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Authors: Parnell Hall

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BOOK: Last Puzzle & Testament
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Arthur Kincaid set down the letter, surveyed those around the table. “You can see why I was unable to give any of you information. Emma Hurley’s last wishes were, to put it mildly, somewhat … eccentric. I have carried them out to the best of my ability. It is my belief that I have summoned and caused to be present all of the persons specified in this letter. Having done so, I may now read the will.”

Arthur Kincaid picked up the second envelope. “This envelope is inscribed as follows:
Last Will and Testament of Emma Prentice Hurley. To be unsealed, opened, and read, only in the presence of my heirs.

Arthur Kincaid turned the envelope over, held it up, and pointed. “You will note that this envelope has been sealed in the old-fashioned way, with sealing wax. I shall break the seal now.”

He took a silver letter opener from his briefcase, inserted it in the flap, and slid it down, breaking the wax seal. He pulled back the flap of the envelope, took out some folded sheets of paper. He unfolded them, adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.


Last Will and Testament of Emma Prentice Hurley. I, Emma Prentice Hurley, being of sound mind and body, though perhaps not as sound a body as I would like, do hereby make my last will and testament. I hereby revoke all prior wills, stating that this will, and only this will, reflects my true last wishes.

Before disposing of my property, I would like time to reflect. I know this will not please you. You are a greedy lot. Indeed, there is probably not one among you who is not delighted to see me dead. Be that as it may, I forgive you all your prejudices. But that is not enough to excuse you from hearing me out one last time.

Lately, I have become mindful of the wickedness of the world. This has been brought forcefully to my attention by the recent killings in Bakerhaven. I have followed with great interest both the problem presented by these murders, and the ultimate solution. Doing so has given me a new perspective on life.

And death.

In the meantime, I have tried to determine to whom I should leave my money. Believe me, it has not been easy. As I have indicated, I have little love for my nieces and nephews, who have little love for me. Still, the money must go to someone. Who should that be?

Pause here, Arthur, dramatically, before continuing. Keep them in suspense. Keep yourself in suspense. Try to figure out what I am about to do.

Arthur Kincaid did pause at this juncture, coughed apologetically, looked around the room. All eyes were on him, expectant, waiting, impatient. Gr cimpse eedy.


But before I tell you,
” he read, and the groans were audible, “
I would like to reflect again on what I learned from the Bakerhaven murders. I think the first thing I learned is that crime does not pay. Eventually, the chickens come home to roost. I always wondered what that meant. I don’t know what it means now. Perhaps what I mean is the postman always rings twice. Be all your sins remembered, be all your deeds exposed. Both good and bad. Be all crimes cleared.

I was fascinated by the solution to the Bakerhaven murders. Probably not unusual for an old lady confined to her room to find a vicarious thrill.

It also gave me an idea.

An idea to solve all my problems regarding my estate.

An idea that pleases me no end. “With that in mind, I hereby make the following bequests.

Everyone leaned forward, in anticipation.


To my yard boy, Kevin Holbrook, the sum of five hundred dollars, in the hope it will compensate him for the loss of his job, for there is no guarantee he will be asked to stay on by my heir.

Kevin Holbrook perked up considerably. “Five hundred bucks?” the teenager said. “I just got five hundred bucks?”

He was immediately shushed by both the Hurleys and the Applegates.

Arthur Kincaid held up his hands. “If I may continue.
To my faithful companion, Mildred Sims, for years of devoted service, I leave the sum of ten thousand dollars.

Mildred Sims didn’t bat an eye. From her expression, it was impossible to tell if the thin woman was disappointed or pleased.


All the rest, remainder, and residue of my estate—

This was met by squeals of astonishment and protest.

“What!” Philip Hurley shouted.

“Ridiculous!” cried Phyllis Applegate.

Even Daniel Hurley seemed shocked into sincerity. He tipped his chair back on the floor, sat up straight.

Arthur Kincaid spread his hands. “Please,” he said.

“That’s absurd,” Phyllis Applegate snarled. “There’s a lot of us here. Why di c he="1em"d she cut us all out and give the property away?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur Kincaid said evenly. He held up the will. “Would you like to find out? Or would you like to speculate among yourselves?”

In spite of this pointed comment, there was considerable grumbling before they calmed down and he had their attention.

“All right,” Arthur Kincaid said. “To resume.
All the rest, remainder, and residue of my estate, I leave to whichever of the following heirs shall prove him- or herself worthy.

There were no shouts this time, just open mouths and incredulous looks.


Inspired by the puzzle of the Bakerhaven murders, I have constructed a puzzle of my own. It pleases me greatly to have done so. It is an old puzzle, over forty years old, but nonetheless valid. Indeed, it is perfect for the occasion. I hereby charge my heirs with the solving of this puzzle. Specifically, the following and any offspring: my nephew Philip Hurley, my niece Phyllis Hurley, my nephew Jason Hurley, and my niece Annabel Hurley.

Included is my brother Chester Hurley. You may play the game, Chester. You may not wish to, but you have the right. You are every bit as much a contestant as any of the others. Should you solve the puzzle, the money would be yours. I know you are old, and would gain little by such a feat, but the Hurley property would be yours to dispose of as you pleased. And perhaps there is some justice in that.

At any rate, to the victor belongs the spoils, including my property, and all the rest, remainder, and residue of my estate, excluding the following behests:

To each and every losing relative, excluding spouses, either married or divorced, and including all offspring and brother Chester, should he lose, I leave the sum of ten thousand dollars, some lovely parting gifts, and a copy of our home game.

For the benefit of the nitpicking lawyers of the aforementioned heirs, the parting gifts and home game were a harmless pleasantry not to be taken seriously, and the ten thousand dollars a genuine bequest to all those who fail to solve the puzzle.

“W
HAT
puzzle?” Phyllis Hurley Applegate bellowed. “What are you talking about? Where’s the puzzle? Do you have it?”

“I’m reading this for the first time,” Arthur Kincaid reminded her. “Let me finish and we’ll know.”

“Yes, shut up and let him finish,” Philip Hurley scolded.

“Don’t take that tone with my wife …” wimpy Morton Applegate ventured diffidently. He blushed violently.

“Or what?” Philip Hurley snarled. “Didn’t you hear the will? Spouses don’t count. You’re out of it.”

“Only if we lose.” Morton Applegate held up one finger and lectured his brother-in-law pedantically. “If we lose, my wife gets ten thousand dollars. If we win, the two of us inherit the estate.”

“The two of you?”

Arthur Kincaid folded the will, slipped it back in its envelope, and sat down. This was met with cries of protest from around the table. He merely sat silently and waited for all voices to subside.

“Thank you,” he said. “If I may continue.”

He stood, took the will from the envelope.


All the rest, remainder, and residue of my estate shall go absolutely, irrevocably, and without question to whichever of my heirs shall be the first to correctly solve the puzzle. I know you are all probably shouting ‘What puzzle?’ and giving Arthur a hard time. Please do not do so. The poor man has no more idea than you do. He did not draw this will. He does not know the contents. He has no idea what I have planned.

I will tell you now.

To begin with, the puzzle is not your ordinary kind. To solve it will take more than intelligence. It will take ingenuity, intuition, persistence, and perhaps a trace of luck. Solving it will indeed be an interesting challenge. I wish I were around to see it.

As to determining the winner. I would find it inappropriate, Arthur, to leave you sole arbiter and judge. Wouldn’t you agree? At any rate, I am taking you out of the loop. Your function shall not be as judge, but merely as observer and facilitator. For instance, the first clue can be found in the rolltop desk in my master bedroom. I charge you with granting access to the heirs. The keys to the estate are in the possession of my banker, Marcus Gelman. His instructions are to open the doors for no one but you, Arthur. It shall be your responsibility to make sure this clue is available. As you shall make available any subsequent clues.

But as for judging the solution, I leave that in other hands.

Why?

Don’t worry, Arthur. I’m not going to point out your shortcomings. But this is a puzzle for which I have not supplied the solution. It will be up to the judge to solve it first, ahead of the field, and then determine if any of their solutions are correct. It is an awesome responsibility. Few would be up to the task. Fortunately, we have such a person in our midst. If she could solve the riddle of the Bakerhaven murders, she should have no problem with my simple game. I have not asked her, but I am sure my proposition will appeal to her. And she shall be superbly compensated for her service.

cblout p>


I therefore leave the sum of fifty thousand dollars, contingent on her solving my puzzle, validating the solution, and determining the winner, to the Puzzle Lady, Miss Cora Felton.

Cora Felton batted Sherry’s hands away. “Stop it!” she muttered.

“Aunt Cora.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Aunt Cora. Wake up.”

“No.”

Sherry Carter had found Cora Felton passed out on the kitchen table. Shaking her wasn’t working. So far Cora hadn’t even opened her eyes.

“Come on, Cora,” Sherry said. “You have to wake up.”

“Go away.”

“Okay,” Sherry said. She hurried to the sink, filled a glass, came back, poured it over Cora’s head.

Cora Felton’s arms flailed the air. “Hey!” she shouted. “What’re you doing?”

Sherry set down the glass, grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her. “Aunt Cora. Listen to me. A man is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes.”

“You killed Aaron? Oh, poor Aaron …”

“Aunt Cora!”

Cora Felton’s left eye opened, peered up at Sherry. Her glasses had fallen off on the table, so all she saw was a blur. “Who are you?”

“Cora, it’s me, Sherry. I need you to concentrate. Jeff Beasley is dead.”

“Beasley?”

“The drunk.”

“Who’s drunk?”

“Jeff Beasley. The town drunk. He was found dead. Chief Harper’s investigating.”

Cora Felton’s other eye opened. “Murder investigation?” she murmured. At least that’s what she tried to say. It sounded more like
marmalade.

But Sherry got it. “That’s right, Cora. A murder investigation. And they need your help.”

“My …?”

“Right. Chief fbloutm" Harper needs your help. So you gotta pull together, you gotta sober up, and you gotta come with me. Right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Because everyone’s waiting for you.”

“Everyone?”

“They’re out there now. I figure we’ve got five minutes tops before they break down our door.”

BOOK: Last Puzzle & Testament
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