Puzzled to Death (9 page)

“I thought the neighbor saw the mystery guest arrive. So why didn’t she see Joey Vale?”

“Oh, but she did. What she saw was Joey Vale
arriving
. She says she went to sleep right after that. Joey Vale arrived and killed his wife. The witness, Mrs. Roth, went to bed and missed seeing Joey Vale leave, and she missed seeing the mystery guest arrive and leave, either in frustration or in a panic, depending on whether the door was locked or open, take your pick.”

“I don’t like it,” Sherry said.

“Why not?”

“It’s a horrible timetable. You’re assuming this guy’s smart enough to kill his wife and give himself an alibi—well, look at the huge risks he takes. He could be seen driving away from the bar. He could be seen driving back. He could be seen driving along the road. And when he
gets home and sees the light out—if he’s any smart at all—he’ll figure it’s off because his wife’s lover’s coming. In fact, that would have to be part of his plan, because if the light was
on
, he should know he would be seen by Mrs. Roth going into his house. So he’s gotta
plan
on the light being out. He knows the man’s coming, but he can’t know when, so here’s someone who could catch him in the act of killing his wife. It’s just a very bad bet.”

“Yeah, but it’s
possible,
” Cora insisted. “And the police let Joey go on the grounds it wasn’t possible.”

“Uh-huh,” Sherry said, unimpressed. “You got any theories that don’t involve such strict timetables?”

“Sure. Joey comes home, has a brouhaha with his wife. Pastes her one, knocks her unconscious. While she’s out cold, he trusses her up like a chicken, gags her, stuffs her in a sack, sticks her in the trunk of his car. Drives to the Rainbow Room and shoots pool. Sometime between nine and eleven he slips out to the parking lot, pops the trunk, croaks his wife, goes back inside, and shoots pool for the rest of the night.”

“And no one saw him lug her body in and out?”

“Dark when he leaves, dark when he comes back. Works for me.”

“I’m not sure it will work for Chief Harper,” Sherry observed.

“Never fear. I wouldn’t try to sell the chief on anything unless I had more to go on.” Cora chugged down the rest of her coffee, put the cup on the table, exhaled happily. “Well, it’s certainly been a productive night.” She looked at Sherry and repeated smugly, “Glowing.”

“I
DON’T SEE WHY YOU DON’T WANT TO DEMONSTRATE,
” Harvey Beerbaum said peevishly. Harvey had come up with the bright idea that during the Friday-night festivities to kick off the tournament, he and Cora would demonstrate the art of crossword-puzzle construction by creating a puzzle on the spot in front of everyone. “It would be such fun. And we’d take turns. You’d add a word, I’d add a word, you’d add a word. Of course we could try to trip each other up.”

Cora Felton, who could no more construct a crossword puzzle than she could a suspension bridge, would have loved to trip Harvey Beerbaum up there and then—physically, forcefully, and right on his erudite rump. “Fun for us, maybe, but for the participants? Boring, boring, boring. They don’t want a lecture, they want to
play
. I thought Friday night was going to be fun.”

“It is, it is,” Harvey said. “I merely thought we could take ten minutes out to construct an uncomplicated puzzle.”

Cora avoided looking at Sherry Carter, who was among those in attendance at the town hall for the tournament committee meeting, played instead to Iris Cooper. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that this convention shouldn’t be to glorify
us
. Now, the celebrities are another matter. Some of them are constructors, aren’t they? How about getting them to donate a puzzle?”

Harvey Beerbaum frowned, but Iris Cooper said, “That’s not a bad idea. We introduce it as a fun puzzle from the pros to do as a warm-up.”

“Are you sure this tournament is even happening?” a committee member put in dubiously. “I heard a rumor the police were going to close us down. On account of the killing, I mean.”

“Well, they’re not going to,” Iris Cooper declared. “We’ve already taken in our entrance fees. We’ve got a nice chunk of money to give to charity.” She cleared her throat. “And as far as the charity’s concerned, I looked into the Children’s Placement Fund. They’re a dedicated group of concerned citizens, and they do good work. And we’re damn proud to be giving money to them, and that is our official position. I note this morning the pickets are gone. I assume that is a side effect of yesterday’s unfortunate tragedy. Not that I want to profit from that poor woman’s death, but I would hope the pickets are still gone tomorrow when everyone arrives. Now, let’s see how our committees have worked out.”

As Iris Cooper began to deal with the committee members, Cora Felton stole out into the audience and slipped into the chair next to Sherry.

“He’s on to me!” Cora hissed it out of the side of her mouth like a gangster.

“What in the world are you talking about?” Sherry said.

“Beerbaum. Weren’t you listening? His little demonstration? I told you so. He’s trying to show me up.”

“No, he’s not. Didn’t you see how fast he dropped the idea?”

“Only because I suggested the celebrities donate puzzles. Well, that’s fine for now. What if I can’t come up with a bright idea next time?”

“Cool it. We got company,” Sherry warned.

Chief Harper slid into the seat next to Cora.

“What are you doing here?” Cora asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve solved the crime?”

“No, I haven’t. And just where were you last night?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Chief Harper mimicked. “You can wipe that innocent smirk off your face. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Tell me, did you have a nice time at the Rainbow Room last night?”

“Their drinks are a little skimpy.”

“Is that so? By any chance do you recall a conversation we had a little earlier in the day?”

“What conversation might that be?”

“The one where I told you to butt out of my case.”

“Oh, I doubt if you phrased it like that, Chief. I’ve always found you to be a perfect gentleman.”

“That assessment may change,” Chief Harper said sourly. “Didn’t I tell you in no uncertain terms to keep your nose out of the Judy Vale murder?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Well, perhaps your niece will bear me out here. She happened to be party to the conversation. Miss Carter, would you care to refresh your aunt’s recollection?”

Sherry smiled. “I would if I thought it would do any good. But I’m afraid you’re about to take one on the chin, Chief.”

Chief Harper frowned. “What’s she talking about?” he demanded of Cora.

Cora shrugged. “You bawled me out for going to Joey Vale’s house, so I promised to stay away from the crime scene. But that’s
all
I promised.”

“You knew very well what I meant.”

“Intent is tough to prove. Even in a court of law. When it’s your
own
intent—or what’s worse, when it’s someone’s
perception
of your intent—”

“Spare me,” Chief Harper snapped. “Anyway, I trust you got nowhere. Other than confirming Joey Vale’s alibi.”

“On the contrary,” Cora said cheerfully. “I came up with several ways Joey Vale could have committed the crime.”

“Aunt Cora …” Sherry warned, but Cora waved her away and proceeded to tell Chief Harper the theories she’d outlined for her niece the night before.

As he listened, Chief Harper’s scowl became a glower. “Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. Did you read that in some mystery book? That’s the only place that kind of thing happens, in mystery books. No one runs around killing people like that in real life.”

“Why not?”

Chief Harper snorted. “Because nobody
thinks
like that. You’d have to have the most twisted brain imaginable just to come up with such a convoluted scheme.
I think I’ll kill my wife, stick her in the freezer, and go shoot pool
. Wonderful. Could we come back to planet earth?”

“How about strangling her in the trunk of the car?”

“How about it?” Chief Harper scoffed. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? This is not some suave murderer here. This is Joey Vale, used to popping his wife one when she gets out of line. And don’t you dare
quote me on that. The point is, is there any way Joey Vale comes up with one of these schemes? No, he kills her and tells some clumsy lie, doesn’t stand up ten minutes when we start asking him questions.”

“I thought his lawyer wouldn’t let him answer any questions.”

“Yeah, but we had him a while before he asked for a lawyer. And his story isn’t the sophisticated alibi you lay out, it’s a moronic fabrication that wouldn’t stand up even if he
hadn’t
been seen breaking the lock on his kitchen door. Which is bad for him in one way, and good in another. Where it’s good is, when it turns out he has an alibi, it’s because he
has
an alibi. Not because he contrived to make it
look
like he had an alibi through some cockamamie scheme. You see what I mean?”

“Your logic is a trifle convoluted. Still, I get the fundamental idea.”

“Do you? Good. Then you see where I’m at. Joey Vale is innocent. Which means I’m back to square one without a clue who could have killed this woman.”

“What did she look like?” Cora asked.

Chief Harper blinked. “What?”

“Well, this picture in the paper …” Cora dug into her purse, pulled out a copy of the
Bakerhaven Gazette
, and flipped it open.
HOUSEWIFE MURDERED
screamed from the front page. The photograph under the headline showed a young woman without a blemish, every hair in place, smiling for the camera. “Look at this picture of Judy Vale. She looks eighteen years old.”

“She is,” Chief Harper said. “It’s a yearbook photo.”

“Why?”

“Her husband’s not cooperating, and the
Gazette
couldn’t get anything else.”

“How old was she? When she died, I mean?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“You wouldn’t know it from this. Maybe I should see the body—”

“No, you
shouldn’t
see the body,” Chief Harper snarled in exasperation. “I didn’t come here to facilitate your investigation. I came here to
stop
your investigation. I got a murder case to solve. I got this stupid tournament starting tomorrow, which I don’t like, but I don’t wanna call it off and make waves. I just want it run smoothly.” He stabbed a finger at Cora. “
That’s
your job. Keep everybody distracted, play down the murder, bring this puzzle event off without a hitch.”

Cora Felton looked like she’d been told to gargle gasoline. “And what will
you
be doing while I’m doing this?”

“I’ll be working on the murder case.”

“Got any leads?”

Chief Harper grimaced. “What I’ve been trying to impress on you is that’s not your concern.”

“Gotta like the husband. I just showed you why you shouldn’t cross him off.”

“I just told you why I should.”

“He’s still your chief suspect,” Cora persisted. “Say he’s
not
bright enough to manufacture an alibi. Say he just
lucks
into it.”

“All your theories involved sticking her into a refrigerator, or tying her up in a car trunk. You mind telling me how he
lucks
into that?”

“He doesn’t luck into that. He lucks into doctor what’s-his-face blowing the autopsy. Which frankly wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

“How could he blow the time of death as much as that?”

“Easy,” Cora replied, “if he’s basing it on body temperature. Your quack’s assuming her body temperature at
time of death was ninety-eight point six. Suppose it wasn’t. Suppose she was running a fever. Say the body temperature at time of death was a hundred and
one
point six. Three degrees higher. Since the body cools at a rate of a degree and a half per hour, three degrees would throw the time of death off by two hours. So instead of between nine and eleven, the possible time of death would be between seven and nine.
While
her husband was still home. Joey throttles her, then goes off to the bar to shoot pool to give himself an alibi, because he’s too stupid to know the doctor will be able to tell when she was actually whacked. He lucks into the fact she had a fever. So, lo and behold, the stupid alibi that shouldn’t hold up suddenly turns out to be valid.”

Cora smiled. “But, hey, don’t let me sell you anything, Chief. You go right ahead and solve your murder. I’ve got a tournament to run.”