The Crossword Connection (18 page)

“I'm not happy about this situation,” White Caps' owner finally said.

“I'm not either,” was Belle's quiet answer.

“What can I do to help, dear?”

Belle hesitated before responding. “Sara, you have entrée to the high and mighty of this city—”

“I should say so! The Crane family helped build Newcastle several hundred years ago.”

“And so you'd be able to
surreptitiously
delve into the Peterman brothers' connections: political, business, et cetera—”

“Are we discussing influence peddling or something more serious, Belle dear?”

“I don't know, Sara—”

“I should apprise my brother, the senator.… His hometown, his state … Imagine the negative press if it were discovered that—”

“Not yet, Sara. Although you can certainly make use of Senator Crane's privileged information, if it's available.”

“I'll make sure that it is.” Sara paused, her quick brain missing nothing. “However, I sense you're not being entirely candid with me. I detect a truant element in your tale. The Petermans may be shady characters, they may even have criminal ties, but are you suggesting … I amend my query. Are you
intimating
that they could be responsible for Rosco's disappearance?”

Belle's face wrinkled into a frown. “I don't know, Sara.… But I
do
know that Rosco's gone, without a word; that two people died, most probably victims of foul play; and that the Petermans have a great deal to gain if the homeless missions are forced to relocate. And that Rosco took off after two goons he believed were hired by the Petermans.”

Sara was silent a long time, although the garden fauna continued to burble in unconcerned ecstasy. “I don't like this situation, Belle,” she finally said. “I don't like it one little bit.”

“A seven-letter word for illness?” The voice demanding the answer was rough and angry; cruelty lurked beneath its surface.

“Disease,” Belle replied, trying to gauge whether her mysterious phone mate were a man or a woman.

“Disease. Specific.”

“Malaria, typhoid, rubeola, leprosy, anthrax, cholera—”

“Eight letters! And be quick about it.”

“Beriberi, smallpox.” She paused, counting in her head. “Jaundice, pellagra—”

“Good girl! You done yourself proud.”

The voice belongs to a man, Belle decided. An educated male with an affinity for street jargon. She looked through her home office windows; the day was now waning, and although, as Emma had observed, the weather had turned mild, a spring night in Massachusetts was apt to be chilly. And Rosco was out in it. Somewhere. Somewhere where mud was found. Belle's brain started whirring. “Mud season.” That was what native Vermonters called springtime. “Where's Rosco?” she suddenly demanded.

In answer, the man sneered derisively. “Wouldn't you like to know? Let's try some more linguistic calisthenics first. And then
maybe
I'll supply a little much-needed information …
maybe.
Criminal,
Bellisima.
Eight letters.”

“Gangster,” she recited evenly. “Scofflaw, garroter, fugitive, murder—”

“Evil … Annabella!”

“First tell me where Rosco is.” Her voice held firm, but the hand clutching the receiver trembled with tension and fear.

“‘Christ walks on the black water. In black Mud

“‘Darts the Kingfisher. On Corpus Christi heart,

“‘Over the drum-beat of St. Stephen's choir…'

“Visceral images, no? Now, I know you're a poetry buff,
Belle bambina.
Can you name the author?” The man made a ticking sound like a clock counting seconds on a TV game show.

“Robert Traill Spence Lowell,” Belle murmured half under her breath.

“I didn't hear you, sweet pea!”

“Robert Traill Spence Lowell … born in 1917—”

“Good girl. I'm impressed. Now, let's do evil,
ma petite belle,
as an adjective. Eight letters. And remember, speed is essential.”

“Diabolic …” Belle began. She ran a hand across her brow; her head hurt. “Infernal, fiendish, heinous—”

“Heinous is seven letters! No dice! I thought you were a smart cookie. Too bad. I'll be saying bye-bye, now.” A singsong sound like an alarm on a cheap wristwatch crackled through the wire.

“Please,” Belle interrupted. “You know where Rosco is. Please.… Whatever's going on with the homeless mission … and … Freddie Carson … and the woman behind the bus depot … Rosco doesn't have any additional information—”

The man laughed viciously again. “That's what you think, honey bun!”

Tears of anger sprang up in Belle's eyes. “Where is he?”

“Heinous, there's an interesting word. Let's try its derivation before we proceed. Ready, Belle?”

Her mouth went dry. She stumbled over the words. “French.
Haîr,
to hate.
Haine,
hatred.”

“Nice.” The man's voice warbled another botched song, ending with an off-key rendition of “The Wedding March.” “What do you say we switch topics,
Bella?
The subject is Daniel Webster for one hundred all-important points.”

“Please,” Belle begged. “We need to discuss—”

“Daniel Webster,” was the furious reply.

“A statesman,” she began. “An extraordinary orator, a member of the United States Senate—”

“Secretary of State under William Henry Harrison … Old ‘Tippecanoe and Tyler, too!' The famous ‘log cabin and hard-cider' campaign … Do you have this information at your fingertips, Annabella? No, of course you don't. You may be facile with words; you may profess a love of poetry, but your knowledge is far from encyclopedic!” A laugh followed this outburst, after which the man hummed another garbled tune and finally commenced speaking again. “Dogs … Now, there's another interesting subject. The harrier: that's a breed of English hound that's been around since Norman days … the Bouvier des Flandres; the Kuvasz, originally Hungarian … likewise, the puli: good at herding … the Mexican hairless.… Have you ever seen a Tibetan mastiff?”

Belle didn't respond, and her caller again shifted gear, becoming even more bullying and demanding.

“Now, you know what I want you to do, little bell? I want you to make
me
a crossword … nice and symmetrical so's I can fold it in quarters, eighths, even, and have each itty, bitty piece match. You got that?”

“You have to tell me where Rosco is first—”

“Wrong answer! Tit for tat,
Bellisima.
When you're finished, you stick it under your doormat … No … better yet, put it on the porch floor with a leg of your wicker bench holding it in place. Got it?”

“Yes. But how will Rosco—?”

“It's six o'clock or thereabouts. I'll give you till eleven—”

Belle gasped.

“Not as good as you think you are, eh cutie pie? Okay, midnight's your deadline. Like the song says … Gonna let it all
bang
out.… Oh, and a theme … What was my last puzzle? ‘Not Dreaming,' right? Ole Papa Poe, E.A.P.… ‘Helen, thy beauty is to me' … and all that other gobbledygook.”

Belle nodded soundlessly, then managed to whisper, “You want me to create a crossword?”

“Let's call it ‘Stand By Your Man.' You should have a whole heap of inspiration for that clever game! Oh, and let's keep our little tricks to ourselves. For your sweetie's sake … ‘All's well that ends well,' as the sages say. Don't be late. Remember, your
dead
line is midnight.” The man sang what sounded like a dirge and was suddenly gone.

Belle replaced the receiver and sat staring at the phone one moment too long, because as she reached for the dial pad to trace the number, the phone rang. She jumped convulsively, then gritted her teeth. “Yes?”

“Belle, it's Al. What happened? You sound terrible.”

The words came out before she could stop them. “Some crazy person has kidnapped Rosco! I was just about to try and trace the call.”

Lever remained silent for the merest second. “I'll be right over.”

“No, the house is being watched!”

“I can't let you—”

“You have to, Al.… Look, I've got to go. I have to construct a crossword for this nut case! He's given me six hours.”

“Is there a drop—?”

“Al! I shouldn't even be talking to you.” She groaned in fearful frustration. “Okay … I have to—” Belle stopped herself. “No, I can't tell you—”

“I'll order surveillance—”

“You can't, Al! The guy'll see you! He's probably watching right now.… I've got to go.”

STAND BY YOUR MAN

Across

1.  ET craft

4.  Gov. shipping regulator

7.  MD airport

10.  ——to tango

13.  Actor Mineo

14.  Cheer

15.  Turn bad

16.  Owns

17.  Philadelphia suburb

19.  Faulkner haunt

21.  “Three Dog Night” hit

23.  Smell

25.  Unscripted line

26.  French city

29.  French impressionist

31.  Wind dir.

32.  Type of cord

33.  Florida city

35.  Stuns with noise

37.  Vietnamese city

38.  Mark of a criminal?

39.  Uncovers

43.  New Hampshire capital

47.  Climbing vine

48.  “——for Two”

50.  Prometheus's brother

51.  18-Down, e.g.

52.  Florida city

54.  Logical beginning?

55.  John B. Bogart news flash?

58.  Everyone has one

60.  New York campus

63.  Towel word

64.  Wind dir.

65.  Three-match link

66.  War stat.

67.  Ran into

68.  Ref. work

69.  Water on the grass

70.  Stitch

Down

1.  Loc. of 43-Across and 43-Down

2.  “Bad news travels fast and——,” Plutarch

3.  Crank

4.  “——Here to Eternity”

5.  Klaus——Brandauer

6.  New York neighborhood

7.  Sulked

8.  “Look Homeward, Angel” author

9.  News tidbit

10.  Skater's woe

11.  Existed

12.  CIA predecessor

18.  Picture of Olivier?

20.  Seagal or Stallone, e.g.

22.  ——& yang

23.  Unusual

24.  Some feds

27.  Fire

28.  Some Chicago trains

30.  March King

32.  Ms. White

34.  Born

36.  Tokyo once

39.  Sprite

40.  Caesar's dozen

41.  Seer

42.  Soiled

43.  Provincetown locale

44.  Heirloom jewelry

45.  Actress Charlotte

46.  Brit. decoration

49.  Hosp. employee

52.  Butcher's cut

53.  Together

56.  El——

57.  Sketch

58.  Resistance unit

59.  Easy as——

61.  Fib

62.  “L.A.——”

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

CHAPTER 23

“But why did you do it, Al? The guy specifically told me not to share information with anyone. You set up a surveillance team. I just don't see the rationale behind the decision.”

It was six-forty-five
A.M.,
the sky beginning to glow blue and pink, but the two faces that stared across Belle's desk looked far from glowing and healthy. Belle hadn't slept a wink, but then neither had Al.

“If you'd
informed
me the drop site was going to be your front porch, I would have played the scenario a lot differently, Belle—”

“The guy told me not to—”

“Let's get a couple of facts straight. One: I'm on your side, and I want to find Rosco just as much as you do. Two: I'm not going to let my best buddy's fiancée wrestle with some psycho I have every reason to believe is stalking her—”

“It's not me, he's after.”

“You don't know that, Belle! And besides, remember Rosco's supposition was that
you
were the target, not him.”

“But a surveillance team, Al—”

“Undercover, Belle … Sewer repair trucks are out at all hours. This is an old city. The mains and secondary pipes break all the time—”

“I know this weirdo spotted something wrong, Al. I'm not blaming you for trying to help, but I'm convinced that's why he didn't show.” Belle ran her hand wearily over the unretrieved cryptic. Fatigue made her eyes water. She didn't remember when she'd last eaten or even had a drink of water.

“You
are
blaming me, Belle. And you're angry and upset … and worried. So am I. But this is police protocol. I made a decision based on facts. Incomplete, as it turns out … But what have we got here? Homicide—a probable double—and a potential kidnapping.… Now, what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for this goon to strike again? Whoever nabbed Rosco would have no trouble tackling you—”