A Crossword to Die For (23 page)

Sitting side by side on the bed, Rosco scanned the printout at the top of the crossword. “Faxed from Belize,” he mused.

“I gather the sender's number belongs to a Central American version of an office superstore,” Belle answered. “At least that's how I interpreted the logo … Which means that the puzzle could have been transmitted by someone using a phony name.”

Rosco nodded as he scanned the SKULL clues. “But why wouldn't this person simply contact us by telephone if he or she has information to share?”

“Well, here's what I'm beginning to wonder …” Belle began. “It might seem far-fetched initially … When my father and mother lived in Princeton, I remember them talking about Woody Woo—”

“Who's Woody Woo?”

“It's not a who. It's a place … an institution … the nickname for the foreign affairs school at Princeton—the Woodrow Wilson School. It used to funnel a lot of people into the State Department back when my father was here; maybe it still does. Anyway, my mother used to joke that it was a ‘Spy School—'”

Rosco cleared his throat; he seemed about to speak.

“Wait,” Belle said, “let me finish … Now, we've got Woody in Florida—”

“And the boat,
Wooden Shoe
—”

“Yes … and the boat … But what I'm wondering is this: If my father were part of a covert operation—is it possible that Horace Llewellen was his contact? And the name ‘Woody' was an inside joke—a reference to Father's Princeton days? Or maybe Llewellen graduated from the Wilson School?”

“And therefore, Woody would have known what was in the blue box?”

“I'm not addressing that issue yet … I'm only talking about the possibility of Llewellen/Woody being an undercover operator … Maybe he can't contact us without blowing his cover … Thus the clues in the form of crosswords.”

Rosco was quiet for a moment. “Interesting theory. But how could Woody/Llewellen send the puzzles? There's no way he could have motored that Hatteras from Sanibel to Belize in time. He'd have to cruise down the Keys and gas up in Key West before shooting across the Gulf. I imagine a trip like that would take over a week. At the minimum.”

“Couldn't he have just sailed up the coast to the next marina and taken a flight out of Tampa?”

Rosco considered this suggestion for a moment, then said, “Okay … I agree, it's a possibility, but right now you and I aren't jumping on a plane to Belize to hunt down a mystery crossword constructor … Whoever sent these puzzles, sent them … and the one with the SKULL theme was intended to get us down to New Jersey and Marie-Claude … which, I'm sorry to say, brings us right back to our questionable
valise
.” Rosco pulled out his notebook as he reached for his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“John Markoe, the Amtrak conductor who discovered your father … Al gave me his number. I'd like to see if he remembers an unusual-looking piece of luggage. He seems to have remembered everything else.”

Rosco punched in numbers, and waited. Eventually he mouthed, “No answer, just a machine …” Then he left a message asking Markoe to return the call.

“What about Shawn at the rental car company? Would he have noticed if my father were carrying anything out of the ordinary?”

Rosco thought for a second. “It's pretty late, but I'll give it a try …” He punched in the listing, and was more than a little surprised when Shawn answered. The question he'd put to John Markoe was repeated. Then Rosco clicked off. “Strike out,” he said. “But that kid sure puts in some long hours …”

Belle sighed. “There must be something we haven't explored yet … or something we're ignoring …” She studied the crossword puzzles again. “The only other New Jersey reference I can find is at 48-Across:
Debbie's aunt
.”

Rosco raised an eyebrow. “In Kings Creek … which might very well put us in range of the unaccounted miles your father racked up. You didn't bring the address, by any chance?”

Belle grabbed her book bag. “It's 127 Oak Lane—”

“That could well be where your dad went …” Rosco reached across the bed, took the file folder from Belle's hand, and dropped it on the nightstand. “How about a drive to Kings Creek first thing tomorrow?”

“As opposed to tonight?”

“If you look at your watch, you'll notice your half hour is up. And I doubt anyone in Kings Creek would appreciate a midnight visit.”

Rosco turned the key in the Jeep's ignition. “The Jersey map's in the glove compartment.”

“I can't believe you just did that! You almost hit that poor kid.” Belle shook her head from side to side.

Belle opened it. “Okay … first, we need to get onto Route 206 and head north. It's back that way.” She pointed; and Rosco made a quick U-turn, narrowly missing a pedestrian with an ankle cast who was hobbling along the crosswalk on crutches.

“I saw him.”

“Right … And I'll bet there isn't a cop for twenty miles. I'd be in jail right now if I tried a stunt like that.”

“There aren't any cops around. I looked.”

“That still doesn't make it legal, you know?”

Rosco only grumbled as he headed in the direction of Route 206. Finally, Belle spoke again. “This isn't going to be easy … seeing Debbie's aunt … and Mike …”

When Rosco didn't answer, Belle looked over at him. “What are you thinking?”

“I'd be devastated if anything happened to you. I've never met Mike Hurley … I don't know what I'm going to say.”

Belle placed her hand on Rosco's. “I guess, just that you're sorry … All we really have to offer is our sympathy.” She also fell silent. “I'm going to make a suggestion … With the funeral tomorrow, why don't we just wait a few days and then phone Rachel and ask her if Father went to Kings Creek?”

“My instincts tell me it's a good time to stop by, Belle. Number One: It'll look more polite. We can offer our condolences in person, bring flowers or something … Number Two: If there's anything fishy about the situation—or even an inkling that Mrs. Volsay knows more than she's telling—it'll be easier to detect the lies in person.”

Belle's shoulders tensed. “I don't like this,” she said at last.

“And I don't like the fact that your dad may have been murdered.”

They drove on in silence, the heavy greenery of a New Jersey summer making the air feel thick and wet and slumberous. Belle yawned once, then twice.

“Not enough sleep last night?” Rosco smiled.

Belle grinned in reply. “Not hardly.” Then she pulled the
Use Your Head!
crossword from her book bag. “There are some far-fetched answers in this puzzle,” she mused aloud. “U-O-L-A.” She spelled it out. “As in UOLA Road,
Truk Island
… U-C-L-A would have made a lot more more sense, besides being an answer any crossword aficionado would recognize—”

Rosco chuckled. “You're sounding a trifle fanatical—”

“I
am
fanatical … A person who creates a word game should use language that's in common usage—unless, if you will, he's extremely short on imagination … I mean, look at the entire lower-left corner here … UOLA instead of UCLA … The same thing's true with the bottom right corner … 59-Down:
Chemical symbol for prussic acid
… I only got that one by completing the other words—”

“You mean HCN, as in hydrocyanic acid?”

Belle glanced up abruptly. “Don't tell me you once considered a career in chemical engineering?”

“High school science, actually. Mr. Manzo, the teacher, mixed up a batch of hydrocyanic acid one day and had us all take a whiff. HCN's one of the deadliest poisons around, and you know what? It smells like peaches—or peach nectar, to be more precise.” Rosco chuckled. “Nobody went within ten feet of a peach or a peach product for the rest of the academic year.” He laughed again, but quickly noticed that Belle found nothing humorous about his story. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“My father was addicted to peach nectar.”

CHAPTER 31

“Peach nectar …” Belle repeated while Rosco grabbed his cell phone and placed another call to John Markoe's home number. As it had the previous night, the Amtrak conductor's answering machine picked up.

“This is Rosco Polycrates calling again, John … I have another question regarding Professor Graham. Do you have any recollection of whether or not there was a beverage container on the tray table when you found the body: coffee, milk, beer, soda, whatever …? I realize you've supplied the police with a good deal of useful information, but there's one further lead we need to follow … Please give me a call at your earliest convenience. I appreciate it.” Rosco reiterated his thanks, repeated his contact numbers, and rang off.

“Why didn't you just ask him if Father had a can of peach nectar?” Belle asked while Rosco switched off the phone.

“I don't want to put words in his mouth. Either he remembers seeing a fruit juice container, or he doesn't. And trust me, Belle, if there's
any
piece of information—large or small—that's connected to this case, Markoe's the guy to drag it out of his memory bank.”

They reached Kings Creek at that moment, and began driving slowly along Main Street, which then bisected Central Avenue. Belle saw what she assumed was the library in the distance, shuddered, and averted her gaze. Instead, she studied the other buildings as they cruised by, noting with dismay that a number of the town's commercial sites were vacant—victims to glossier chains or plain, old hard times. No more
Edie's Dresser Drawers;
no more
Tots 'n Teens;
no more
Knittin' Bag:
The locally owned retail shops that had once supported Kings Creek's economy had seen better days.

Rosco angled the Jeep into one of many available parking spaces while Belle willed herself not to look in the direction of the library.

“You know,” she said after a troubled moment, “if my father
was
poisoned with this prussic acid, and if the substance was added to a can of peach nectar, it would have to have been done by someone who knew he loved the stuff.” She frowned in concentration. “Besides which, the person must have been traveling with Father—and carrying a vial of HCN.”

Rosco set the parking brake and turned to face her. “Not necessarily, Belle … Those individual fruit juice cans are very easy to tamper with. They have a foil tab on top; it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to peel back the tab, add a drop of poison, and reglue the foil … However you're on the money in assuming that someone knew he was fond of peach nectar … But that
someone
could have supplied him with an entire six-pack as far back as Florida—and your father didn't consume the lethal can until he was nearing Newcastle … On the other hand, Marie-Claude could have given it to him the night before …
Bon voyage!
Have a nice trip!”

Belle nodded, then cocked her head to one side. “Marie-Claude, again.… But Father was robbed, Rosco—”

“I hate to say this … but for the sake of playing devil's advocate, it
is
possible that the culprit
was
simply a thief—stealing from a man he assumed was asleep.”

“Arrrgh,” Belle groaned. “I hate this. The closer we get, the farther away we seem to be.”

Rosco shook his head. “No, we're closer than we think. We just haven't put the pieces together properly.” He looked around the town. “I wonder where Oak Lane is?”

Belle stepped out of the Jeep.

“Where are you going?”

She laughed. “Into that dry-cleaning establishment across the street. I'm going to ask them where Oak Lane is … But don't worry; I won't let on I'm with you. Heaven forbid you should get caught driving around with someone who asks for directions.”

Belle stepped along the sidewalk and disappeared into the dry cleaners, while Rosco reached for the
Use Your Head!
crossword and stared at the answers she'd filled in. For all her complaining about the peculiar choice of words, she hadn't made a single mistake. Her red ball-point pen marched confidently over the paper. Rosco glanced at the two corners that had so irritated her. UOLA,” he mumbled, “UOLA …”

Belle returned a minute later. “Oak Lane is about a half a mile further down the road over the bridge. We make a right at a You Save and Tell All gas station, and it's the next street.” Belle noticed that Rosco had a smug smile on his face. “What …? What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“I just figured why the puzzle constructor put UOLA in the puzzle instead of U-C-L-A. He
couldn't
put U-C-L-A in.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

Rosco handed Belle the crossword. “Look at that corner. 49-Down … The answer is SHOE, and the last letter is an E, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, next word over, 50-Down:
Some lodges; abbr.…
Knights of Columbus … Focus on the C.”

“Right.”

“Keep going on the diagonal.” Rosco pointed his finger at the lower-left-hand corner of the puzzle and moved it on an angle up to the upper-right corner. “The O in UOLA
has
to be there to spell out the message. The constructor couldn't use UCLA, because he—or she—needed that O.”

Belle silently mouthed the letters that ran from corner to corner. When she'd finished she read the message aloud. “ECOLOGICAL STAIN … But what do you think it means?”

“My initial guess is that this may come full circle back to Carl Oclen … Maybe your father—and possibly Debbie—stumbled on to something big while researching your dad's paper on the Olmec people. For instance, maybe one of Oclen's offshore rigs has been secretly leaking oil into the Gulf of Mexico, and your father was going to blow the whistle on the whole thing.”