The Crossword Connection (10 page)

Lever didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he stubbed out his cigarette in a glass petri dish that had been designated as morgue ashtray. “I'm trying to make a connection here, Carlyle. Are we looking at a serial situation? Someone who's stalking individuals bedded down on the streets for the night? Both cases involved blows to the head—”

“Who knows? Speculating on motive and method isn't my field. But you get two people without ID turning up dead in deserted areas of Newcastle on two consecutive days.… If you and your boys don't make the connection, you can bet the newspapers will.… But, hey, why not ask Polycrates? I'll bet he has plenty of thoughts on the subject … for what they're worth.” True to form, Carlyle had grown truculent in a second. He resumed concentrating on the body lying on the table.

“Time of death?”

Carlyle's ghoulish smile flickered to life. “Well, that's another tricky issue, Lever. Algor mortis? Usually we're talking a drop of—give or take—one degree Celsius per hour—”

Lever interrupted, “English, please, Carlyle.”

“A body cools down at a fairly predictable rate. Around here, this time of year, we can count on about two degrees
Fahrenheit
an hour.”

“And …?”

“Well, this gal was stone cold when I arrived at the bus station, which confused me somewhat. Obviously, rigor mortis had come and gone. I suppose I should have picked that up at the scene, but I was fooled by the date on the
Sentinel …
which, I think we all were.…” Again, his eyes darted around the room but avoided Lever. “My point being: this lady was dead long before that newspaper you found under her head was ever printed.”

“What?!”

“Jones said the daily
Sentinel
rolls into town at four … five
A.M.,
correct?”

Lever nodded.

“Jane Doe here was discovered Saturday morning, with her head resting on
Saturday's
paper, but my calculations now put her death thirty-six to forty-eight hours earlier, maybe longer. Rigor mortis sets in after about six hours, disappears usually in thirty. My tissue analysis revealed a presence of adipocere; it's a substance that's formed during the decomposition of the body, and—”

“But then how did the Saturday
Sentinel
get—?”

“I'm just the ME, Lieutenant. I ain't no detective, but common sense says Miss Doe didn't die behind the bus station.… She was kept on ice for a while and dumped there.”

When Belle's doorbell rang, she was in the process of scooping the last remaining tablespoonful of a whipped mayonnaise and egg yolk filling from a red glass bowl and sliding it into a twelfth hard-boiled egg white. She called out, “Just be a minute,” as she licked the mixture from her fingertips and smiled at her handiwork: a dozen perfect deviled eggs. Who could ask for a more glorious luncheon? She crossed to the kitchen sink, rinsed off her hands, and walked to her front door, happily flicking a dish towel as she went.

“Sorry,” she said, opening the paneled outer door, “I was cooking … well, not really cooking, but—”

There was no one there.

Belle undid the latch on her screen door and peered across an empty porch toward the street. Not a soul was in sight; not a person strolling by, not a car, not a truck, only three robins diligently scratching for worms in her front yard.

“Hello …?” she called. “Hello?”

She stepped out onto the porch and almost fell over a long white flower box extravagantly beribboned in blue and cream. It was a package that shouted,
A dozen long-stem roses.

Belle bent down, lifted the box into her arms, and removed the greeting card from its miniature envelope. It
read, “For Belle, from a Secret Admirer.”

“Rosco?” she called. “Rosco …? I made deviled eggs.” With no response, she raised her voice. “You're going to get hungry lurking around in the shrubbery!”

Again, she was greeted by absolute silence. Belle chuckled. “You're a swell guy!” she sang out. “And one terrific fiancé! I'm leaving the door open just in case you turn peckish.”

Humming to herself, she walked back inside with her prize. “Hmmm, feels a little light,” she murmured as she reentered the kitchen, set the box on the counter, and then noted with dismay that the white cardboard had been nicked in several places as if badly jostled in delivery.
I hope the flowers are okay,
she thought as she carefully slid the ribbon aside and pulled off the lid. Nestled in a bed of green tissue paper lay neither rose nor spray of lilac nor exotic orchid stem. What she found instead was a neatly hand-drawn crossword puzzle.

Belle shook her head and smiled afresh. “Another of Rosco's romantic inventions … although I think I would have preferred flowers.”

JUST THE BEGINNING

Across

1.  Room

5.  Mountain——

8.  Peruses

13.  “The——and I”

14.  WWII theater

15.  Possible

16.  Teen tack-on

17.  ——Lanka

18.  Legal excuse

19.  Center of Florida?

21.  Pericles finale

22.  Interrogator

25.  Basil sauce

27.  Shoe size

30.  Neck wreath

31.  Oklahoma town

33.  Kitchen meas.

34.  Deli choice

36.  Made a lap

37.  Chocolate——

38.  Vadim film

41.  Espy

42.  Sgt. Bilko, e.g.

43.  Plowright film

45.  Neth. neighbor

46.  Traveling music?

48.  Fuss

49.  Fool

50.  Certain blades

51.  “Psycho III,” e.g.

53.  Seaweed

55.  Ray Lawrence film

57.  “The——Thief,” Nichetti comedy

59.  Tic-tac-toe winner

60.  Char

64.  Hurried

65.  Select

66.  Writer Bombeck

67.  Put in a new lawn

68.  New Zealand parrot

69.  Superman's vision

Down

1.  Alias

2.  Semi

3.  Vane position

4.  Comply

5.  Ancestor, abbr.

6.  Half of an Agnieszka Holland film title

7.  Dramatist's diary

8.  Gat

9.  Bridge position

10.  Seagal film

11.  Sixth-century date

12.  Yen unit

15.  Lumet film

20.  Film trailer

22.  Pacino and others

23.  Construction battalion

24.  Kubrick film

26.  Heap

28.  “Star Trek” division

29.  Sixth sense

32.  O'Toole's film debut

35.  Roger

37.  Rebel org.

39.  Land plot

40.  Oasts

41.  Golfer's org.

44.  Negative conjunction

46.  Like a prison

47.  Leaning

52.  Flynn role

54.  Reverberation

56.  Bit

57.  Second, abbr.

58.  Pool stick

59.  Goof

60.  Med. grp.

61.  Actor Aldo

62.  Med. grp.

63.  Actor Aldo

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

CHAPTER 12

“‘Just the Beginning,'” Belle murmured with an easy smile. “A clever title for a prewedding cryptic.” Unconsciously, she began humming and then singing a show tune from the Broadway musical
Gypsy.
When she reached the climax—and the puzzle's complimentary phrase—she gave a loud, Ethel Merman flourish. “Everything's coming up roses,” she sang out the song's title, then thought, how appropriate! I've got to find out who created this crossword for Rosco. He's being awfully cagey with his little secret.

Completely forgetting the deviled eggs, she hurried into her office with the puzzle, then grabbed her red pen. “Film titles … This is going to be fun.…” She murmured to herself as she worked. “6-Down:
Half of an Agnieszka Holland film title
… The answer is EUROPA; 10-Down's solution is ABOVE THE LAW; 15-Down: DEATH TRAP …” Belle paused. Well-constructed though it was, the crossword was beginning to feel unsettling. 38-Across: BLOOD AND ROSES.

A chill ran down her spine; she put down her pen and stared at the paper before her. Similar and ominous messages appeared at 24-Down and 32-Down. She mouthed silent words while her brain made a quick leap to a frightening conclusion. The puzzle wasn't an ingenious gift from Rosco; it was an angry, perhaps even threatening message, and it had been hand-delivered to her.
DEATH TRAP,
she thought.
BLOOD AND ROSES. KILLER'S KISS … A crossword packed in an empty florist's box.
Belle grabbed the phone and punched in Rosco's number. “Can you meet me at Lawson's?” she said the moment he'd picked up the receiver.

Rosco noticed the tension in her voice instantly; any possible jests about her ritual Sunday time-out died in his throat. “What's wrong?”

“Someone planted a crossword in a flower box and left it on my—” Her voice broke off suddenly. “Oh, jeez! I left the door open!”

“Belle! Wait! What's going on?”

But the line was dead.

“Do me a favor, don't do that to me again, okay? You had me worried sick, Belle. I called right back, but you'd obviously left the phone off the hook. I didn't know what to think.”

Belle stretched her hand across the scarred cherry-pink Formica, which matched every other banquette table at Lawson's coffee shop, and touched Rosco's fingers. The two were facing each other and leaning so far forward their heads nearly met. Between them, a pair of laminated menus lay forgotten.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think. I'd assumed the roses were from you, and that you were outside waiting for me to finish the crossword. Then I started filling in the answers, and I realized …”

Rosco squeezed her hand. “Tell me again what happened. From the beginning.”

She recommenced her tale, inserting every detail she could recall.

Rosco interrupted briefly. “Was there a florist's name attached to the card? Or on the box?”

“I didn't look. I assumed it was a gift from you. It was a white box. Dented and nicked in places … I remember being concerned that the flowers had been damaged.…”

“Go on.”

“I shouldn't have left the door wide open like that.”

Rosco paused before replying; his expression was grim. “No, you shouldn't. You've gotten too much media attention, and we've joked about it, but … Even that headline from the British paper? ‘Cryptics Queen Clues Coppers,' or something like that? To say nothing of the interview in
Personality
magazine. It's definitely the kind of notoriety that could make an unbalanced mind fixate on you …” Rosco didn't finish the thought. Instead, he said, “Let's look at the crossword together. You were talking so fast I didn't take in everything you said.”

“Sit beside me, okay?” Belle's voice was soft.

Rosco attempted a lighthearted retort. “What will Martha say?”

As if she'd been awaiting her cue, the waitress appeared, her blond hairdo lacquered to perfection, her uniform rustling with determination. “Okay, you two lovebirds. Break it up.” Stuck into her frozen tresses was a pencil, which she removed to write their order. “What'll it be?”

“We haven't looked at the menu yet.” Rosco's tone was duly apologetic; Martha was a force to be reckoned with.

She sighed mightily, the underwiring beneath the pink nylon facade creaking and groaning. “I'll get you what you always order. Grilled cheese for my man; French toast for the lady.” She snatched up the menus before either Rosco or Belle had time to reply and bustled off, calling over her shoulder, “Your pal Lever should do something about this city, Rosco. It's a sin when homeless folks are murdered in their sleep. They got enough trouble without waking up dead.”

Belle's worried face relaxed in a wan smile. “Perhaps Al should ask Martha to find the criminals. She obviously knows everything else that's going on in this town.”

“Somehow, I can't picture her and Al working well together.”

Belle chuckled. “Maybe it's imagining that confetti-colored uniform bouncing around in his unmarked brown police car.”

“I don't think the car's the issue.”

Both remained silent for a moment while the diner's congenial Sunday hum circled around them: the eager chatter of children and grandparents, teenage girls giggling in fits and starts, a party of elderly men who finished each other's jokes and stories. There was the clatter of restaurant crockery, the plink of warm spoons, waitresses calling to the fry cook, and the old-fashioned bell above the door that jangled exuberantly at each entrance and exit.

Rosco left his seat and slid in beside Belle. “Do you want to show me the crossword now or wait?”

Without replying, Belle pulled the hand-drawn puzzle from her purse. “‘Just the Beginning,'” she said, pointing to the heading. “I thought it was a wonderful title.” Her finger pointed to thematic clues. “It's film oriented … and very well done: directors, actors, actresses. The clue for the long one at 7-Down is
Dramatist's diary;
the solution is WRITERS NOTEBOOK. 20-Down is
Film trailer,
which is a PROMO, but then look at these solutions.” Belle's hand hovered above the paper. “24-Down … and 32-Down …”