on,” he declared. “I won’t stand for it. The good citizens of Bakerhaven deserve better. We must act, and act now, before more lives are lost. If our police cannot handle this on a local level, then we must appeal for help from outside. We are a small town, with limited resources. If our police chief is not up to the task, he should step down, before it is too late, before this maniac strikes again.”

Cora Felton switched the TV off. “Can you believe that,” she said. “The man actually said
strikes again.”

Sherry Carter wasn’t amused. “Why did you do that—give a TV interview?”

Cora Felton smiled. “Sherry, darling, I didn’t go looking for them. I was out on the front lawn, they came up the driveway, stuck a microphone in my face.”

“You could have said no comment.”

“That would have been worse. They would have run the Barbara Burnside story and my refusal to comment on it. Insinuated there must be something there. I’m ten times better off saying, No, there’s nothing to it, if I want it to go away.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just touchy. I mean, I could have prevented that interview.” Sherry said it glumly.

“That guy really asked you out?”

“Asked me out? You call that asking me out? The guy tried to pressure me.”

“Men are like that. I remember my fifth husband—”

“Aunt
Cora!
Please!”

Sherry got up from the couch, went into the kitchen, took out a mixing bowl, and lit the oven.

Cora Felton trailed in behind her. “Oh, oh,” she said. “Cake or brownies?”

“Brownies.”

“Brownies? You must be
really
upset.”

“Please, don’t start that again.”

“Start what? You bake when you’re stressed. It’s no big deal.” Cora Felton took a gin bottle out of the cupboard. “I drink when I’m stressed. It’s the same thing.”

“You’re not stressed.”

“And you
are?”

“Aunt Cora, give me a break.”

Sherry Carter took out flour, sugar, milk, eggs, started mixing them in the bowl.

Cora Felton poured gin in a glass, added tonic and ice. Took a sip. “Not bad. Could use a little lime.”