A Puzzle in a Pear Tree (31 page)

Prologue

“ARE YOU GOING TO WEAR WHITE?” SHERRY CARTER ASKED.

Cora Felton flailed her way through the profusion of material the seamstress had managed to drape about her body, then shot her niece a reproving look. “Of course I’m going to wear white. I always wear white when I get married. Except what’s-his-name, who wanted me to wear the frou-frou thing.” She grimaced at the memory. “That really should have given me the hint.”

“It certainly should have,” Sherry agreed, a little too quickly. In Sherry’s opinion,
all
of Cora’s husbands had been undesirable, and she marveled at the fact it had taken marrying them to get Cora to see that.

Cora Felton, though quite aware of her niece’s views, was not at all sympathetic to them. After all, Sherry’s marriage had been an absolute disaster.

“Is that right?” Cora said. “I bet you don’t even know which one I’m talking about.”

“Do you?” Sherry shot back.

Cora frowned: Which damn husband was it who had wanted the unorthodox ceremony?
Unorthodox.
Was it the Jewish one? No, he’d gone along with the church wedding.

“Could you keep your arms up?” the seamstress asked, a trifle too sweetly. Cora had been squirming like an octopus ever since the fitting began, and the woman’s nerves were getting frayed.

“Not if you’re gonna poke me,” Cora grumbled defensively. “If you’re gonna poke me, I’m gonna move.”

“I’m not going to poke you,” the seamstress said, edgily. She was a lean woman in work shirt and jeans, with her hair cut in bangs, and a kerchief around her neck. To Cora, the scissors stuck in the woman’s belt began to look like a weapon.

The bridal shop where Cora was being fitted for a wedding gown was in New York City. Had it been in her hometown of Bakerhaven, Connecticut, Cora would undoubtedly have been recognized instantly as the Puzzle Lady, famous for both her crossword puzzle column and her TV commercials, but the seamstress here in the big city didn’t seem to have a clue. Not that Cora expected special treatment. Still, it would have been nice not to merit contempt.

“I didn’t think you could remember,” Sherry told Cora.

“A lot of them tend to blend together,” Cora admitted. “You’ve only been married once. Any memories you have are apt to be right.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Well, your marriage was.”

“I was talking about quantity, not quality.”

“Please,” Cora protested. “No wordplay, or I’ll go nuts.”

The seamstress gasped. “Oh, my God, you’re the Puzzle Lady! Here I am working on you, and you’re the Puzzle Lady! Goodness, how extraordinary!”

Cora didn’t feel obliged to point out just how ordinary it was for her to get married. Nevertheless, some self-deprecating gesture was indicated. Cora resented that. The woman abuses her for an hour, then makes her apologize.

“It’s really nothing,” Cora told her. “But this wedding is important to me. Even if it’s not important to my niece.”

The seamstress, not five minutes from flinging Cora around like a rag doll, now sprang to her defense. “How can you say that?” she demanded of Sherry. “Of course the wedding must be just right.”

Sherry groaned. Here she was, getting the worst of it on all fronts. And maddeningly so. The accusations were unfair, unjust, and dead wrong. In point of fact, Sherry Carter wrote the crossword puzzle column her aunt took credit for. If the truth be known, Cora Felton couldn’t construct a puzzle if her life depended on it. Not that she wanted to. Cora Felton didn’t even
like
crossword puzzles. She liked solving crimes, and was unusually adept at it. Puzzles, on the other hand, left her cold.

The seamstress, writhing in the death throes of the terminally star-struck, simpered, “You’re going to need some more lace. The grander the wedding, the grander the lace, that’s what I always say. You would not
believe
the way I can streamline a gown.” She flushed. “Not that you
need
streamlining, mind. But the lines do make a difference, dear.”

Cora was beginning to miss the acerbic seamstress who thought she was a pain. “Just don’t squeeze me into it like a sausage. If I gotta wear the damn thing all day, I gotta be comfortable.”

The seamstress raised both eyebrows at the word
damn.
Could this
really
be the same woman who sold breakfast cereal to children on TV? “I promise you’ll be comfortable. Of course, many brides drop five to ten pounds just before walking down the aisle. We have to take that into consideration.”

“If you do, you’ll bleed from the nose,” Cora informed her. “If I lose weight, you can take the dress in. If I gain weight, you can let it out. Make it fit me
now.
”

“Yes, of course, dear.”

The seamstress, much chastened, looped some more fabric.

Cora fingered the silk. “Oh, this is nice! You think he’ll like it?”

“He hasn’t even proposed yet,” Sherry pointed out.

Cora waved it away. “That’s a mere formality. Trust me, I’ve been married often enough to know. When it happens, you’ve gotta be ready. I mean, what if the guy proposed, and before you could get the dress made he changed his mind?”

“I would think you’d count yourself lucky you didn’t marry such a fickle man.”

“Oh, yeah? I’ll have you know just such a fickle man paid for my apartment. Men agree to anything when they want to be free.”

The seamstress could not have looked more shocked had Cora just revealed herself to be a phone-sex operator. Cora stuck one finger under the woman’s chin, closed her mouth.

“I don’t care what you say, this is tight. Let’s go one size larger. If you need to, you can take it in.
Dear.
”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You do have it in a larger size, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Just let me go look.”

“Good. When you find it, bring it to me. I’m getting out of this straitjacket.”

Cora thrust the veil at Sherry, and stomped off in the direction of the changing rooms.

“Oh, dear,” the seamstress said. “Is she . . . I mean . . . is she really going to buy a dress?”

Sherry smiled. “I don’t think there’s anything I could say that would stop her. Yes, she’s worth waiting on. You can count on the sale.”

The seamstress flushed again. She hurried off to the back of the store to look for a larger wedding gown.

Sherry sat, turning the veil over in her hands. She smiled wistfully. Her own wedding had been an elopement. No gown, no veil, no church service, no guests.

If only that had been the worst of it.

She shrugged off the thought. This was about Cora, not her. This was Cora’s chance for happiness. Just because she couldn’t remember how many chances she’d had shouldn’t diminish its importance. And, assuming it took place, this would be the first of Cora’s weddings Sherry had attended. Cora had asked her to be the maid of honor. Sherry couldn’t disappoint her. She needed to get in the spirit.

Out on the sidewalk, a scraggly young man in black jeans and a sleeveless black T-shirt stood peering in the window of the bridal shop. Razor, as the lead guitarist for the rock band Tune Freaks liked to be called, pushed the matted hair off his forehead, rubbed his bleary eyes. To a casual observer, Razor might have appeared stoned out of his mind, but that was just the way Razor always looked. In point of fact, the guitarist could seldom afford drugs, and had long since run out of young women willing to give them to him.

Of late, Razor had been in a particularly foul mood due to the fact the Tune Freaks’ lead singer, Dennis Pride, had quit the band, leaving the singing chores up for grabs. Razor didn’t want to sing, but he didn’t want anyone
else
in the band to sing, and possibly rival him. So Razor was singing
and
playing lead guitar. His voice was adequate at best, his guitar playing suffered, and no one in the band was happy.

At the moment, however, Razor appeared to be having either an epiphany or an acid flashback. He stood mesmerized, gazing in the window at the beautiful young woman sitting alone in the Fifth Avenue bridal shop, a beautiful young woman who smiled wistfully and held a bridal veil.

1

CORA FELTON WAS RADIANT. CORA ALWAYS LOOKED GOOD, which was one of the reasons Sherry had chosen Cora’s picture to grace the Puzzle Lady column. But tonight, in the presence of Raymond Harstein III, Cora was positively glowing. She blossomed in his notice, she basked in his gaze.

Sherry Carter was amazed. She had met some of Cora’s husbands, but always after Cora had married them. This was the first time she’d witnessed a courtship, and it was an eye-opening experience. Cora was totally gaga. Seeing her aunt in love helped Sherry understand how Cora had fallen for some of the despicable men she’d managed to wed. The woman was giddy as a schoolgirl.

And on her finger was a ring with a diamond as big as the Ritz.

Cora and Raymond had just gotten engaged.

Much to Sherry’s dismay.

“You are the most gorgeous girl in the world,” Raymond assured Cora.

Sherry Carter shuddered. Her aunt was all decked out in a red satin number that was just a little too young on the one hand, and a little two narrow in the waist on the other. Cora looked perfectly respectable. But the most gorgeous girl in the world? Really.

If the truth be known, Sherry was not as upset with the assessment as with the assessor. Raymond Harstein III was, in Sherry’s humble opinion, one of the most pretentious human beings she’d ever met. She didn’t care for the way he talked, the way he moved, the way he tilted his nose, the way he carried his chin. She even resented the III in his name, although, presumably, that was Raymond Harstein Jr.’s fault, and not his. Be that as it may, Sherry Carter was not smitten, and it took only a single, effusive, hyperbolic compliment to set her teeth on edge. Although, as a wordsmith, Sherry had to admit “the most beautiful girl in the world” was not really hyperbole, just a gross exaggeration.

Cora, however, seemed to take the praise at face value. “Oh, Raymond,” she simpered. “You spoil me.”

It was all Sherry could do to keep from gagging.

“Not at all, my dear,” Raymond declared, patting Cora on the hand, another gesture that Sherry deplored. Good lord, couldn’t Cora see through this man? A lovesick schoolgirl of
sixteen
could see through this man. Surely her aunt had learned
something
in her umpteen previous marriages. How could she be so blind? When Raymond favored her with, “Of course,
you
look lovely too,” it was all Sherry could do to keep from leaping across the table and strangling him.

Raymond Harstein III was a slender man of indeterminate age, the difficulty of that estimation a testament, Sherry ascribed, to the effectiveness of Just For Men hair coloring. Raymond’s dark brown hair was gray at the temples, which didn’t fool Sherry one bit. She suspected him of having snow-white hair, dyeing it brown, and then touching it up with gray highlights.

As to the rest of it, Raymond Harstein III had blue eyes, a nose both pointed and rounded at the same time, as if the scurrilous gentleman was unwilling to commit to anything. A trim mustache, brown from the bottle, topped thin lips that never ceased to smile. He was dressed in a blue suit, white shirt, red patterned tie. Raymond always wore suits, ranging in Sherry’s opinion from the cheap to the inexpensive, or in Cora’s, from the practical to the thrifty.

“Thank you,” Sherry told him now. “You’re looking quite distinguished yourself.”

Raymond made a self-deprecating gesture. “Please. I am a weed amongst blossoms, happy to be growing. So sorry your young beau couldn’t join us. I should really get to know him, if I’m marrying into the family now, shouldn’t I?”

“Aaron’s not really family,” Sherry said.

“Ah, but he could be.” Raymond’s eyes twinkled. “If your aunt wouldn’t mind sharing the spotlight. What do you think, Cora? How would a double wedding suit you?”

Sherry stiffened at the suggestion.

Cora threw back her head and laughed. “Fine by me, Raymond, but I’m afraid you don’t know my niece very well. I don’t think Sherry’s inclined to accept a wedding proposal unless it’s the bridegroom making it.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Wouldn’t want to usurp the young man’s prerogative.”

“Of course,” Cora agreed. “But you should snap him up, Sherry, before that Becky Baldwin gets her claws into him.”

For Sherry, that comment marked the point at which she knew her aunt really was out of control. Under normal circumstances, Cora never would have teased Sherry about her rival, Becky Baldwin, in front of a third person. The idea that Cora was treating Raymond as family didn’t cut it with Sherry. As far as she was concerned, her aunt had gone completely round the bend.

A waitress with a notepad swooped down on their table. “Can I get y’all something to drink?”

Raymond immediately took charge, proceeded to relay all orders through himself—another habit Sherry detested. “And what would you like, my dear?” he asked her.

“I’ll have a white wine,” Sherry said directly to the waitress.

Raymond went on as if he hadn’t noticed. “Excellent,” he said. “A white wine for the young lady. Now, my dear, what would you like this evening?”

Cora hesitated just a moment before saying, “I’ll have a Shirley Temple.”

Raymond nodded his approval, relayed those instructions, and ordered a seltzer and lime for himself.

Sherry watched with growing horror. Raymond had taken exception to Cora’s drinking, counseled moderation. For one who imbibed as heavily as Cora was in the habit of doing, this was a major step, and one of which Sherry would have ordinarily approved. The thought Cora was doing it for
him
rankled. Sherry sighed, glanced around.

They were dining in the Country Kitchen, Bakerhaven’s homey, inexpensive, and quite popular restaurant, which featured a well-stocked salad bar and standard American cuisine. As usual, the tables and booths were quite full. Most of the customers were local, and many seemed to have taken an interest in their table. Bakerhaven was the type of town where most everybody knew everybody. A stranger such as Raymond Harstein III was indeed cause for comment.

“What do you think, Sherry?” Raymond asked.

As she hadn’t heard a word, Sherry was hard-pressed to offer an opinion.

Luckily, Cora swooped to the rescue. “Oh, what does Sherry know about weddings? The poor girl’s only had one, and that was an elopement. Trust me, this is not a big deal. The TV people probably won’t even come.”

Raymond frowned. “TV people?”

“Yes, the Channel 8 news team. They cover this town.”

Raymond seemed amused, but Sherry could have sworn he was putting it on. “You expect your wedding to rate TV coverage?” he asked Cora.

“
Our
wedding,” Cora corrected demurely. “No, I don’t. I was just saying I don’t expect them to come. Even though that reporter seems to have it in for me.”

“A TV reporter? Why?”

“No reason. Just every time Rick Reed tries to cover me he winds up looking stupid.”

Raymond’s blue eyes twinkled. “You mean you make a fool of him?”

“No. I think he’s just naturally stupid.”

Aaron Grant came in the door. The young newspaper reporter looked around, spotted their table. He strolled over just in time to have his way blocked by the waitress with her tray of drinks.

“Hi, gang,” Aaron told them. “Don’t let me interfere with your dinner. Just dropped by to say hello.”

“Would you care to join us?” Raymond invited. “We’re just about to order.”

“Thanks, but I’m working,” Aaron replied. “I’m doing an interview.”

“Having dinner with someone?” Sherry asked him.

“Just a drink. I’m interviewing an ambulance driver. I checked the bar, he’s not there yet.”

“Interviewing an ambulance driver in the bar?” Sherry said. “I would think that’s a story in itself.”

Aaron frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Your readers won’t either, unless you start off with a folksy, ‘I caught up with so-and-so in the bar, and over a few pints of ale he told me,’ ” Sherry pointed out.

“You’re very good with words,” Raymond observed.

Sherry grimaced. “Runs in the family.”

“That it does,” Aaron said, with a knowing smile. Aaron was one of the few people in town who knew that Sherry, not Cora, was the real Puzzle Lady and composed the crossword puzzle column.

“Say, nice ring, Cora!” Aaron whistled. “Do I gather there is to be an announcement in the near future?”

Cora shot a glance at Raymond. “Yes, but don’t put it in the paper. We haven’t even set the wedding date yet.”

“Really? Well, congratulations! This is wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Raymond said. He added tentatively, “You will sit on the announcement?”

“Sure thing. As long as it’s just me. If my editor finds out and tells me to write it, that’s another story.”

“Just hold off as long as you can,” Cora said. “Once it’s published it’s tabloid material. I don’t really want to read about it in the
National Enquirer.
”

Becky Baldwin came in, looked around.

Sherry Carter caught her breath. Sherry often did on seeing Becky Baldwin. Stunning as usual, in a purple pants suit, which could have served the young lawyer quite well had she had to appear in court, and could easily double as evening wear, Becky looked so good that had Raymond Harstein III pronounced her the most beautiful girl in the world, Sherry would have found it hard to refute.

Becky swooped down on their table, hooked her arm through Aaron Grant’s, and said, “Well, here I am. Where do you want to do the interview?”

Sherry Carter arched her eyebrows at Aaron.

Cora Felton, boundlessly amused by Becky’s announcement, pretended to cough into her napkin.

“Do you drive an ambulance, Becky?” Sherry inquired politely.

“Not that I am aware of.”

“No, that’s my other interview,” Aaron said. “You’re early, Becky. The ambulance driver’s actually scheduled first.”

“Yes, of course,” Becky said. She turned her eyes to Raymond Harstein III. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Becky Baldwin. I’m the town lawyer.”

Raymond Harstein III rose to his feet, crossed around the table to take her hand. He didn’t shake it, however. Instead, he clasped it in both of his as if it were a precious thing. “Raymond Harstein III. Very pleased to meet you. You say you’re the town lawyer? You mean you’re the only one?”

“No,” Becky told him. “Just the only one worth mentioning.”

“I’ll say.” Raymond smiled. “I bet the young men invent excuses to hire you.”

“Oh, please,” Becky demurred. “What do you say, Aaron. If the ambulance driver’s not here, why don’t we go first?”

Aaron smiled sheepishly. He clearly wasn’t comfortable walking off with Becky, but there didn’t seem to be any alternative, short of sitting down to eat dinner.

“Run along, you two,” Sherry said. “I’m sure you have lots to talk about.”

“Do we?” Becky said archly, to Aaron. “What
did
you want to interview me about, anyway?”

“Oh, we’ll think of something,” Aaron said breezily. In point of fact he was doing a piece on single career women, but he was damned if he was going to start explaining. Anything he said would only sound defensive.

“You better,” Becky purred. “If you don’t write an article, the paper won’t pay for the drinks.”

“The paper won’t anyway,” Aaron said. “What, did you think I had an expense account?”

Sherry’s smile was becoming more and more frozen. Any more cute banter and she was going to scream.

“Sherry!” came a voice from across the room.

Sherry looked up, and was amazed to see Brenda Wallenstein, her college roommate, hurtling across the dining room floor.

Brenda was what the boys called pleasingly plump, a short, cute, comfortable dynamo, with a sense of humor to boot. Brenda and Sherry had been close and stayed in touch even after college. When Sherry had been going through rough times with her husband, there were many nights she had crashed on Brenda’s couch.

Sherry’s face lit up. She hadn’t seen Brenda since she’d moved to Connecticut, but the sight of her old college chum always cheered her. She leaped to her feet, gave Brenda a hug.

“Oh, my goodness, it’s good to see you. Brenda, it’s been too long. It’s nice in the country, but I miss my friends from New York. Not lumping you with my friends in general, I mean I miss you in particular. Oh, my goodness. Everyone, this is Brenda, my roommate from Dartmouth. You know my aunt Cora. This is my friend, Aaron Grant. He’s a reporter. And Becky Baldwin, she’s a lawyer. Aaron’s about to interview her for the paper.” Sherry flushed slightly. That was more information than she needed to give. “Brenda’s a nurse at Mount Sinai Hospital,” she appended, as if to make up for it.

Raymond had stood up.

“Oh, and Raymond Harstein III.” Sherry looked at Cora. “Can I tell her?”

“If you can do it quietly.”

“Yes, of course.” Sherry lowered her voice. “Raymond and Cora are engaged.”

“Oh, my God!” Brenda shrieked in excitement, then lowered her voice and hissed congratulations. Brenda had round cheeks, big eyes, long lashes. Her curly brown hair added to her perpetually bubbly look. “This is
so
amazing! And what a
coincidence.
”