The Crossword Connection (26 page)

Jones saluted again. “Aye, aye, ma'am.” He turned to leave, but Sara stopped him.

“Mr. Jones,” she said, placing her feet squarely in front of her and causing her spine to stretch even straighter, “I don't know if anyone has thanked you properly for all of your hard work. Clearly, this wonderful day would not have arrived so peacefully if it weren't for your dedication.”

“Thank you. It's nice of you to say that, Mrs. Briephs. I only wish I could have narrowed down a few things earlier, like the fact that the mud was from Vermont, and it was a pickup truck those two hired thugs spotted in the alley last Thursday. Sharon had marble slabs, not to mention a body, in her truck bed; and the extra weight produced the tire marks I mistook for an SUV, which cost us a day or two. Of course, Rosco shouldn't have gone up to Vermont without telling anyone—”

“Or wasted time pursuing that hideous Gus character,” Sara interjected.

“But without Gus and his crosswords, our investigation wouldn't have circled back to the homeless shelter and the connection between the two homicides,” Abe added.

Belle smiled a glowing bridal smile. “All's well that ends well.”

“I hope you will also learn a modicum of skepticism from this experience, young lady,” announced Sara. “There are others in the world like Zachary Taylor. Many, I would imagine.”

Belle was about to protest, when the
Akbar
's engines died to an idle, and the string quartet on the aft deck abruptly stopped their rendition of Brahms's Opus 51.

“This must be the spot,” Abe said nervously. “I'd better get these rings to
Albert
.” He looked at Belle. “Do you know your cue?”

“Relax, Abe, everything's going to be fine.”

“Right … well …
buona fortuna!”

Sara stood as Abe hurried out the door. “It looks as if some of Captain Lancia's charm has rubbed off on all concerned. Now, dear, would you like me to leave first or walk to the aft with you?”

“I'd like you to walk with me, Sara. You're giving the bride away, remember?”

Sara was silent a moment. “Are you sorry your father isn't here?”

“I have you,” Belle answered.

Sara's blue eyes dulled with passing tears. Finally she spoke. “My son Thompson would have been happy to know of our friendship.…”

Belle slipped her arm in Sara's just as the quartet began playing “Un Bel Di” from Puccini's
Madama Butterfly.
“I believe that might be our cue.”

They stepped from the stateroom, walked through the main salon, and emerged into the bright May sunshine. Rosco was waiting on the fantail with Lever, Jones, and thirty-some guests and family, including Effie, who wore pink patent leather shoes to match her pink organza dress and who seemed almost to levitate with excitement and joy.

Belle started down the improvised aisle, while Kit, who was lying beside Rosco's left foot, remained asleep and wholly oblivious to the fact that this day might be different from any other in the life of a dog.

IN FOR A PENNY, IN FOR A POUND

Across

1.  Vegas opener?

4.  Lyric ending, part 1

11.  Agathe or Anne; abbr.

14.  Mr. Jones

15.  Baltimore nine

16.  Cereal grain

17.  Type of wind or will

18.  Most expansive

19.  Cpl. or sgt.

20.  Try another magazine?

22.  Prod

24.  Three Dog Night hit

25.  Fuss

28.  Berkshire race village

31.  Lyric ending, part 2

35.  Roman god

36.  Actor Ty

38.  Lean

39.  Kalihi——, Hawaii

40.  Mr. Yale

41.  Back muscle

43.  Born

44.  Directional suffixes

46.  Payment method

48.  Ms. Peron

49.  Penner of lyric

51.  Mr. Zimbalist

53.  Donald's girl

54.  Wise guy?

55.  Stuns

58.  Prairie wolf

62.  Wedding vow

63.  More teary

68.  Type of iron

69.  The big boys

70.  Type of fiber, path, or disc

71.  Baseball stat.

72.  Legal ending

73.  Lyric ending, part 4

74.  Mr. Beatty

Down

1.  Den

2.  Ready, willing, &——

3.  Hawk

4.  Show featuring lyric

5.  Swap

6.  Letter opener?

7.  Diary

8.  Corrida cry

9.  Part of MV

10.  Regard highly

11.  Theme of this puzzle, e.g.

12.  It may be soft or hard

13.  Jacket type

21.  Tic-tac-toe winner

23.  Pest

25.  Scholarly letters

26.  Berate

27.  Lab burners

28.  Awry

29.  Flies high

30.  Adhere

31.  Trios

32.  NL home run champ, 1946–1952

33.  French student

34.  Type of iron

37.  Excuse

42.  Lyric ending, part 3

45.  North or South of Chicago

47.  Weep

50.  So. Cal. problem

52.  Scoot

54.  Expanse

55.  FDR or Liberty

56.  Summer drinks

57.  Type of defense

58.  Golf tournament

59.  Exhaust

60.  Mild oath

64.  Stock birth? abbr.

65.  Orchestra sec.

66.  Ensenada uncle

67.  Hosp. section

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
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CHAPTER 1

“Oh, yes, ma'am … On this train? Are you kidding? I've seen just about everything that can come down the tracks … No pun intended …” John Markoe turned his hefty frame sideways, allowing a lanky and large-footed teenager in a Celtics' tank top to pass. The narrow center aisle of the Amtrak car hadn't been designed for people of John's girth, and the act of twisting his body sideways had little effect on how much space he consumed.

“Yes, ma'am,” he continued after the teen had squeezed by, “I've been a conductor on this Northeast Corridor run for twenty-three years now, and nothing surprises me anymore. Back in 'ninety-seven a woman gave birth to triplets … Just after we pulled out of New Haven. We had to clear the club car for her. Lucky we had a doctor on board or I guess I would've had to do the honors myself—”

“I think I read about that in the newspaper …” the woman chimed in. Her hair was dyed an aggressive ebony color, and her journey had been spent in detailing her life story to all and sundry until she'd worn out every ear around her. The conductor was her final target, but he was proving as voluble as she:

“… I make it a habit to read both the local paper and the Boston—”

“Yes, ma'am … Big news. Right on election day, too—”

The woman opened her mouth, but the conductor continued without pausing for breath:

“Stole the headlines in the Boston papers right out from under the pres-eee-dent-eee-lect.” John Markoe wheezed slightly. “But it's something crazy on nearly every run. There's always some freeloader trying to get a complimentary ride; you know, beat the fare by complaining about this or that? Or trying to hide in the can … And, of course, we get the pickpockets and the wierdies. But if you've been working for this line as long as I have, you develop a nose for them, a kind of sixth sense … Oh, yes, and an engine slammed into a pickup truck once, and a cow another time … That was about fifteen years ago. No cows around these parts anymore … Winter it was when that particular event took place. Remember when we had three major blizzards in as many years? Ninety-three inches in total?”

The slowing of the engine returned John's thoughts to the job at hand. He checked his watch. “Yes in-deed-dee, right on time … Early, actually … Yes, ma'am, nothing surprises me anymore.”

“Is this Boston already?” the woman asked. “I'm visiting my son up there, you know. He's a doc—” She was about to say more, but again John curtailed her speech.

“Oh, no, ma'am. This next station stop will be Newcastle, Massachusetts. Boston won't be for another thirty minutes or so, so you can relax.”

“I've never visited Newcastle, but I've heard that the city is quite a—”

“A pleasure to be of service, ma'am.” John Markoe turned to face the front of the train, raised his voice, and barked to the carload of passengers, “Newcastle! Newcastle! Our next station stop will be Newcastle, Massachusetts. This way out, please!”

He strolled along the aisle, pulling Newcastle ticket stubs from the metal clips that adorned the overhead luggage racks, all the while announcing: “Please use the rear door out, folks. The front door will not open at this station stop. I repeat: The front door will not open at this station.”

The train began chugging to a crawl, allowing passengers on the harbor-front side of the cars a sweeping view of the river and distant bay that led down into the Atlantic Ocean. Fishing boats, oceangoing tugs, and pleasure craft bobbed in water now suddenly grown dark and squally while the sky was turning equally black and ominous with rain.

A smattering of warning drops flung themselves against the windows as passengers waiting to detrain began grabbing bags, suitcases, children, and attaché cases as they rushed to avoid what seemed an imminent deluge.

“Take your time, folks! Take your time! No one's going to leave without you!”

Those still seated on the station side of the track watched the massive brick edifice loom into view. Designed by H. H. Richardson, the master of midnineteenth-century baroque-revival architecture, the hulking station house had the peculiar distinction of affording shelter only to southbound passengers. Those disembarking on the northbound, shoreward lane had to stand beside the track and wait until every rail car departed for Boston before crossing to the twin-turreted and multidormered building. Rain and snow—neither one a rarity in New England—often made the transition to the dry comfort of the interior waiting room a trial.

“This way out, folks! Taxis are across the platform at the station. Seating areas across the platform.” John opened the coach's sliding door and lowered the metal steps to meet the wooden platform. A group of fifteen or twenty passengers, luggage in hand, waited anxiously to board. The wind had begun whipping around them, forcing several to lunge for summer hats, and several more to brace themselves against the sudden blasts.

“Please stand back, folks,” John ordered in his stentorian tone. “Let's let the arrivals off, shall we? No one's going anywhere without you!”

The sky was now inky, and those gathered to entrain so tightly clustered that the new arrivals could hardly fight their way down onto the platform.

“Folks! Folks! A little elbowroom …! Let the passengers through! Boston! Boston! Plenty of seats to your right.”

Boarding finished, the conductor lugged his weighty body back up the steps, waved to the engineer, and shut the sliding door. Within a minute the train was rolling again, and the rain already driving at the hurrying metal and glass. Those seated nearest the windows drew back reflexively as if the storm were capable of entering the carriage. Overhead reading lights flickered on, and a sudden sizzle of lightning rent the sky.

“Oh my,” said the chatty lady to the group in general. “I hope we all brought umbrellas.”

Positioning himself at the rear of the car, John pulled his punch from his belt and called out the familiar, “Tickets. Tickets, please. The next station stop will be Back Bay Boston. Boston, Massachusetts, next station stop. All doors open in Boston … Tickets, please.”

He worked his way down the aisle, removing Boston-bound stubs from the overhead as he inspected and punched the tickets of the passengers who had boarded in Newcastle.