A Crossword to Die For (22 page)

“Impossible or not,” Belle continued in a sterner tone, “there is someone who strongly suspects your collusion.”

“Collusion?” Marie-Claude looked to Rosco to rescue her from this attack. “What is this word ‘collusion'? But, of course, I must know who my accuser is!”

Belle all but growled; Rosco reached out a hand to calm her, but she only frowned in response.
Why did Rosco mention the possibility of poison?
her brain demanded.
Aren't we here to interrogate Marie-Claude
—
instead of playing into her hands?

“I understand, dear girl,” Marie-Claude finally began, “dear
belle fille
, that you are—how you say in English?—discomfited at meeting me, perhaps, even of discovering my existence in your father's—”

“These charges have nothing to do with my personal feelings, Professor—”

“Non?”
Marie-Claude allowed herself a tragic smile. “Then you are a better woman than I.”

Again, Rosco stepped into the breech. “Professor Araignée, in light of what we now suspect regarding Dr. Graham's death—”

“The case of poison, yes?”

“Yes,” Rosco answered while Belle remained ominously quiet. “In light of that situation—as well as other potentially criminal issues—I'd like to question you again in regards to your husband's disappearance. My wife and I have reason to suspect that the two deaths may be linked.”

“Franklin and Teddy?”

Rosco nodded.

“As I said,
monsieur
, we were in Guatemala … François went away in an
aeroplane
—”

“Where was he going?” Belle interjected.

Marie-Claude affected an innocent shrug. “François was a man given to privacy. He liked being
privé
with his work. I assumed he was doing some piece of field research—”

“Assumed,”
Belle said. “You use the word in the past tense. Do you no longer believe that was the case? Or are you convinced that his body will never be found?”

Marie-Claude looked from Belle to Rosco. Her eyelashes appeared to tremble. “You must forgive my English,” she said to Rosco. Belle, she ignored.

The subject of this snub deepened her scowl, but continued her interrogation. “Were you there, Professor? With your husband in Guatemala when his plane departed?”

“We had traveled to the airport together … However, I boarded a commercial jetliner for the States. François had leased a small, single-engine plane. So very
petit
, so very
dangereux
. His disappearance was not noticed for more than a week, and only then because I had not heard from him. Although, such instances were—how shall I put it?—not uncommon in our … our
marriage.”
She paused, looking again at Rosco, who nodded once but didn't say more.

Marie-Claude continued. “The American Consul did what he could … The local police sent out a photograph of François, contacted other airports and so forth, but I do not believe they took my husband's disappearance seriously …” Her voice began to crack; she heaved a heartfelt sigh, then resumed her tale while Belle continued to sit in stony silence. “François's body was never found—”

“And that's when my father became such a
comfort
to you? I believe that's the term you used when my husband initially spoke to you?”

Marie-Claude turned to Belle. Her eyes were full of sorrow. “You are angry with me, I know.
Je comprends tous
… And maybe you are also a little jealous,
non?
But you have no cause to suspect me of evil,
mademoiselle … madame
, I should say.” Marie-Claude tried for a conciliatory smile; Belle didn't reciprocate. “I was exceedingly fond of your father, and he was—”

This time it was Rosco who interrupted. “I realize I've asked this before, Professor, but at the risk of repeating myself, I'd like to try and clarify a few additional issues … My wife's father arrived in New Jersey at around noon on the twelfth. That leaves six hours before he met you. Originally, you said you didn't know where he spent the time. I ask you to think back … Are there any hints he might have dropped—?”

“Non.”

Belle stifled a frustrated groan. “Perhaps you'd like to hazard a guess,
madame?
I find it very hard to believe you have no idea whatsoever.”

“But he did not speak of such things! And I did not ask. Why would I? I assumed that he had only just arrived by train that evening, and then come directly to see me. At any rate, it did not matter. He was here to see me. That is all I needed to know. You find it puzzling,
non?”

“Did you discuss his argument with the CEO of Savante?” Rosco asked.

Marie-Claude gazed at Belle, and then at Rosco; her lips twitched. “I told you,
monsieur
, when you originally posed the same question … I told you what Theodore's reaction to his … his
confrontation
had been … Now I will say only that Teddy talked of his strong dislike of makers of pollution … You know how firm was his passion in his research project, and his deep desire to protect the ancient sites in Mexico …”

Belle looked away. She didn't believe a word this woman was saying. And the more she listened, the more impossible it was to imagine her father in the thrall of someone so obviously conniving. For a moment, she considered getting up and walking out of the room and away from this exercise in futility. Belle sighed aloud.
There had to be some trick she could employ, some means of tripping up this devious woman
. “You obviously knew my father very well,
madame
. So you would have recognized a notebook he always carried with him—”

“Mais, oui!
Black with funny white markings … Like the ones schoolboys carry—”

“And he had it with him when he left here?”

“But of course,
ma chère
Annabella. But then, you must know how much he loved to watch the birds!” Marie-Claude smiled and continued with a blithe: “And he also had with him his very proper blue box.”

Belle looked in Rosco's direction. “What blue box?” he asked, although it was to Belle that Marie-Claude directed her response:

“Your
cher papa
did not not tell you about this most
important valise?”
She held out her hands to indicate a rectangular object fourteen or so inches long. “A shiny lock and a small, precise handle? Very
dangereuse
, he said. ‘It contains blood, sweat, and tears.' An absurd concept, no?”

CHAPTER 30

“‘Blood, sweat, and tears' … and a specious ‘blue box'! Why did we let that hideous woman get away with making such absurd statements, Rosco? I thought we were going to ask tough questions—not let her do her how-you-say-in-English-French-flirt bit!”

“Something was way off in there. The way she was talking in circles made me feel as if there was someone in the next room, listening in.”

Evening had darkened into night, but she and Rosco continued to sit in the Jeep's front seats, a host of unanswerable and rancorous questions wedged between them. After another few minutes of embattled silence, Belle spotted a weary meter reader approaching, a ticket at the ready for their long-expired slot. She dragged herself from the car, removed a quarter from her pocket, and said, “I have that, sir, we just pulled up a moment ago.”

He replied, “Not a problem, miss,” and moved to the next meter.

“You're becoming a pretty good liar …” Rosco offered as she slid back into the car.

“I've been taught by the best.”

“And I've had better compliments,” was Rosco's brief response.

They remained speechless for several additional minutes. Finally Rosco placed his hand on Belle's leg and said, “I shouldn't have let you meet that woman … The emotions were running too high—”

“We were supposed to get Marie-Claude to trip herself up,” was Belle's irritable reply, “not play into her hands—”

“We weren't playing into her hands—”

“It sure felt as if
you
were—”

“You know that's not the case—”

“But that's what it felt like!”

“It wouldn't have helped if we'd both chosen the confrontational route, Belle. One of us had to be the ‘good cop.' And you know it could never have been you.”

“But you told her we suspected Father had been poisoned, Rosco!”

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“But for all we know, she's the one who did it!”

“True.”

Belle grumbled a disgruntled: “Well? What now?”

Rosco remained silent a moment. “What if the ‘blue box' isn't an invention?”

“A valise containing ‘blood, sweat, and tears,' Rosco? Come on! That's the name of an old rock group. My father wouldn't have known them from Adam!”

“We can't deny the
possibility
of a box matching that description—”

“Oh, baloney! What Marie-Claude described sounded like a fancy makeup case … And judging from the incredible care—and time—she obviously devotes to her appearance, my guess is she was giving us a perfect example of one of her dearest possessions.”

“Okay … You may be correct there … But bear with me a minute … What if this valise exists?”

“With a bunch of blood and tears sloshing around inside?”

“I'm being serious, Belle. Bear with me, please … And what if your father, in fact,
was
involved in a covert activity, and therefore acting as a courier—”

“You mean running drugs?”

“No. That's not what I mean at all … What if the valise contained incriminating evidence of some sort—”

“Like what?”

“I don't know … photographs … records … No, it would need to be something physical … something that needed to be given to another person … someone in law enforcement … FBI …”

“Which would mean that whoever killed Father needed to steal the case, and that's why it never appeared with his other luggage …” Belle groaned aloud. “But your supposition is based on the hypothesis that the spider lady was telling the truth.”

Rosco didn't answer for a moment. “I shouldn't have let you meet her,” he finally said.

“That's not the point. The point is that you were playing into her hands. You still are.” Belle's words caught in her throat. “Just like my father.” Then tears filled her eyes while her chest shook with a stifled sob. “Why do women like Marie-Claude exist? Why does anyone trust them?”

Rosco made no move to assuage Belle's sorrow. Instead, he let her give vent to her outrage and indignation, finally producing a folded handkerchief from his jacket pocket. She sniffled into it, dabbed at her eyes, and at last drew out a lengthy sigh. “Promise me you'll never take up with a witch like
Madame
Araignée.”

“I promise.”

Belle looked at him, her mouth still tight.

“I won't, Belle … And I haven't a clue why your father was involved with her … But then …” His words trickled off as he thought. “You know, we have only Marie-Claude's word on it that she and your dad
were
involved …”

Belle nodded slowly. “What's your point?”

“Well, maybe the entire focus of our investigation is wrong … We've been going under the assumption that your dad stayed with
Madame
Araignée, that they had a long-term relationship—”

“But she and Father had to be connected in
some
fashion. Otherwise how would she have known about his confrontation with Oclen?”

“I don't know …” Rosco admitted. “But I suggest we reexamine your hunches again … skulls in one crossword and another stating a definitive THREE MAY KEEP A SECRET IF TWO OF THEM ARE DEAD—”

“But that's the problem! My hunches keep disappearing on me!”

Rosco leaned across the Jeep and took his wife's face in his hands. “What do you say we shelve this discussion for tonight? I'll treat you to a night in a local inn … a romantic dinner … candlelight … We'll call Sara. I'm sure she'll be happy to keep Kit for an extra day.”

Belle gazed at him. “Okay …” Then she added a soft and conciliatory. “You're a good person, Rosco.”

“It helps to hear you say it.”

The bedroom in the country inn in neighboring Lawrenceville was awash in chintzes and pastel-hued stripes and plaids: blues and lilac pinks and daffodil yellows. Belle was delighted at the welcoming scene. Rosco was happy she was pleased. “And lavender soap,” she murmured. “I love the smell of lavender.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Well, I'd forgotten until this very minute … You know, when we get home, I'm going to get a book on home decorating, and start from scratch. No more crossword-themed rooms—”

“But your office is where I fell in love with you … Anyway, I'm not sure all this—” Rosco indicated the floral drapes, the pillow-laden chairs, the bed's fluffy quilt and matching dust ruffle, but words seemed to fail him.

“You're right,” Belle interjected. “It is a bit over the top … definitely not a ‘guy look.'”

“Al wouldn't go for it, that's certain.”

Belle smiled at the notion, then the expression vanished.

“I shouldn't have mentioned Al, Belle. Forget what I said. Let's just have a nice night; we can get back to business in the morning.”

“No,” was her pensive reply. “We came to Princeton for a reason …” She paused in thought. “I want you to look at these two puzzles with me, Rosco. Maybe I missed something.”

“How about we wait till tomorrow?”

“How about we give them a half an hour—max? Then I'm all yours.”

Rosco chuckled. “Half an hour … Promise?”

“Scout's honor. Besides, when have you known me to lose track of time?”