A Clue for the Puzzle Lady (34 page)

Cora Felton took no notice. She got her bearings, set off through the cemetery. The cool night air was helping to clear her head. Though she still staggered, it seemed easier now to focus her thoughts.

She knew why she was here.

She knew what she had to do.

If only she had a cigarette.

Cora Felton’s sense of purpose wasn’t a hundred percent, but she was getting better.

Cora leaned against a tombstone, rummaged through her purse. Came out with a twisted pack of cigarettes. She extracted one, tried to light it, using the matches
she’d had the presence of mind to fish out of the cigarette machine when she’d gotten off the phone at the Country Kitchen. Though the cigarette burned, it would not draw. She lit four matches before she noticed the cigarette was broken in the middle. She broke it in half, threw the filtered end away, lit the remaining half and sucked in the smoke.

Okay, where was the grave?

Cora Felton knew approximately. It was just a few rows up and a million rows over. She sure hoped she could find it without starting from the beginning. Surely she didn’t need to do that. Surely she’d recognize the gravestone. Surely she could find it in the dark.

Counting was a problem. She thought she was counting, but lost track. She didn’t want to start over, didn’t have the patience, perhaps realized it wouldn’t do much good. She stumbled on, looking for the stone.

Unfortunately, there was no crime scene ribbon to guide her.

Cora Felton wasn’t looking for the grave where the young women had lain.

She was looking for the grave where the murder weapon was found.

So she had to look at every stone. At least, when she got near. And how did she know if she was even near when she kept losing count? Was it this one here, or that one there, or—

He appeared in front of her, abruptly, stepping from behind a gravestone into the moonlight. He was not that big, not that tall, not that menacing.

“Well, Miss Felton,” he said.

Cora Felton stopped short, swayed for a moment, nearly lost her balance. She steadied herself, looked at the young man standing in front of her. “Hello, Mr. Tanner,” she said. “Frankly, I didn’t think you’d come.”

Stuart Tanner smiled back. “Ah, but you made the invitation so attractive. And so intriguing. On the one hand, it sounded like a trap. On the other hand—and I do beg your pardon—but on the other hand, you sounded somewhat drunk.”

Cora Felton’s cigarette was almost burning her fingers. She took a last drag, threw it on the grass. “Not drunk enough. The problem is, they shut you off.”

“I still don’t understand. Would you please tell me why you called me and asked me here?”

“To discuss the crime.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do.”

“Well, I don’t. You said you’d solved the puzzle. What did you mean by that?”

“Just what I said. I figured it out. I know why you took off their shoes.”

“Why
I
took off their shoes?”

“Yes. I know why you did it.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, but you did. You killed that poor girl from Muncie, and you killed your wife. You would have killed others if it weren’t for the clue.”

“What clue?”

“The clue that wasn’t a clue,” Cora Felton said.
“Four d line five.”
She rubbed her forehead, added a smudge of dirt to the one she had on her cheek. “Turns out it had something to do with math. I’m not sure what.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure.” Her eyes glazed slightly, then refocused. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, the point is, she wrote it herself.”

“She what?”

“She wrote it herself. The girl wrote it herself. So it never was a puzzle clue.”

“I’m sorry to say you’re not making any sense, Miss Felton.”

“ ’Course not. Puzzle makes no sense.”

Cora Felton dug in her purse, pulled out the cigarette pack. She took another cigarette broken in the middle, ripped the filter off, dug out the matches, and managed to get it lit.

Stuart Tanner watched her patiently. As she blew out a puff of smoke, he said, “Miss Felton, you’re not well. Why don’t you let me take you home?”

Cora Felton smiled. “You know, that’s what Henry said.”

“Henry?”

“My fourth husband. I met him at a party. He said, why don’t you let me take you home. And I did.” She smiled at the remembrance.

Stuart Tanner held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She waved it away. “No. Here. Gotta be here. Where it happened.”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why does it have to be here?”

Her face clouded. “Can’t remember.”

“Uh huh,” Stuart Tanner said. “I thought you had something to tell me. Apparently you don’t.”

Cora Felton put up her hand. “Shoes.”

“Huh?”

“It was the shoes. Wanted to tell you about the shoes.”

“What about them?”

“I know why you took them off. That’s the real puzzle. Why you took off their shoes. The same reason you put their bodies here.”

“I tell you, I didn’t do anything.”

Cora Felton put up both hands. “Okay. Sorry. Let’s say
the killer
. We won’t say
you’re
the killer. We’ll just say
the killer.”
She smiled brightly. “How is that?”

“You’re trying my patience. Start making sense or I’m going home.”

“And leave me here? I don’t think so. Don’t you want to know what I know?”

“What do you know?”

“I know why you did it. Sorry. I know why
the killer
did it.” Cora raised her finger, pursed her lips. “Say the killer was married. And say the killer had outside interests. Perhaps someone he met in the city where he worked. Say the killer loved this woman, but the killer didn’t want to leave his wife, because the killer’s wife had money. Money and property she’d inherited from her father. Including a valuable inn.” Cora crinkled up
her nose. “You see the problem? It’s
your
wife we’re talking about. I can keep saying
the killer
, but it’s still
your
wife. You see what I’m saying?”

“You’re not saying anything. You’re just rambling. I thought you were going to tell me about the shoes.”

“Oh, yes. The shoes. I know why you took them off. Very simple. To create the Graveyard Killer.”

“To what?”

“To invent a killer of young women. So your wife could be one of them. A victim of the Graveyard Killer.” Cora Felton took a deep drag on the cigarette, blew out the smoke. “That was the point of the shoes. The women would be found in the cemetery with their shoes off. The link that ties them together. You took Dana’s shoes off so if the cemetery became too dangerous you could dump your wife’s body somewhere else. She’d still be a young dead woman with no shoes. And there’d be a connection. You were desperate for a connection. To make your wife part of a series. That’s why you would have killed more women, except for the puzzle clue.”

Stuart Tanner’s face was hard. “What about it?”

Cora Felton took a drag, burned her finger. She yelped and tossed the cigarette butt on the ground. “You don’t have a real cigarette, do you? One that isn’t broken.”

“What about the clue?”

“Oh. You saw it in the paper. Me. On page one. That must have given you a turn. After seeing me at the town meeting. You’re about to kill Vicki and here’s a friend of hers helping the police.” Cora Felton nodded almost approvingly. “Lesser man might have been scared off. But you’re a nervy guy. Had to be, chances you took. Typing the clues. Planting the murder weapon. Sticking the letter in my mailbox. Cool as ice.”

“You were talking about the clue,” Stuart Tanner said patiently.

“Right. That’s your link. You saw it in the paper. Crossword puzzle clue.
Four d line five equals queue
. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But if other clues tied in, formed a pattern, there you are. So you made a puzzle.
Queue
is a letter. You took three more words that were letters and
spelled
quit
. Sent one to the paper, left one with your wife’s body, and another with the murder weapon. Which was very good. It meant you didn’t have to kill anybody else.”

Cora Felton shook her head. “Only it won’t fly.” She shrugged. “Not a puzzle clue. And even if it were a puzzle clue, it’s different from the rest. One’s pen and one’s typewriter.” She waved her hand. “But that’s the least of it.
Four d line five equals queue
. Who says it does? It could mean anything. But the other three clues—they’re so simple even I can do ’em. You see what I mean?”

“Interesting theory,” Stuart Tanner said. His hand was in his jacket pocket. “Who have you discussed it with?”

“Uh-oh.” Cora Felton cocked her head. “You bring a hammer just in case?”

“Don’t be absurd. It’s late, you’re rambling, we need to go home.”

“No.”

“Yes. Come on. Let’s go home.”

“Need a cigarette,” Cora Felton said. She fumbled in her purse.

Stuart Tanner took a step toward her. His hand came out of his jacket pocket. He had something in it. Something small, dark, and hard.

Cora Felton didn’t wait to see what it was. She pulled a gun out of her purse, stuck it in his face. “I said
no
. Why is it you men never understand when a woman says no?”

There came a screech of tires from outside the cemetery’s front gate. Car doors slammed.

Cora Felton turned her head.

Stuart Tanner lunged. The sap in his hand chopped down on Cora Felton’s fingers. Cora cried out, dropped the gun. It fell to the ground in front of her. She dove for it, but Stuart Tanner beat her to it. He scooped it up, scrambled to his feet.

Cora Felton gaped up at him. There was no mistaking his intent, but there was nothing she could do. She raised her hand.

He raised the gun.

“No!”

It came from the darkness. A young girl’s voice.

It distracted him. Just for an instant, but that was enough.

Before Stuart Tanner could fire, a shadow shot from the darkness, hurtled through the air. Grabbed Stuart Tanner by the shoulders, and pulled him to the ground.

The gun fell beside the gravestone. Cora Felton pounced on it, picked it up, staggered to her feet.

Chief Harper, Sherry Carter, and Aaron Grant all came rushing up as Cora Felton leveled the gun at Stuart Tanner, struggling in the arms of young Jimmy Potter.

Clara Harper’s eyes were bright. “Did you
see
him, Daddy? Did you
see
him? He’s a hero, Daddy. A real hero. I mean, did you
see
him?”

“I saw him,” Chief Harper said. He was somewhat preoccupied by the fact he’d left his handcuffs in the car and had no means to restrain the prisoner as he wrestled him toward the front gate. Fortunately, Stuart Tanner had given up struggling, overwhelmed by the presence of so many people in the moonlit graveyard. Still, Chief Harper was not entirely comfortable holding the prisoner with one hand and his flashlight with the other while being distracted by his ebullient daughter.

“He didn’t just knock him down,” Clara said, “he held him too. Did you see how he held him?”

“Yes, I did,” Chief Harper said. He wished Jimmy Potter were holding him now. Jimmy was helping Aaron Grant and Sherry Carter with Cora Felton. After holding together for her big scene, Cora had collapsed and all but passed out. This had alarmed Jimmy Potter, who thought Stuart Tanner must have hurt her in some way. Sherry and Aaron calmed Jimmy down, and the three of them were now assisting Cora Felton from the graveyard.

“No problem,” Cora Felton mumbled. “Can walk. Why you all think I can’t walk?”

“Of course you can,” Sherry agreed. “It’s all right. It’s all over, and we’re going home.”

“Gotta talk to the cop,” Cora said. She had not yet spoken to Chief Harper.

“We’ll talk to him,” Aaron Grant said.

“You don’t know.”

“Fill us in.”

Cora Felton shook her head. “Tell him myself.”

They reached the front gate, where Chief Harper was working out the logistics of getting Stuart Tanner over the fence. He couldn’t let Stuart go over first—on the other hand, he didn’t want to go over first and leave Stuart alone inside.

Fortunately, at that moment a police car pulled into the driveway and Dan Finley got out. He spotted Chief Harper framed in his headlights, waved his arms. “Hey, Chief. What’s up?”

“Got your handcuffs?”

“Sure do.”

“Good. I got a prisoner for you.”

Chief Harper boosted Stuart Tanner over the fence to Dan Finley, who quickly and efficiently handcuffed him and stuck him in the back of his police car.

Chief Harper helped his daughter over the fence, then helped the others with Cora Felton.

“Can do it myself,” Cora said, but it was clear that she couldn’t, and they all lent a hand getting her over.

Another car pulled up to the gate, screeched to a stop. This time it was Ellen Harper. She rushed from the car nearly hysterical at the flashing police lights and all the activity.

“Dale! Dale!” she yelled to her husband. “Where is she? What happened?” Then she saw her daughter. “Clara! Oh, my God, Clara!”

“Mom!” Clara yelled. She rushed to her, fell into her arms.

Chief Harper watched and sighed deeply. After holding
himself together for so long, he could feel the tension drain out of him.

Someone grabbed him by the arm. He turned to find Cora Felton peering up at him.

“Miss Felton,” he said. “Are you all right?”

She waved her hands at Sherry Carter and Aaron Grant, who stood on either side of her. “All anybody asks is if I’m all right.”

“I’m sure you are,” Chief Harper said. “Well, congratulations. You solved the case.”

Cora Felton waggled her finger at him. “No, no, no.
You
solved the case. Arrested the killer at the scene of his crimes.”

“Uh huh,” Chief Harper said dryly. “And just how did he happen to be here?”

“Called him. Told him to come.” She shrugged. “You gotta explain the puzzle clues. Why you withheld them, what they really mean.”

“And what is that?”

“Nothing. Tanner made ’em up to invent a Graveyard Killer. When you found out the first clue was phony you knew what he’d done.”