A Puzzle in a Pear Tree (18 page)

Alfred gulped and dived back into the booth. Cora was amazed at the speed and dexterity with which, given the proper motivation, he could manipulate the dimmers. Within seconds, the offending lights had been extinguished, leaving the rest of the stage lights on.

Alfred whirled from the dimmer board, breathing hard. His face was pale. “Now see what you’ve done?” he moaned. “You got me in trouble. And Mr. Virdon
saw
you up here. Lady, you’re bad news.”

“You’re not in any danger,” Cora told him.

“Oh, yeah?” Alfred shot back. “Are you sure of that? You promise you won’t get me killed?”

“Absolutely. I one hundred percent guarantee it.”

Alfred gawked at her. “How can you do that?”

Cora smiled, her trademark Puzzle Lady smile.

“If I’m wrong, you won’t know.”

32

CORA FELTON SAT BOLT UPRIGHT IN BED. SOMETHING WAS wrong. She could sense it. That is, something was wrong beyond the fact that her niece was being framed for murder. Something was wrong with the facts as she knew them. Something simply wasn’t right.

Cora had the terrible feeling it had to do with Alfred Adams. What was it about him?

Alfred Adams was a geeky techie, socially gauche, but probably very bright. Quite possibly a computer nerd.

Capable of composing puzzles.

Could Alfred have been jealous of his more popular peers? Resented in particular a wealthy, attractive girl who had spurned him, perhaps ridiculed him for some ill-conceived, bumbling advance?

Could it be Alfred?

And if so, why hadn’t she suspected him before?

Cora sat in bed, crunching the facts, knowing from bitter experience she would not be able to sleep until she had the answer.

All right, she’s in the light booth. She’s questioning Alfred. Rupert is working with Becky onstage. Everyone else is out on the gym floor.

And she’s effectively written Alfred off. Even though he was one of two Josephs who handled the victim and could have planted the dart.

Now, why has she written him off?

Why couldn’t she think straight?

Cora fumbled on the night table, switched on the bedside lamp. Her drawstring purse was on the floor next to the bed. She reached inside, fished out her cigarettes, fired one up, and took a greedy drag.

There. That was better. Now she could think.

Her first thought was what a hell of a time to be awake.

The front door clicked shut.

Cora stiffened.

Good God! That was what had woken her up. Not the nerdy tech geek. An intruder.

Cora snubbed out the cigarette, grabbed her purse again, reached inside. She pulled out her gun, slipped the safety off. Her fifth husband, Melvin, had once told her, “Never shoot anyone with the safety on.” It was the only thing about Melvin she remembered fondly.

Cora slid out of bed, pushed the door open, crept down the hall. She eased around the corner, leveled the gun at—

“Sherry! What the hell are you doing?”

Sherry Carter blushed red in the moonlight. “I’m a little late. What’s the big deal?”

“A
little
late? It’s two in the morning!”

“I know what time it is.”

“Yes, of course you do. I’m sorry, I’m just an old fogy. I was young once. I’ve never been busted for murder, though.”

“You will be if you’re not careful. You mind putting that thing down?”

“Oops. Sorry.” Cora lowered the gun, snapped the safety on.

“I’m sorry you’re up. I was trying not to wake you.”

“I was up already.”

“How come?”

“Lemme get my smokes. I just got one lit when you came bursting in.”

“You left it lit?”

“I stubbed it out. At least I think I did.”

“Check,” Sherry said.

The cigarette was out. Cora grabbed her purse, plodded into the kitchen. Switched on the light, took the bottle of Cutty Sark out of the cabinet, poured a shot, and slugged it down. She lit a cigarette, took a drag. “Okay. I’m wide awake. Help me think.”

“Think of what?”

“Are you kidding? Ways for you to beat a murder rap.”

“I thought you already knew how. Hire Becky Baldwin as my lawyer.”

“That was a smart move.”

“Strategically, maybe. In terms of my mental health . . .” Sherry held up her hand, palm down, waggled it back and forth.

“What do you think it will do for your mental health if you get convicted of murder?”

“I need some coffee.”

“At two in the morning? You’ll never get to sleep.”

“I’ll make decaf.”

“Big deal. Regular coffee’s ninety-seven percent decaffeinated, decaf ’s ninety-nine percent. It’s nearly the same thing.”

“Is that true?”

“No, I made it up. Sounds good, though.”

Sherry filled the automatic-drip coffeemaker, switched it on.

“So where were you, over at Aaron’s?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did his parents know? They didn’t, did they? He snuck you in. You must feel like a teenager.”

Sherry sighed. “I know you’re just trying to be amusing, but frankly I feel like the whole world’s picking on me.”

Cora put her arm around Sherry’s shoulders, chucked her under the chin. “Come on, help me solve this thing. I gotta think it out.”

“Whaddya got so far?”

“The obvious scenario is Doddsworth’s daughter, insanely jealous of her best friend Dorrie’s wealth and social position, bumps her off. Doddsworth, realizing his daughter Maxine is the killer, panics and frames you.”

“You believe that?”

“It’s the obvious solution. He called on you this morning so he could plant the envelopes.”

Sherry shook her head stubbornly. “I was watching him all the time. He couldn’t have done it.”

“Uh-huh,” Cora said. If she was convinced, Sherry wouldn’t have known it. “You ever see a magician work up close?”

“Doddsworth’s not a magician.”

“Granted. I said that was the obvious solution. It doesn’t mean I’m going for it. The next obvious solution is the boyfriend bumped her off.” Cora waggled her cigarette. “The problem with obvious solutions is they’re obvious. That’s why I get hung up on the what-if-itisn’t-obvious.”

“What do you mean?”

“The techie. Alfred Adams. I talked to him tonight and I’m not happy.”

“What’s wrong with his story?”

“Nothing. There was everything right with it. But he didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Your feelings are hurt? Or you think he has something to hide?”

“I don’t know what I think. But that kid was squirming. He figured talking to me would make him a target. At least that’s what he said.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“I think he thought it was true, but I don’t know why.”

Sherry poured the coffee. “Well, if you wanna ask him, I think he’s still up. I just went by the high school and the lights are on in the theater.”

“Maybe they just left the gym lights on.”

Sherry shook her head. “The gym lights are out. The stage lights are on.”

Cora Felton frowned. She pushed back her untasted coffee and stood up. “I’m going over there.”

“Now? I was only kidding.”

“I don’t like it.” Cora marched to the hall closet, took out her overcoat.

“You gonna talk to him in your nightgown?”

“I hope so. I’m worried about his health.”

Cora pulled on her boots, grabbed her purse, wrenched open the front door.

“Wait for me,” Sherry said.

“You wanna come, come. I’m not waiting.”

Cora hurried down the path. The night was very cold and crisp. The moon was three-quarters full, reflecting off the snow and lighting up the yard. The Toyota was at the top of the driveway in the space the neighbor boy had plowed for twenty bucks that afternoon while she was out.

Hiring a lawyer for her niece.

Cora hopped into the car, gunned the motor.

Sherry slid into the passenger seat.

“You coming?” Cora said. “You don’t think I’m being silly?”

“You also have a habit of being right.”

Cora backed the car around, skidded out of the driveway, headed for town.

“What’s the idea?” Sherry asked.

“When I questioned the kid, he claimed he was bustin’ his hump trying to get the lights hung before he had to play Joseph. That’s why he wound up late.”

“So?”

“If he was nearly done then, why is he still working now?”

“That was
hanging
the lights. During rehearsal he was
plugging
the lights. After rehearsal he’d be
aiming
the lights.”

“Until two in the morning?”

“That’s not the point. The point is, what bothered you was the fact that he was almost done. When actually he had more work to do.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I promised the kid he wouldn’t get bumped off.”

“Huh?!”

“It was a joke. He was scared I was putting him in danger. I swore I wasn’t. Told him he’d be fine.”

“How could you do that?”

“What was I gonna do? Tell him to write his will? How was I to know he was gonna stay late and aim lights?”

“Come on. It’s two A.M. Don’t you think his parents would have freaked out if he wasn’t home?”

“Did Aaron’s parents know you were there tonight? Till all hours, I mean?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Normal people go to bed. They don’t sit up till the crack of dawn.”

“Even if their son’s out?”

“He’s probably done tech before. Comes in quietly, doesn’t wake them up.”

“You’re talking yourself into a nervous breakdown.”

“I’m not talking myself into anything. It’s happening on its own. I got you charged with murder. I got Sherlock Holmes Doddsworth running around messing things up. And now this kid.” Cora shook her head, gunned the motor again.

Sherry knew better than to push the subject. She gritted her teeth, braced herself on the curves.

Within minutes the high school appeared on the right. It was dark except for the gym, where the glow of pink and blue stage lights flickered.

Cora swerved into the driveway, headed for the gym. “Same lights you saw?” she asked grimly.

“I think so.”

“I don’t like it.”

Cora slammed the car to a stop, tore out the door before the motor even died. She ran up to the gym door, grabbed the handle, and yanked.

It was locked.

Cora banged on the door, yelled, “Hey! Open up in there!”

There was no answer.

“Looks like no one’s here,” Sherry said.

“Yeah.” Cora marched to the car, took out a flashlight, switched it on, started around the end of the building.

“Where you going?”

“I’m going in.”

“How?”

“Any way I can.”

The backstage door was locked. So was the door to the cafeteria. But a window in the hallway was unlatched. Cora reached up, pulled it open. “Hey, give me a boost.”

“Cora, you can’t go climbing through windows.”

“We’ve gotta get in there.”

“So let me go.”

“I can’t boost you. I’m a little old lady.”

“Little?”

“Hey, watch it.”

“Aunt Cora—”

“I’m goin’ in. You wanna help me, or should I drag a box from somewhere?”

Sherry laced her fingers together, boosted her aunt up. Cora pulled herself over the sill, flopped on the floor in a heap. She got to her feet and retrieved the flashlight. “Okay, go around to the gym door. I’ll let you in.”

Cora shone the flashlight ahead of her, hurried down the corridor, pushed her way through the doors into the gym.

The stage lights were on, but they were aimed helterskelter, that is to say they had not been aimed at all. Several were focused not on the stage but on the gym floor. One blue-gelled spot was right in Cora’s eyes. She blinked, held up her hand so as not to trip on the folding chairs left set up from rehearsal as she picked her way across the gym floor. Cora pushed her way through the double doors to the gym entrance and let Sherry Carter in.

“Anyone here?” Sherry asked.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Lights are cockeyed.”

“Yeah. Someone didn’t aim ’em. Let’s find out why.”

Cora and Sherry started for the stage. As they made their way up the stage-right stairs, Sherry suddenly gasped and grabbed Cora’s arm. “Look!”

Cora, following Sherry’s gaze, let out a small, anguished cry.

Hanging in the flies, upstage center, in the pink light of a misaimed spot, a pair of feet dangled from behind the teaser curtain, swaying gently in the still air of the gym.

The feet wore combat boots.

Cora pelted up the steps, rushed upstage to get a better view.

He hung in the flies, a rope around his neck, his face contorted, his tongue lolling out, a grotesque spectacle in the eerie light.

Cora stared at the dangling figure in horror. Her eyes widened.

Sherry, at her elbow, gasped, “Is it . . . is it Alfred?”

Cora blinked in amazement.

“No,” she whispered.

33

“THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING,” RUPERT WINSTON PROTESTED. For once the dapper director’s hair was uncombed, and his hastily thrown-on outfit did not match. He looked up at Chief Harper and Jonathon Doddsworth as if prevailing upon them, as rational men, to reconsider and let him go home.

Their silence was eloquent.

The three men were standing on the basketball court. Sherry Carter and Cora Felton sat on folding chairs off to the side. In the background, a weary EMS crew was loading the body of the hanged young man onto a gurney in preparation for removing it from the stage.

Rupert sighed. “All right, all right, it
is
happening. I just can’t imagine why.”

“Well, perhaps you can help us with how,” Chief Harper retorted. “You had a rehearsal this evening?”

“That’s right.”

“During rehearsal your tech crew was plugging lights.”

“One of them was. Alfred Adams.”

“Who is not the young man there?”

“No.”

“And that would be?”

“That’s my tech director. Jesse Virdon.”

“Why was he here?”

“I assume he was touching up the paint on the set.”

“He was here when you left?”

“That’s right.”

“Was anyone else here?”

“Alfred Adams. He had to finish plugging lights.”

Doddsworth raised his eyebrows. “Rather late for a school lad. Why didn’t you stay and help him?”

Rupert Winston looked at him coldly. “I can’t do everything. I’m teaching class. I’m rehearsing the Christmas pageant. I’m directing a play. I’m putting on
The
Seagull,
and I just happen to have lost a key actress. You have no idea what it will entail working another girl into the role.”

“I assure you I don’t,” Doddsworth said. “Nor can I fathom how you could be thinking about that now.”

“I’m
not
thinking about that
now,
” Rupert snapped. “I was responding to your irrelevant and insensitive question as to why I wasn’t working tonight. I
was
working, just not on lights.”

“I think we get the picture,” Chief Harper interposed, to forestall any further sparring between the two men. “Now, why would anyone want to kill your tech director?”

“You’ve got me.”

“Was he a witness to the murder of Dorrie Taggart?”

“I have no idea. Didn’t you take statements?”

“Yes, we did. I don’t recall his.”

Rupert shrugged. “Then I guess he wasn’t.”

“Was he part of the live Nativity?”

“I think so.” Rupert pointed to Doddsworth. “You have my schedule.”

“Yes, I do. According to which, Mr. Virdon portrayed Joseph from nine-fifteen to ten-fifteen in the A.M.”

“That sounds right, but I really wouldn’t know.”

“Uh-huh,” Chief Harper said. “And what can you tell us about the means of death?”

“What can
you
tell
me
?”

“The body was hanged from a rope, the rope was tied off at the pinrail.”

A warning cough from Doddsworth cut off this exchange. “We know what
you
know, Chief. Let’s have a listen what the
witness
has to say, shall we?”

“I fail to see how I’m a witness,” Rupert protested.

“You needn’t see,” Doddsworth said shortly. “Tell us about the rope.”

Rupert Winston looked up at the stage, where a single rope now hung from the flies to the floor. “That’s the rope you mean?”

“But of course. Pray illuminate us. What might it be?”

“It’s similar to the rope that dropped the sandbag. Except that was downstage center, this is upstage center. And I gather there was no sandbag attached. A noose?”

“No. Just a knotted rope,” Harper told him grimly. “A poor knot, but good enough to hold. It did the job.”

“Any chance it was a suicide?”

“None.” Chief Harper jerked his thumb at the grid. “There’s no place to jump from. Whoever did this tied the rope around his neck and hauled him up.”

“Chief
Harper
,” Doddsworth said in his most pained voice. “Mr. Winston pled a busy schedule. Perhaps we should allow him some sleep.”

“I appreciate it,” Rupert said. “This is a
terrible
tragedy. Still, the show must go on.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Chief Harper said.

Rupert looked stricken to the very soul. “You can’t shut down my show.”

“He’s the chief of police,” Doddsworth pointed out. “He can do anything he wants.”

“Except speak for himself,” Cora muttered under her breath.

Sherry nudged her in the ribs.

The two sat quietly and were good while the director was ushered out. Then Doddsworth instantly turned his attention to them. “So. This is what comes of an anemic judicial system where we release suspects on their own recognizance, then scratch our heads in bewilderment when another murder results.”

Cora Felton’s eyes blazed. “Are you accusing my niece of this crime?”

“Merely making a general observation. But that certainly is a most intriguing notion. Chief Harper, would you mind terribly if I posed a question or two in order to clarify the situation?”

Chief Harper looked like he minded a great deal but couldn’t think of an easy way to say so. “Be my guest,” he muttered.

“Miss Carter,” Doddsworth said. “Do tell us how you happened to find the body.”

Cora bristled. “Just a minute. Let’s not lose sight of the fact Sherry’s been charged with murder. Before she answers any questions, she should have her lawyer present.”

“That’s not necessary,” Sherry said.

“Sherry, honey, you haven’t a clue what’s necessary. So I suggest you either clam up or you pick up the phone and call Becky Baldwin. I don’t imagine she’ll be real pleased about it, but she’ll be a lot happier than waking up tomorrow morning and finding out you spilled your guts.”

“Whaddya think?” Sherry asked Doddsworth. “Should I call my lawyer?”

“Perhaps we may try another tack. Miss Felton, I don’t fancy you’ve been charged with anything, now, have you? Do you need a solicitor before
you
speak?”

Doddsworth was practically daring Cora, egging her on, goading her into speech. Surely the best way to thwart him was to keep quiet. But to refuse to answer? To claim
she
needed a lawyer . . .

Cora hesitated. Glared at him.

He was smiling at her, a smug, taunting smile. His crooked teeth ruined the effect. So did his dress shirt, which in his haste he had buttoned wrong. The uneven collar was ridiculous. What could she possibly have to fear from such a man? After all, she had done nothing wrong.

Cora stuck out her chin. “What do you want to know?”

“Nothing to fret about.” Doddsworth practically purred. “Merely finding the body.”

“What about it?”

“The door to the gymnasium was secured?” Doddsworth said, slipping right into interrogation mode.

“That’s right.”

“You tried the door and couldn’t open it?”

“That’s how I knew it was locked.”

“So how did you gain entrance?”

“I found a back window that was open.”

“And how did you get through this back window?”

“I climbed.”

“Was that easy?”

“Not particularly.”

“But you had help?”

Cora pressed her lips together.

“This is not a big admission, Miss Felton. You and your niece came here together. I assume Miss Carter assisted you through the window. At any rate, you entered the gymnasium and saw immediately that something was wrong.”

“I wouldn’t say wrong.”

“What would you say?”

“I saw that the lights were aimed incorrectly. Some were aimed out over the audience instead of at the stage. One was actually aimed at me in the door.”

“So you investigated these misaimed lights and spotted the young man hanging over the stage.”

“I saw his boots.”

“Of course. You knew at once who it was?”

“Actually, I thought it was the techie. Alfred Adams. He had the same boots.”

“And what made you think it would be young Adams?”

“I had talked to him earlier in the evening. About playing Joseph in the Nativity.”

“So, when you saw the boots hanging there you imagined your inquiries had come to a most dreadful fruition.”

“I was afraid I’d stirred something up, yes.”

“And in fact, you hadn’t. The dead man in question, this Jesse Virdon, you don’t know at all. Is that correct?”

“I knew he was the tech director.”

“But you never conversed with him?”

“I was there when he bawled Alfred Adams out for not wearing his headset.”

“When was that?”

“Tonight. During rehearsal. He came by while I was talking to Alfred.”

“And just where was this?”

“In the light booth.”

Doddsworth raised his eyebrows. “Jesse Virdon observed you and Alfred Adams having tea and crumpets in the light booth? Fascinating.”

Cora stuck her chin in the air, said nothing.

“You weren’t concerned for Mr. Virdon’s welfare?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“But you
were
concerned for the welfare of young Mr. Adams, whom you spoke to earlier tonight?”

“I said I was.”

“And that is why you came by the theater. To make sure everything was all right with Mr. Adams?”

“Yes, it is.”

“At two in the A.M. Rather late to be checking up.”

“It’s a good thing I did. Or you wouldn’t have found the body until tomorrow.”

“Granted,” Doddsworth agreed. “I’m merely wondering
why
you did. Particularly with regard to these misaimed lights. Did you perchance check on the theater because the lights were on?”

“What if I did?”

Doddsworth smiled. “Well, then, my next query would be, how did you
know
the lights were on? Who
told
you the lights were on? Who aroused your curiosity to such a degree as to send you out at two in the A.M.? It is a thorny dilemma, indeed. Particularly in light of the fact you are in your nightdress and your niece is fully clothed. Is it a fair inference, Miss Felton, that your niece motored by the gymnasium, spotted the lights on, drove home, told you about it, and the two of you ventured out to investigate?”

Cora pressed her lips tighter and said nothing.

“You see my problem,” Doddsworth mused. “Here’s a young woman, charged with homicide. Her solicitor gets her released. That very night she visits the site of an attempted murder, and, lo and behold, another murder occurs. This is a trifle much. She can’t report it to the authorities without falling under suspicion. She needs someone else to find the body for her. It was your niece who informed you of the lights in the theater, was it not?”

Cora sat mute.

“Well,” Doddsworth concluded smugly. “For once the prosecuting attorney will know what questions to ask.”