The Crossword Connection (15 page)

Belle heard a squeal, a crash that sounded like a door slamming hard, and a shout of “Give it back, you stupid dog!” She left the house and entered the garage.

“Hiya, Tinker Bell,” was Geoff's brief greeting, then his focus immediately returned to the wood panel he was laboring over. A can of cherry-colored stain sat on the workbench beside him, as well as a variety of sandpapers, wads of steel wool, and a selection of paintbrushes. “Good news,” he added without looking up. “I talked to Sharon last night. She's on her way down from Vermont this afternoon. Even if the dishwasher doesn't arrive, she and I can hang some of the cabinets—”

Belle interrupted with a hurried, “Effie said her mom's gone to the vet's?”

“Emergency with one of the dogs … the basset, I think. She told me to tell you—”

“We spoke an hour ago; there was no mention of a problem with a dog.”
Missing in action,
Belle thought,
Rosco's missing in action.
Tension made her throat tight, and her tone high-pitched and edgy.

Geoffrey glanced up briefly. “Hey, Tinker Bell, relax! You're a pretty lady. I hate to see you get so—”

“Cleo called me … She said I should hurry.…”

“What can I say? Emergencies happen.” Geoff lightly brushed the cabinet's surface with steel wool while Belle frowned in confusion.

“What happened to the dog?” she said at last.

“Ate something nasty, I suppose. Cleo came out here to talk to me and found the basset on the lawn out there, curled up in a ball and crying. She assumed it had been poisoned on account of it's barking all the time and driving the neighbors bonkers. You know how Cleo is; likes the dramatic.… But I think the pooch got into a garbage can somewhere. Bassets will gorge on anything and
everything,
you know.”

Belle's frown increased. Something about the recitation sounded wrong, but she wasn't sure where the problem lay. “I'm surprised you didn't notice the dog was ill before Cleo did.”

“When I've got that electric sander revved up, I wouldn't hear a military helicopter landing in the driveway.”

“And you've no idea when Cleo's expected to return?”

“Not a clue—”

“Or the name of the animal hospital?”

Geoffrey Wright looked at her, his expression suddenly stony. “I'm a cabinetmaker, Belle. I'm working in this house as a craftsman, not a chamber maid … or a babysitter.”

Belle's face grew hot; she was about to respond when the phone rang.

Geoff picked up the receiver, cradling it against his neck while both hands continued to work. “It's for you,” he said.

“But nobody—” Belle began as she reached for the phone. “Belle Graham speaking.”

The voice was not as mechanical as an automated directory assistance announcement, but it was eerily devoid of expression. “… on the dashboard,” it insisted.

“Hello?” Belle answered. “Hello?”

“… quotation,” the voice added. “Our little secret … I think you'll like it.”

“Who is this? Where's Rosco?” Belle demanded, but the reply was an impassive:

“One hour … Identify the quotation, if you dare.” There was a firm click on the other end of the line.

Belle replaced the receiver and unconsciously looked at her watch. It was eight-forty-five.

“Bad news?” Geoff asked the question as he dipped a brush into the can of wood stain. He couldn't have seemed less concerned.

“Just a crank call. I get them on occasion.”

“I'm surprised someone phoned you here,” was his blasé observation. “Your own home, sure. But not your future sister-in-law's place.”

“The price of fame.” Belle's laugh was thin and forced. “No one's safe.” She walked toward the garage's open doors. “I'm going to step outside for a minute.”

Geoffrey was so intent on applying the stain that he didn't realize Belle was gone when he said, “You should move to Vermont. Forget the celebrity bit …”

Belle sauntered across the drive, pretended to stretch, then walked toward her car. The crossword puzzle wasn't on the dashboard as the caller had promised. Instead, it lay upside down on the driver's seat. Belle glanced back at the garage, then reached for the hand-drawn cryptic. Across its top were crude block letters inked in heavy black: “Not Dreaming.”

NOT DREAMING

Across

1.  Groom without an E?

6.  Butts

10.  “The——of War”

14.  Mr. Chekhov

15.  Theater org.

16.  Opera solo

17.  Chars

18.  Stratagem

19.  Drug fed

20.  “Can we——?”

21.  Certain strangler

22.  “Each man——the thing he loves,” Wilde

23.  Quote, part 1

27.  67-Across, e.g.

28.  Old Rough and Ready

31.  Quote, part 2

34.  Part of A&P

35.  Jazz job

37.  March 15th, e.g.

38.  Quote, part 3

40.  Opera d'——

41.  First lady

42.  Shoe size

43.  Quote, part 4

45.  Demand

48.  Took a dip

49.  Quote, part 5

54.  Where Macbeth kills Duncan

57.  Purchase

58.  To be in Paris

59.  Kidnapper's payoff, slang

60.  Mil. branch

62.  Show the way

63.  Mil. branch

64.  Check out the web

65.  Actress Sharon

66.  Classic Altman film

67.  Stack part

68.  Aides

Down

1.  Selassie worshiper

2.  Hoopster Shaq

3.  “——for time”

4.  Source of a bottleneck stopper

5.  Switch positions

6.  “In Cold Blood” author

7.  Husband's sister

8.  Bygone Pontiac

9.  “Do as I——”

10.  Mr. Webster

11.  Spoken

12.  “My——,” Temptations' hit

13.  Certain plant parts

21.  Most pleasant

22.  “The Glass——”

24.  Garden tool

25.  “——Brute?”

26.  Hoard

29.  Monster

30.  John & Paul's meter maid

31.  “——on a Grecian Urn”

32.  Sitarist Shankar

33.  British gun

34.  Lincoln or Burrows

36.  Diamond, e.g.

39.  Son of 41-Across

40.  4-doors have 4

44.  Pop

46.  Bait &——

47.  Certain Richard

48.  Murders

50.  Some supports

51.  Beliefs

52.  Ain't right?

53.  Ponds, across the Pond

54.  Astringent

55.  ——Nostra

56.  Sever & Smothers

60.  Mil. branch

61.  Take to court

62.  Mil. branch

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

CHAPTER 19

ROSCO. Sitting alone in Cleo's second-floor guest bedroom, Belle stared at the letters she'd just added to the crossword grid. 1-Across:
Groom without an E?

“ROSCO,” she said aloud. “ROSCO.” Her spine tingled in fear. Who was this mystery constructor, and what did he—or she—want? Belle glanced at her watch; “One hour,” the peculiar voice had ordered. “Identify the quotation, if you dare.”

She returned to the crossword, carefully filling in solutions with her red pen. PLOY was the answer to 18-Across; KILLS was at 22-Across:
“Each man KILLS the thing he loves”
—an adage from Oscar Wilde.

“ROSCO,” she repeated aloud. Could it be that he'd been the target all along? Had the florist's box been a ruse, and the hand-made puzzle she'd received Sunday merely a means to bring him in contact with a killer?

Belle tried to sort through the chain of events: A onetime resident of the Saint Augustine Mission had been murdered, then a nameless woman found dead near the bus depot. Father Tom's shelter had been vandalized, after which had come a sinister cryptic in an empty flower box, a peculiar call to Cleo stating that Rosco was “missing in action,” and now another cryptic.

“Each man KILLS the thing he loves.
” Belle repeated aloud as she picked up the telephone and punched in the number of Rosco's mobile unit, hoping against hope that he would finally answer. At the same moment, Effie barged into the room.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Calling Uncle Rosco.”

“Why?”

Belle plastered on a falsely sanguine smile. “Because I haven't talked to him in a while.”

Rosco's phone rang and rang. He was obviously not in his car. Belle redialed his office, but with no success. The answering machine picked up immediately, indicating there were a stack of messages. She added another to the list.

“Maybe he doesn't want to be found,” Effie suggested calmly. “Like my dad. My mom says hiding is Daddy's favorite thing. I think he's hiding now. That's why he's not here.”

Belle gazed at the little girl, but no further family secrets were forthcoming. Instead, Effie waltzed off, bossily scolding one of the dogs as she meandered through the upstairs hall. Belle glanced at her watch. Nineteen minutes were left in the hour she'd been allotted.

A quote in five parts, she told herself as her pen raced over the paper. NARC, she wrote at 19-Across; SNUFFS was the solution to 48-Down:
Murders.
55-Down was COSA
Nostra.
Belle felt her skin prickle; her forehead was damp; her palms wet. PLOY, she wrote. KILLS.

Cleo returned home, yelling for Effie, and the decibel level in the house increased one hundredfold. “Belle,
honey bunch,”
she called up the stairs. “Sorry I had to
rush
out, and leave you
hanging.
I'll fill you in in a minute.”

Effie spoke before Belle had a chance to reply. “She tried to call Uncle Rosco. He's hiding just like Daddy does.”

Belle heard Cleo laugh uneasily; her voice grew more boisterous in compensation. “I'll make us some
coffee.
At least I can still heat
water
in that mess of a
kitchen!”
Then she was gone amid yips, yelps, bursts of “Mom!” “Mommy!” and her own clamorous responses.

Belle looked at her watch. Twelve minutes remained.
“Quote, part 1”
she muttered.
“Quote, part 2,3,4,
and
5
.” Her pen scribbled furiously; she gnawed her lip in concentration. Finally, she gasped and sat very still.

“ALL THAT WE SEE OR SEEM IS BUT A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM.” They were lines from an Edgar Allan Poe poem. She stared at the cryptic's title, “Not Dreaming,” suddenly recalling other lines. As she did, an eerie suspicion crept over her. Was it possible that the person who'd constructed the crossword was aware of her love of poetry? Or was this merely coincidence?

“O, God! can I not save/One from the pitiless wave?” she recited silently. “ALL THAT WE SEE OR SEEM/IS BUT A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM.”
Pitiless wave,
she thought, then added a wary,
Rosco!

Belle stood; in six short minutes, the hour would be up. She hurried downstairs, where Cleo met her, carrying two mugs brimful of syrup-thick Greek coffee. The two women almost collided.

“Any word from your fellow?” Cleo's face bore a taut and worried expression.

“Nothing.”

Cleo studied Belle. “Geoffrey said you had a phone call …
here
.… Someone contacted you here.”

“A crank call. I get them on occasion.”

Belle assumed a nonchalant attitude as she put her coffee mug on a table, then surreptitiously folded the crossword into ever smaller pieces. “Our secret,” the mystery caller had warned; and until she knew more, there was no point in causing Cleo further alarm. “Is the basset hound okay?”

Cleo sipped at her coffee, but her thoughts were clearly far from the ailing dog. “Oh, sure. Buster ate something that made him sick. A big fuss for
nothing.
Why would
you
get a phone call at
my
house?”

Belle skirted the question, instead saying, “Rosco's a private investigator, Cleo. Before that, he was a cop. You know his schedule's not an easy one and that he can't always check in—”

“
‘Missing in action'
is what the weirdo said.”

Belle put her hand on her future sister-in-law's shoulder. “There are a lot of kooks out there … folks who get their jollies from placing obscene or harassing phone calls … and with the wedding so near …” Belle affixed a hopeful grin. “Did Geoff tell you Sharon is on her way back?”

Cleo ignored the information. “But why does this
sicko
call
now?
When there's no
man
in the house! This thing has given me the
willies!”

“Geoffrey's here,” Belle offered while Effie, who had crept close, added an enthusiastic: “And Sharon! She's strong! She's coming back!”