Death on the Diagonal (26 page)

“I’m sorry Belle didn’t figure out your anagram for King Wenstarin, Mr. Collins. Truthfully, she wasn’t looking for a word game like that, even though you shared the clever names of some of your horses. She’s been kind of preoccupied with several peculiar crossword puzzles she received—which, until now, she assumed were connected to the stable fire.”

Collins sat up straighter. His cautious eyes grew brighter. “You don’t say.”

“The name Chip was in one of them, as was that nearby pub, The Horse With No Name.”

If Rosco was hoping for a reaction other than a careworn disinterest, Collins didn’t provide it. The relaxed face of an experienced businessman or seasoned poker player is all that Rosco observed, and “Crossword puzzles, huh?” was all that Collins said.

“That’s right. And the last one had
Angel
in it.”

“You mean Chipper’s new girlfriend?” He shrugged. “But what does she have to do with anything?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, sir.”

1. Rocker’s equip.
4. And so on; abbr.
7. Switch positions
10. Guy’s date
13. ___ Lanka
14. Gone, in Scotland
15. Army bed
16. Persian Gulf grp.
17. Hoity-toity set
20. Gun grp.
21. Canadian capital
22. ___ about
23. With 47-Across, Sandy Dennis film
26. Slugger, Tony
27. Pyle portrayer
28. Pub offering
29. Hurler, Warren
30. Buddy
33. French salt
36. Architect, Saarinen
37. Confuse
38. Whine
39. Reading and B & O
40. Arab leader
41. Star of 17-Across
42. Green or brown tack-on
43. Yogurt option
44. Sparkle
47. See 23-Across
50. Star of 53-Across
51. Student often
52. Tone or metric lead-in
53. Wanted poster request
58. Help wanted letters
59. Equip
60. Relative
61. Mr. Charles
62. Biochem. prefix
63. Travel aid
64. Disease fighting org.
65. Took in

 

1. Cigar residue
2. Medical scan; abbr.
3. Oinker
4. Toward the dawn
5. 12 pts., in football
6. Chocolate source
7. Indian or Arctic
8. “Ask ___ ...”
9. Home for 3-Down
10. USMC NCO
11. Slugger, Hank
12. Study
18. Santa’s laugh
19. Wobbly grp.
22. In debt
23. Racing family
24. Pulp product
25. Some ski lifts
26. Day-___
28. Ripen
30. Summer drink
31. MMMI I ÷ II
32. Type
33. ___ drug
34. Namesakes of Ms. Fitzgerald
35. Philippine island
37. Sigh of relief
38. Flag on a lance
40. Bygone flyer; abbr.
41. Japanese neighbors
42. Stopover spot
43. Oxide or acid lead-in
44. Composer, Edvard
45. Popular cleaner
46. Vowel jumble
47. Proof of postage payment

SOCIAL CLIMBER

48. Slugger, Williams
49. Buddhist king
53. Block
54. Pitcher’s stat

55. Retirement acct.
56. Barrel
57. Stare down

30

Because of the poor cell phone connection Belle couldn’t quite determine if the quavering she heard in Bartholomew Kerr’s voice was the result of excitement, anticipation, or plain old-fashioned fear. Whatever the cause, his insistence that she drop
everything
she was doing
posthaste
and drive
directly
to the
Crier
’s offices possessed more than a touch of panic. His request resembled an order, so she did as he asked. The fact that she was five blocks from the building made it difficult for her to rationalize fabricating any lame excuses.

When she stepped off the elevator on the third floor she was embraced by the same afternoon hysteria that existed on any given day, but since this was a Monday, and not her routine Friday stopover, many employees stood dead in their tracks the moment they spied her. And as she walked down the hallway toward Kerr’s corner office her astonished coworkers greeted her with a collection of sarcastic comments like: “Is the world coming to an end?” or, “Now I’ve seen everything,” or, “Is the week over already?” or, “That’s not Belle Graham, is it?” while others simply shook their watches questioning whether their timepieces were suffering a communal malfunction. She graced all these antics with a knowing smile then tapped on the frosted-glass panel of Kerr’s door.

The door was flung open as if the tiny man had been lying in wait on the other side since the moment she’d agreed to see him.

“Finally,” he gushed. “What in blazes took you so long? I feel as though I was about to go into cardiac arrest.”

“Seven minutes, Bartholomew. That’s how much time has elapsed since you called. What’s all the excitement about?”

“Seven minutes? The
Hindenburg
went up in seven seconds!”

She laughed. “The
Crier
building seems to be in one piece.”

“Hah! That’s a debatable issue, but beside the point. The reason I positively, absolutely needed you here on the QT is because I have received a crossword puzzle, and it’s entitled ‘Social Climber’!”

“Well, you are the society editor.” Belle sat in the chair opposite Kerr’s desk as she spoke. “Possibly someone is suggesting a combination of our two sections of the newspaper? Although I think I might have entitled it ‘Words in Boldface,’ or ‘Clues for the Parvenu’ . . . or maybe one of your gossip-loving spies is pulling your leg.” She looked at Bartholomew’s intent and worried face and forced herself not to smile. “Does the puzzle have a theme, perchance? What are some of the solutions?”

Kerr sighed mightily. “Oh please, dear
Bella
, I have no patience for these word games. This is why I phoned you the second the mail boy tossed the thing on my desk. And I do mean
tossed.
One would think that child believes he’s handling Frisbees rather than serious journalistic correspondence.”

“So you haven’t completed the crossword, then?”

“
Mais, non.
I can only suspect that it has something to do with the horrible situation out at King Wenstarin Farms. Situations in the plural, I should say.”

Belle nodded although she had her doubts. The world of “Biz-y-Buzz” was a long way from the homicide division of NPD. “Well, let’s have a look at it.” This time she did smile, but the expression was indulgent.

Kerr opened the center drawer of his desk as though he expected it to be booby-trapped. With tense fingers he removed a piece of graph paper and walked it over to Belle who perused it, sat bolt upright, and dropped her fatuous grin.

“Well, I have to admit, it does look like the same handwriting as the other three . . .”

“Ah-ha, I thought I was on to something!”

“We’ll need to get this copied, Bartholomew. If I’m correct and it’s the same constructor who did the others, then it may fall into the category of evidence.”

“I anticipated as much,
mia Bella.
” He reached into the drawer again, retrieved a Xerox of the original, and with a smug and seraphic smile handed it to Belle.

She didn’t respond; instead, she leaned toward Kerr’s jar of pens, grabbed one, and began filling in the grid. When she was almost half finished she said, “Do you have Abe Jones’s telephone number at the NPD forensics lab?”

“Oh, please dear girl, I have everyone’s phone number.”

“Silly me. Of course you do. Abe has the three previous puzzles on file. Could you ask him to fax them over? And while you have him on the line, see if he’s authenticated the handwriting of the constructor. The last one was found in Jack Curry’s pocket.”

“Oooohhh . . .
The Case of the Puzzling Corpse.
”

“There’s no evidence he created it, however. And besides, you just received this.”

“A plant, then! I amend my offering to
The Case of the Killer Creator.
”

“Do you want me to solve the clues or gab?” Belle chuckled.

“Oh, solve, solve . . . resolve, absolve, dissolve . . . I will turn mum as a mummy. I need to
curry
favor with you, after all,
Bellisima.
”

“You’re incorrigible, Bartholomew.” Belle laughed again and went back to work. By the time she’d completed the puzzle the fax had arrived with a note reading,
Handwriting as yet unconfirmed. Keep us posted. We’re here late today. Surprise. Surprise.

“Jack Curry . . .” Kerr uttered as he paced the room. “One would not have thought he had the brains required for these lexical leaps, but if he
is
your mystery constructor—or
was
—then I’ll be forced to eat my inky words.” Bartholomew peered at the puzzle.

“There’s a structural problem with this one, too,” she said. “But I guess this is no time to nitpick over details.”

“What problem?”

Belle pointed at the paper. “Well, you see how the crossword is broken into three sections . . . and there are no interconnecting words that flow from the center section to this part in the upper left, or to lower right? That type of flaw is a big no-no in the puzzle world.”

“Perhaps the mistake was done on purpose?”

“Not likely. The other puzzles had problems, as well. But what’s interesting is that the constructor dropped the Chip and Angel business favored in the other puzzles and is now focusing on Ryan and Kelly; albeit Robert RYAN and Grace KELLY . . . but the fact that the film titles associated with each actor are DEAD OR ALIVE and HIGH SOCIETY seems more than a simple coincidence.” Belle stood and spread the crosswords across Kerr’s desk. He positioned himself beside her.

“Well, we know RYAN certainly didn’t murder anyone,” he said. “Unless she did it from the grave. Which, given her personality, seems entirely possible.”

“No, no, Rosco and I believe these cryptics may have nothing to do with King Wenstarin Farms. We think they could be related to another case Rosco’s been working on that might have involved Chip Collins and his girlfriend, Angel.”

Kerr’s ears instinctively perked up. “And what
case
might that be? It’s not polite to keep secrets from your close friends, dear one.”

“You know I can’t tell you about any of Rosco’s investigations, Bartholomew,” Belle said with a smile. “So don’t even ask.”

“Well, you have all the evidence spread out before me, in my own office, and on my own desk, I might add. I can hardly see any purpose in keeping me in the dark.”

Belle attempted to backtrack by saying, “I’m afraid to disappoint you, but it has nothing to do with the society set.”

“Really? Well, if Grace KELLY wasn’t HIGH SOCIETY, I don’t know who was. And Chip Collins is as social as you’re going to get in Newcastle. So let’s go, lady, out with it.”

Belle scanned the four puzzles quickly; other than the single mention of WALT Disney in the “To Catch a Thief ” puzzle, there were no other possible references to Walter Gudgeon.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll fill you in on what we’ve been working on, but I can’t mention the name of Rosco’s client. Understood?”

“Please, do go on, my dear. And out of respect to that fine man you’re married to, I promise not to mention a word of what you say, even if ‘Biz-y-Buzz’ figures out who’s at the center of it all . . . my lips are sealed.”

Belle proceeded to tell Kerr the entire Gudgeon story, being extra careful to omit his name. When she’d finished he observed a pragmatic, “Well. There’s no fool like an old fool. A terrible tale, but one that occurs more often than you might think—and all across the country.” He removed his enormous glasses and wiped them with a linen handkerchief that was as large as one of the formal dinner napkins favored at Sara’s showy table.

“You’d be surprised,
Bellisima
, how often this sordid sort of thing happens within the social set. After all, who has an excess of lucre? And who is most afraid of having the nasty tales displayed on the front pages of their local rags? Which is why these con
artistes
so often amble away scot-free. What’s a quarter of a million dollars if it keeps your name from being bandied about in coarse and malicious whispers?”

Belle sat up in her seat. “Are you saying this has happened before in Newcastle? Because I’m afraid this Dawn person is setting her sights on Sara.”

Kerr raised his hands high over his head. “I confess I know of no other similar confidence games being perpetrated on the Newcastle uppercrust. Although when I was vacationing in Palm Beach three years ago all the hubbub revolved around a mess that was nearly the carbon copy of the one you have described. Right down to the supposed kidney transplant. In fact, the mark was a horse person, and the dollar figure was the same: $250,000.”

“But Rosco’s client isn’t a horse person—”

“I was merely looking for parallels, dearest.” Kerr sighed. “This elderly gent in Florida—unlike your nameless pal—was more than anxious to see justice done. I suppose it was because he had no children to embarrass. He was an irascible old-timer set on revenge with a capital
R
, and he could have cared less who knew it. Stuart Stewart. What a name. He made quite a cause célèbre of his missteps. Alas, it seems that in Florida the con-gal assumed the identity of an innocent local; when the authorities untangled the muddle and chased after the true perpetrator, they vanished into thin air. Naturally, before an arrest could be made. Apparently, she’d worked the scheme in other locales across the country.”