A Clue for the Puzzle Lady (7 page)

BOOK: A Clue for the Puzzle Lady
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“When’d she leave?”

“Just now.”

Aaron Grant pushed his way to the door. He got outside in time to see a car pull out of the parking lot of the Congregational church. He considered following, but he couldn’t even be sure it was her. Aaron went back inside, made his way over to Sam Brogan.

“Catch her?” Sam asked.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. He took out his notebook. “Tell me again about this puzzle clue?”

10

Tuesday morning was sunny and bright. The grass was still wet from the rain and dew, but the pavement was dry as Sherry Carter padded down the driveway in her bedroom slippers. One of the bonuses of living in the country was not having to get dressed to get the morning paper, and Sherry was still in her pajamas. She yawned, stretched, and noted with satisfaction that the red Toyota was not parked across the driveway. Sherry hadn’t heard Cora come in, but apparently her aunt had been sober enough to put the car in the garage. Thank goodness for small favors.

As Sherry pulled the
Bakerhaven Gazette
out of the green metal delivery box, a milk truck went by. The driver smiled and waved, and Sherry waved back. A city girl, she’d forgotten about milk trucks, was surprised to discover they still existed. It occurred to her she could get her milk delivered. She wondered if she ever would.

Sherry smiled to herself as she unrolled the paper, flipped it open to the front page.

The headline was
GIRL MURDERED!!!
Underneath the headline was a picture of the dead girl, the same picture that had been on television. The same one the police had
been showing people yesterday. To absolutely no avail, apparently.

Sherry walked slowly back up the driveway reading the account of the case. She flipped the paper over to read the bottom half of the front page, and stopped dead.

Smiling up at her was the face of Cora Felton. The headline over the picture read
CROSSWORD CLUE???

One of the more bizarre aspects of the Bakerhaven murder is a clue found on the body of the victim. The clue,
4)
D

LINE
(5)
, is believed to be a clue from a crossword puzzle. For this reason, the police have consulted Miss Cora Felton, better known as the Puzzle Lady, for help in interpreting the clue. According to police sources, Miss Felton, who resides in Bakerhaven, has already been of help. She believes that
4)
D
stands for
four down
, like the number of a clue in a crossword puzzle. The clue itself would be
line
, and the
(5)
would indicate that the solution had five letters. Miss Felton has already come up with several possible solutions, the most likely of which is
queue
, a five-letter word for
line
in common British usage. However, it is way too early to speculate on what this might mean.

Sherry Carter looked up from the paper, blinking hard. She was having paranoid flashes of Dennis seeing the picture, Dennis reading the article, Dennis tracing the address.

Dennis coming to get her.

Sherry took deep breaths, calming herself. Told herself, no, it’s nothing. It’s a local paper. No one sees it but the people in Bakerhaven. Dennis had never heard of Bakerhaven. And no one in Bakerhaven had ever heard of Dennis. It’s not a case of cause and effect. It’s not a case of anything. It’s unfortunate, but that’s all. Nothing to panic about.

Sherry looked at the paper again. The article was by someone named Aaron Grant. Sherry wasn’t sure, but she thought it was the name of the man who’d called for
Cora Felton last night. Sherry could check it, she’d left her aunt a message. Not that it made much difference now.

Sherry shook her head. Why did Cora have to go to that town meeting? And why did she have to open her mouth? If Dennis got wind of this—

No. Sherry stopped herself. It’s local, it’s nothing, and Dennis doesn’t know.

The phone rang.

Sherry froze in the driveway, stifled another panic attack. Told herself it wasn’t Dennis. It was most likely the nursery school calling her to teach.

Which was just what she needed. Sherry hurried up the driveway, went inside, answered the kitchen phone.

“Cora Felton, please. It’s Chief Harper.”

Sherry didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. Which struck her funny. She smiled, in spite of herself.

“Oh, hi, Chief. This is Sherry Carter. Did you see the paper?”

“That’s why I’m calling. Is your aunt there?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Better wake her up. There may be repercussions and I’d like her prepared.”

“This is awful. I didn’t think she’d talk to the press.”

“She may not have.”

“Oh?”

“It might have been one of my men. That’s not the point. The point is, what we do now.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s news crews in town. If they pick up on this—”

“You think they will?”

“They might. If they do, it’s important what she says. Go wake her up.”

Sherry draped the phone over the back of a kitchen chair, hurried down the hall.

Her mind was reeling. News crews. Her worst nightmare. Maybe they were just local, but this was a murder, and Cora Felton was a celebrity, and if the New York stations should pick up on it … Sherry didn’t even
want to think about that. She had to wake up her aunt. Wake her up, sober her up, pound some sense into her head.

Cora Felton’s room was dark. Sherry fumbled on the wall, found the light switch, flicked it on, and stood blinking at the bed.

Cora Felton was gone.

11

The crime scene looked different today. Yesterday, in the pouring rain, Chief Harper could barely see a thing. Today, the sun was out, the sky was crystal clear, and the whole Bakerhaven Cemetery stretched out ahead of him, rows and rows of gravestones winding around the side of the hill.

Chief Harper drove through the open gate and up the dirt road. He could see the caretaker’s truck in the far northwest corner of the cemetery, parked next to a small maintenance shed. He drove over, found Fred Lloyd inside the shed working on a power mower. The caretaker was lying on his back, tightening something with a small wrench.

“Lawn mower break down?” Chief Harper asked.

“All the time.”

“Bad machine?”

“Just old.” Fred Lloyd gave the bolt a final turn, rolled aside, and sat up. “I told you, I don’t know the girl. What do you want?”

“I just wanted to ask you some questions when it wasn’t so wet.”

“I was in yesterday. Gave a signed statement.”

“I know. I read it. I still have some questions.”

“Well, the answers are the same. I don’t know her.”

“I’m sure you don’t. That’s not what I was going to ask. Let’s go back to the beginning. Yesterday morning you drove in here and saw the girl in your headlights.”

“That’s right. Otherwise I might have missed her in the rain.”

“What time was that?”

“Seven-thirty in the morning.”

“That’s when you start work?”

“That’s right.”

“Why so early?”

“Some people like to come by the cemetery on their way to work.”

“So?”

“So, I have to open up.”

“What do you mean, open up?”

“The gate. I have to unlock the gate.”

“The cemetery’s locked at night?”

“Of course.”

“And you unlock it every morning at seven-thirty?”

“That’s right.”

“What time do you lock it in the evening?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not here. I go home at three.”

“So who locks up at night?”

“Huey.”

“Who’s Huey?”

“The late shift. I’m the early shift, he’s the late shift.”

“So what time does Huey lock up?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“Seven?”

“That’s right. The place shuts down at seven.”

“You know the procedure for locking up?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But you don’t do it.”

“I’ve done it. When Huey’s sick or out of town I’ve done double duty. Just like he’s covered for me.”

“But not last night.”

“No. No, last night he was on. He’d have locked up at seven.”

“And what is the procedure for locking up?”

“Make sure everybody’s out. That’s the main thing. You lock the gate with someone’s car inside, there’s hell to pay.”

“Has that ever happened?”

“Sure. Southeast corner there’s a couple of sections people pull off to the side and park, you wouldn’t know they were there. I remember comin’ to work one morning there’s a Cadillac parked next to the gate. I mean,
inside
the gate.”

“What did the driver say?”

“The driver wasn’t there. He’d left the car and gone home. He said a lot when he showed up, though. Which wasn’t fair. I hadn’t locked him in. Plus the guy was blockin’ me. And who said he had to leave his Caddie right in front of the gate so’s I couldn’t get my truck in, can you tell me that?”

“No, I can’t,” Chief Harper said. “But, aside from making sure everyone’s out, what else can you tell me about locking up?”

“That’s about it. You lock the shed here, make sure the mowers and the tools are away. And you lock the front gate with a chain and padlock.”

“Where are the chain and padlock?”

“Chained to the gate. You think I wanna lug it around, maybe lose it, put it someplace Huey can’t find? Beginning of the day, you lock the chain to the gate, at night you lock the gate shut.”

“So, if someone wanted to get into the cemetery after seven o’clock at night …?”

“They would climb over the fence. Not that hard to do. Happens all the time. It’s mostly kids, teenagers who think it’s cool to party in the cemetery. I’ll come in the morning, find the beer cans and the cigarette butts.
That’s why, when I drove in and saw the girl lying there, my first thought was she’d had too much to drink.”

“I see.”

Fred Lloyd cocked his head. Looked at the chief narrowly. “You gonna ask me about condoms?”

“Condoms?”

“Yeah. Along with the beer cans and cigarettes, did I ever find condoms too?”

“Did you?”

“Can’t say as I did.”

Chief Harper frowned. “Then why did you bring it up?”

The caretaker shrugged. “Well, you’re askin’ everything else the reporter asked, I figured you’d ask that too.”

“Reporter?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve had a reporter around asking questions?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“You mean this morning?”

“Sure, this morning. Just before you. That’s why it’s so funny to hear you askin’ the same thing.”

“Was this Aaron Grant?”

“Who?”

“The reporter. Was it Aaron Grant? Young kid, early twenties.”

“No, this was a woman.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. In fact, she may be still here. I didn’t see her drive out.”

“You told this woman just what you told me?”

“That’s right.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Just …”

“Just what?”

“Where the grave was. You know, where I found the girl. You didn’t ask that ’cause you already know.”

“I certainly do,” Chief Harper said. “Why’d she have to ask? Couldn’t she see the crime scene ribbon?”

The caretaker shook his head. “Isn’t there.”

“What?”

“Someone took it down. Kids, most likely. I got here this morning, ribbon’s gone.”

“Great,” Harper said. He turned and strode off through the cemetery. It bothered him, the crime scene ribbon being gone. Not that it mattered, in terms of the investigation. It was just another example of no one taking his authority seriously.

He also wondered if he’d be able to recognize the grave without the ribbon around it.

He needn’t have worried. The reporter was still there. She wore a broad-brimmed brown felt hat that obscured her hair and most of her face, and a pair of large sunglasses. She was kneeling down, examining the gravestone.

While she was doing so he walked up behind her and said, “May I help you?”

The woman gave a start, turned around and looked up. She recognized Chief Harper and smiled.

“Hello, Chief,” she said. “Nice to see you.”

Chief Harper blinked. The woman looked vaguely familiar, but with her hair tucked into her hat and her sunglasses on it was hard to tell.

He blinked again.

It was Cora Felton.

12

“What are you doing here?”

Cora Felton brushed the dirt from her hands as she got to her feet. “It’s still a little muddy, isn’t it? Of course, what would you expect with all that rain.”

“Excuse me, but why are you here?”

“Well, I have to see for myself, don’t I? You can’t expect me to solve the crime without all the facts.”

“I didn’t ask you to solve the crime. I asked you to interpret a clue.”

She smiled. “Which amounts to the same thing. In any case, you can’t expect me to do anything without all the facts.”

“I gave you the facts.”

She put up her hand. “Oh, well, now I’m sure you think you did, Chief. But you must understand what you gave me was your interpretation of the facts. I need to see these things for myself.”

“You don’t need to see these things at all.”

“No? Then tell me something, Chief. What’s the name on this gravestone?”

“I have no idea.”

“There you are. If you don’t have the facts, how can I
judge what you tell me? For your information, this is the grave of Emily Klemper, beloved wife of Jonathan Klemper, who died in nineteen fifty-eight. Emily, not Jonathan. He died in nineteen fifty-four. His grave’s over there.”

“Then what were you looking for?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve already examined these gravestones. I mean, you must have if you know the husband’s buried over there. Because you’d examine this one first. Find the name, and look for relatives. So, if you’ve already examined this gravestone, what were you looking for just now?”

“A clue.”

“I figured that. Anything in particular?”

“I was hoping for something that would tie in with the clue we already have.”

BOOK: A Clue for the Puzzle Lady
6.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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