A Puzzle in a Pear Tree (10 page)

16

“COULD YOU HURRY IT ALONG?” JONATHON DODDSWORTH urged impatiently.

Harvey Beerbaum was seated at Dan Finley’s desk in the police station, working on the puzzle. Sherry, Cora, and Chief Harper were seated, watching. Doddsworth was crashing around the room like a bull in a china shop, pacing and hovering.

Harvey raised his head from the paper, gave Doddsworth a withering look. “Have you ever solved an acrostic?”

“Can’t say as I have.”

“Then you can’t comprehend what’s entailed. With Cora helping me, I could zip right through. Unfortunately, she can’t.”

Cora tried not to look smug. It wasn’t that hard without her glasses. She squinted at Doddsworth, shrugged helplessly.

“Yes,” Doddsworth muttered. “Pity.” He made a gesture that from Cora’s blurry vantage point might have been sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, or might have been an attempt at flight. “I’m not entirely clear on the sequence, Miss Felton. You found the cryptogram, then you broke your spectacles? Or you broke your spectacles, then found the cryptogram?”

Cora, unprepared for the question, said, “Let me see . . .”

Doddsworth pounced. “
Let me see?
This requires no thought. Did you see a distinct red envelope, or a blotchy red haze?”

“Actually, I saw both. Finding the envelope startled me. I dropped my glasses and stepped on them.”

Cora was quite pleased with that construction. Perfectly true statements, deliberately designed to mislead.

“The envelope was dangling from a stick?”

“That’s right.”

“But it wasn’t
pinned
to the stick. There are no punctures in it.”

“No. It was taped to the stick.”

“In what manner?”

“With masking tape.”

“There is no tape on the envelope. Where might it be?”

“I tore it off.”

“Pardon?”
Doddsworth’s inflection could not have been more insinuating if Cora had just confessed to the Ripper murders.

“If I hadn’t, the envelope would still be taped to the stick.”

“And is that not just where it should be?” Doddsworth stroked his muttonchops and swung into lecture mode. “Tape is a jolly good source of fingerprints. Criminals never think of that. They’ll cosh some bloke, wipe the bludgeon clean, then leave the victim trussed up with tape. Not masking tape, to be sure. Still, the principle is the same. Criminals neglect the fingerprints in the adhesive.”

“Could you keep it down,” Harvey said irritably. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Having trouble?” Cora crooned sweetly. “I’m so sorry I can’t help. . . .”

“Maybe you can. What’s a seven-letter word for a
Referee’scall
?”

Cora’s heart skipped a beat. “I have no idea, Harvey. I’d have to
see
where it fits in.”

“Which, of course, I can’t show you. That’s the problem with these acrostics. The answers are scattered.”

“I know, Harvey.” Cora sighed. “It’s so
frustrating
to have a murder investigation going on and not being able to see.”

Doddsworth sucked in his breath. “Miss Felton, need I point out that this murder was not committed for your personal recreation? The victim was a childhood friend of my daughter. A young girl, cut down ruthlessly in her prime. Perhaps you could endeavor not to take such pleasure in it.”

Cora looked abashed.

Chief Harper, at his desk, tugged uncomfortably at his collar.

“Got it!” Harvey announced.

“You do!” the chief exclaimed. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know yet. I just got that one particular clue. A
Ref ’s call
is
offside.
”

“Yes, yes, do get on with it,” Doddsworth said, pacing.

The door banged open and Dan Finley came in. He was carrying something under his coat. “Hey, Chief. Take a look at this.”

“What is it?”

Dan stopped, frowned at the number of people assembled in the office, all staring expectantly at him.

“It’s all right, what is it?” Harper demanded.

Dan Finley pulled the object from under his coat. It was a bamboo pole about five feet long. A piece of masking tape dangled from the top.

“Here we are,” the chief said. “Miss Felton. Is this the pole the puzzle was taped to?” Cora squinted in the general direction of the blur she assumed was Dan Finley.

“I say,” Doddsworth put in. “Is this how you handle the evidence? My dear young man, please tell me you haven’t
touched
the tape as well?”

“I haven’t touched anything,” Dan Finley retorted, indicating the handkerchief he was using to hold the pole. “I just don’t have an evidence bag long enough.”

“Well, there must be one here. We can get it bagged and sent to the laboratory, and—I say! Could it possibly be?”

“Be what?” Harper said.

“Here, young man, hold that up. Let me see. Is it hollow all the way through?”

Chief Harper’s eyes widened. “A blowgun?”

“We have a dart. Why not a blowgun? Raise it up, young man.”

Cora Felton’s face fell in dismay. She couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to see the murder weapon. For a moment she considered pawing through her purse and claiming she’d found a spare pair of glasses. Reluctantly, she rejected the idea. She might be able to pull it off, but Harvey Beerbaum hadn’t finished the darn acrostic, and she’d be compelled to help him.

“Look!” Doddsworth exclaimed. “You can see right through it. It’s a blowpipe, sure enough.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Felton, did you handle this
blowpipe
in any way?”

Cora, tired of being beaten up, snapped, “I don’t recall.”

That was not the response to save her from further embarrassment.

“You don’t recall?” Doddsworth repeated it incredulously. “In a matter of such magnitude,
you do not recall
? Do let’s go over your actions again. You look. You see the envelope on what you assume to be a stick. You attach no importance to the stick, merely to the envelope, so when you attempt to remove it, you naturally grab the stick to extract the envelope, do you not?”

“It’s possible,” Cora conceded.

“I’ll wager it is. In the event this should prove to be the murder weapon, it may have some rather misleading fingerprints. Well, let’s bung it over to the laboratory. Where is the laboratory these days?”

“New Haven.”

“Hard cheese. Well, do let’s get it processed and get it back. We shall most likely require it.”

A search of the police station turned up an evidence bag suitable to hold the blowgun, and Dan Finley was dispatched to the lab.

“Well,” Doddsworth said, clearing his throat again. The sound was really beginning to irritate Cora. “What say we have another go at the actors, and see if any of them noticed anything that could have passed for a blowpipe?”

“Got it!” Harvey exclaimed.

“You’ve solved the puzzle?”

“Yes, I have. Sorry I took so long. Embarrassing, really. It’s just the way these acrostics are laid out that makes them—”

“Yes, yes. But what is the solution?”

Harvey Beerbaum held up the completed puzzle.

“The author is
Me.
The title is
D
You.
The poem goes:

“I’m afraid you didn’t listen.
I’m afraid you didn’t take heed.
So now you pay the piper
As the word becomes the deed.

“As you leave this vale of tears
I hope it dawns on you
It’s hard to be a virgin
When you’re eating for two.”

17

BECKY BALDWIN TREMBLED WITH INDIGNATION. “ABSOLUTELY not!” She was incensed.

Chief Harper thrust his hands up placatingly. “Now, now. Please understand.
We’re
not saying this. We’re not saying this at all.”

“Oh, no? You just did. And why are
they
here? That’s what I’d like to know.” Becky gestured furiously at Jonathon Doddsworth and Cora Felton seated across from her in the chief ’s office.

“They’re helping me solve the crime,” Chief Harper replied. “And they were present when the poem was read. You’re lucky it’s just them. Harvey Beerbaum and Sherry Carter were there too.”

“Oh, good God!”

“And they’re not saying a word,” Chief Harper assured her. “Which actually isn’t that hard. The crime has enough sensational details with the poison dart and blowgun and the first two poems to last for most entire investigations. And all in one day,” he concluded glumly.

“One day? It seems like I’ve had a bodyguard forever!”

“I mean in terms of the crime. It’s a lot of facts for the media to report. They’re not going to miss one little letter.”

“What if they do?”

“Then we will deal with it.”

“You’re saying you’re not releasing the poem now, but it will probably come out?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, there you are,” Becky said bitterly. “I’ve already given an interview about how this girl was probably killed instead of me. You release that letter, and everyone will think it’s
me
the damn killer is talking about.”

“This is why it is advisable to be circumspect with the media.”

“No kidding,” Becky shot back sarcastically. “Tell me something. Did it occur to
you
the killer would send a note hinting I was pregnant?”

“I take it you are not?” Cora Felton inquired sweetly.

Becky’s face purpled. “I’m most certainly not!” she snarled.

“Well, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Cora said. “Take it from me, it’s a perfectly marvelous means of getting married. Not that I’ve ever
been
pregnant, actually, but it never hurts to let a suitor think so.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Becky said icily. “I’m an attorney. I have a law practice. I live in a small town. I do
not
need unfounded rumors of this type circulating. I do
not
want people whispering behind my back.”

Jonathon Doddsworth leaned in. “This rumor is unfounded?”

The look Becky gave him might have raised fear for his health. “Didn’t I just say so?”

“I believe you expressed your outrage. So, how could the killer have made such an egregious mistake?”

“The killer killed the wrong person. I would think that alone would call the killer’s accuracy into question.”

“Quite so,” the Englishman agreed placidly. “But there’s a difference between mistaken identity and mistaken fact. Which, as a lawyer, you must surely know. In court, eyewitness testimony is the easiest to discredit. Whereas facts are facts.”

“And misassumptions are misassumptions. The killer obviously doesn’t know me. He’s some sort of obsessive stalker living out a sick fantasy. Of course the details are going to be wrong because he’s making them up. I should think that would be perfectly obvious.”

“It would certainly appear so. . . . But in a homicide investigation one cannot exclude theories simply because other theories seem perfectly obvious. Surely you agree.”

“I’m not in an agreeable mood,” Becky grumbled. “Nor am I in the mood to debate. What about my bodyguard?”

“What about him?”

“I want him gone.”

“That might be premature,” Doddsworth said.

“Yeah? And then again it might not. You pretended to pull him off me, but you didn’t, and look what happened. The killer killed someone else. You think it was mistaken identity, but what if it wasn’t? What if the killer killed that girl because he saw the bodyguard and he knew he couldn’t get to me?”

“Very unlikely,” Chief Harper said.

“Whatever am I thinking?” Becky said sourly. “Because Danny Boy is the most highly skilled of undercover agents, and would never, ever be spotted,” she said scathingly. “There’s a pageant rehearsal tonight. Will he be going?”

“The rehearsal wasn’t canceled?”

“The show must go on. At least according to Rupert Winston. Dorrie wasn’t in it, so the murder’s clearly unrelated.”

“Except for the puzzles,” Chief Harper reminded Becky. “Which appear to have been sent to you.” As she opened her mouth to retort, he added placatingly, “Let’s not start again. This has become a murder investigation. Dan will be used where he’s best needed. Just don’t concern yourself.”

“That’s a good one,” Becky said. “Someone’s trying to kill me, someone’s trying to smear me with lies and vicious innuendo, but, hey, don’t take it personally.”

“That’s the spirit,” Cora applauded.

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Were you?” Cora said innocently. “Well, look on the bright side.”

“What’s that?”

Cora smiled.

“You’re not dead.”