A Crossworder's Holiday by Nero Blanc Page B

though.”
    â€œAnd Keegan’s going to supply it?”
    â€œHe’s the one who called them in. He’s got to.”
    Belle pushed her bowl aside and stood. “I’m feeling really crummy. I’m going to get into bed.” She crossed the room, removed her robe, slid under the covers, then lifted the photocopy of Freddie’s puzzle and began studying it afresh. “ Mum’s the Word … There has to be more to this. I must be missing something.”
    Rosco popped his last French fry into his mouth, finished his glass of wine, doffed his clothes, and slid in beside Belle.
    â€œDid any of these names mean anything to Jack or the DA?” Belle asked as she stared at the puzzle. “WOODY? JOEL? IRA?”
    â€œWe scanned the entire list of marchers. Every person in the parade needs to be registered with a group. There were three Iras and seven Joels … No Woodys—unless you consider the nicknames of the clarinet players. Keegan contacted everyone he could think of. None admitted any mob connections.”
    Belle continued to focus on the puzzle. “What about a woman? I see PAM and AVA here.”
    â€œIt seems that not too many women participate in the parade, but Jack checked those names out too. Three Pams … No Avas.”
    â€œYou know, I keep coming back to this business at 8-Down: ‘ X marks THE SPOT.’ Don’t you think that should mean something?”
    Rosco leaned into her to get a closer look at the crossword. Their bodies were now touching from head to toe. “This is kind of nice,” he said. “Too bad you’re so sick.”
    â€œI’m not all that sick.” She placed the crossword on the nightstand.
    He kissed her neck. “So much for Keegan and Dixon.”
    â€œWho’s Dixon?”
    â€œThe DA … Pete Dixon. The guy I’ve been talking about; the guy who prosecuted Sonny Pancakes.”
    Belle sat bolt upright. “You never told me his name was Dixon.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo? What’s the middle letter in his name?”
    â€œX?”
    Rosco jumped out of bed, yanked Jack Keegan’s business card out of his jacket, and punched his cell phone number into the telephone. It was the stroke of midnight and the agent had gone to the riverfront to watch the fireworks.
    â€œWhat are you doing down there?” Rosco asked.
    â€œWhat?” The explosions were so extreme, he could barely hear a word Rosco was saying.
    â€œI expected you to be at home,” Rosco shouted into the phone.
    â€œI find the noise relaxing … like the pistol range.”
    â€œListen …‘ X marks THE SPOT!’ ‘ X marks THE SPOT’! Dixon has an X in his name. It’s Dixon they’re after.”
    Keegan was quiet for a moment. Rosco wasn’t sure if the agent had heard the warning, or was considering a plan of action. Eventually he said, “Sure … Sure, that’s got to be it.”
    â€œNow all you need is the WHEN. ”
    â€œI think that one’s obvious … I’ll suit up in a costume too, and walk the route with Pete … Get other available personnel out there … We’ll be ready for this character no matter when he makes his move.”
    â€œDo you need me?”
    â€œNo. We can cover it. Besides, something tells me you might not be all that keen about putting on a satin dress and strutting down Market Street with a parasol pretending to be a wench—”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œYou heard right … another part of the tradition. Someone told me it started in Elizabethan England … guys in frilly party dresses and blond braids. Let me tell ya, it makes quite a sight in the men’s room … Now, get some sleep, Rosco. Watch the Mummers on TV … Tell Belle to feel better. And thanks …”
    â€œMummers …” Belle murmured as they turned out the light. “Mummery … mum … keep