A Crossworder's Delight by Nero Blanc Page A

…?”
    â€œDone what?” It was the Reaseys turn to arrive on the scene, and they also looked at the returned artwork with genuine surprise. “Well, my goodness, Ruthie baby …”
    â€œThe Marz twins have played a most entertaining hoax upon us,” Mrs. Towbler told them.
    â€œBut I didn’t—” Mitchell began as Miss Cadburrie quickly interrupted him.
    â€œHow do you know it was a hoax?” she demanded.
    Mrs. Towbler gave the ill-tempered woman her sweetest and most condescending smile. “Whatever else could it have been, my dear lady, except a divertisement intended to enliven our visit? Something that’s stolen doesn’t magically reappear, does it? At least, at home that’s not how cases of larceny work; a family heirloom is purloined, and that’s the last one sees of it. Clearly, we were intended to solve “The Mystery of the Missing Manuscript” over dinner last night, and we all failed the test miserably.” She laughed. “I must fetch my husband … and Mr. Heath, as well. Poor man, he was such a nervous wreck, yesterday—”
    â€œBarry Heath told us he never gets up before ten,” was Miss Cadburrie’s chilly response, although Mrs. Towbler had already sailed from the room.

Fourteen
    S O that’s it? The missing poem was nothing but a prank?” Belle asked Rosco as she took careful aim, tossing a stick for Kit and Gabby to chase across the snowy grounds of the “dog park”—what had once been the spacious seaside lawns of the long-defunct Dew Drop Inn and that now served as a dog-run, toboggan-slalom, kite-flying arena, and all-around good-time gathering spot.
    Rosco automatically ducked as the gnarled piece of wood took to the skies. If their years together had taught him only one thing about his wife, it was that she couldn’t throw worth a darn. The stick was liable to go backward, straight up in the air, veer heavily to the right while she was facing left, or plop down a mere six feet in front of her. “Tricks” only a dog could love; anyone else would be best advised to wear protective head gear.
    â€œLongfellow makes a surprise reappearance,” Belle continued, “the guests disperse with smiles on their faces and a charming tale to tell to their neighbors. Ditto the decorators. Kind of a tempest in a teapot—or in this case, an antique Paul Revere tankard. If I hadn’t seen for myself how concerned Mitchell Marz was, I’d wonder whether the entire scenario had been part of a publicity stunt.…” She gave Rosco a wry smile. “You don’t have to duck, you know.”
    â€œI do if I don’t want to be beaned in the noggin.”
    â€œHas one of my throws ever bopped you in the head?” she demanded in shocked surprise.
    â€œYou want me to answer that leading question for you, Poly-crates?” Al asked as he ambled through the snow to join the couple. With Al was Skippy, the butterscotch-colored labrador-shepherd-and-who-knew-what-else former stray who was the canine light of the homicide detective’s life.
    â€œBe my guest, Al.”
    Lever looked at Belle, and, as always, chickened out from voicing anything remotely resembling criticism. In his opinion, marrying the crossword editor was the best thing his former partner had ever done. “You see, Belle, we’re all good at something.… Your skill happens to be with words, whereas your hubby and I … well, let’s just say we’re more adept with the old sticks and stones.”
    Belle gave him a sardonic glance. “‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me’? Is that your inference?”
    â€œI was thinking, ‘The pen is mightier than the sword’ kind of thing,” was Al’s quick retort.
    â€œFlatterer,” Belle laughed while Rosco shook his head.
    â€œTalk softly and toss a big stick?” Rosco