concentrate.”
“It’s all Greek to me.”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
Cora Felton grimaced. Sighed. “Run it by me again.”
Fifteen minutes later, after Sherry Carter had delivered an impromptu lecture on crossword puzzles in general and this puzzle in particular, and Cora Felton had drunk three and a half cups of coffee, Cora said, “Okay, I call up the lawyer, I tell him I solved the puzzle and the solution is courthouse, the long solution for the quarter of the clues we have.”
Cora pushed her glasses down on her nose, peered over them at Sherry. “It is my belief, world-famous cruci-whatchamacallit expert that I am, that the next set of clues will all relate to one of the other long answers. As to what it all means, I have no clue, but the word courthouse is certainly suggestive.” Cora pushed her glasses back up again. “How’m I doin’ so far?”
“Excellent,” Sherry replied. “lie. *s long as you don’t try to pronounce cruciverbalist, he’ll never suspect you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Thank you so much,” Cora said happily. “And since the clue is courthouse, I suggest he meet us at the courthouse, so we can put our heads together and try to come up with the other clues.”
“Fine, but lay off the us,” Sherry said.
“You’re not going?”
“I’ll go, but stop referring to me. You’re the big-deal Puzzle Lady. I’m just the helpful, secretarial person. It’s not we did this, we think that. It’s I solved the puzzle. I have a theory. Look at my solution.”
“I can’t play humble?”
“Humble is tough when you have so much to be humble about.”
“Hey, don’t get nasty,” Cora said.
“And don’t you be silly,” Sherry said. “Your credibility is not high at the moment. I don’t know how much you remember about our trip to the Hurley house, but you happened to accuse the heirs of murdering their aunt. That and the fact you almost did a header into the four-poster bed puts you on rather shaky grounds.”
“Murdering their aunt?”
“Instead of looking at the crossword puzzle, you announced to the world in general that Emma Hurley had been killed. Not the brightest move you could have made.”
Cora Felton pursed her lips. “But not that off-the-wall either, with fifteen million dollars involved.”
Sherry snorted in exasperation. “Aunt Cora. Please. Emma Hurley was a very old lady who died of natural causes. So get murder out of your head and concentrate on the crossword puzzle.”
“But I like murders,” Cora grumbled. “I don’t like crossword puzzles.”
“Do you like money?” Sherry asked.
“Yes, I do.” Cora nodded. “Point well taken. I like this crossword puzzle. Come on. Let’s go call the shyster.”
Harvey Beerbaum seemed nervous. Chief Harper sensed it immediately. Not that he’d had that many murder investigations—he certainly hadn’t—but Chief Harper had been a policeman for years. He had investigated robberies, assaults, traffic accidents, enough to know when witnesses were cooperating fully, and when they were holding something back.
Not that there was anything to withhold. Still it was a homicide. Medical examiner Barney Na
someone had killed him. Someone was guilty.
Could that someone possibly be Harvey Beerbaum?
Chief Harper didn’t think so. Harvey Beerbaum looked more like a computer nerd than a killer. True, some killers were that way. Quiet, loners, kept to themselves. In Harvey Beerbaum’s case, however, Chief Harper just couldn’t see it. Sneaking up behind someone, bashing him on the head … The image of a weapon in the hands of Harvey Beerbaum was laughable.
And yet there was something.
“You saw him in the parking lot?” Chief Harper asked.
“Oh, yes,” Harvey Beerbaum answered. “Quite drunk, and quite obnoxious. I’m sorry Mr. Beasley’s dead, but that’s a fact.”
“What did he do?”
“Hassled the kid on the motorcycle.”
“Daniel Hurley?”
“If
“It’s all Greek to me.”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
Cora Felton grimaced. Sighed. “Run it by me again.”
Fifteen minutes later, after Sherry Carter had delivered an impromptu lecture on crossword puzzles in general and this puzzle in particular, and Cora Felton had drunk three and a half cups of coffee, Cora said, “Okay, I call up the lawyer, I tell him I solved the puzzle and the solution is courthouse, the long solution for the quarter of the clues we have.”
Cora pushed her glasses down on her nose, peered over them at Sherry. “It is my belief, world-famous cruci-whatchamacallit expert that I am, that the next set of clues will all relate to one of the other long answers. As to what it all means, I have no clue, but the word courthouse is certainly suggestive.” Cora pushed her glasses back up again. “How’m I doin’ so far?”
“Excellent,” Sherry replied. “lie. *s long as you don’t try to pronounce cruciverbalist, he’ll never suspect you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Thank you so much,” Cora said happily. “And since the clue is courthouse, I suggest he meet us at the courthouse, so we can put our heads together and try to come up with the other clues.”
“Fine, but lay off the us,” Sherry said.
“You’re not going?”
“I’ll go, but stop referring to me. You’re the big-deal Puzzle Lady. I’m just the helpful, secretarial person. It’s not we did this, we think that. It’s I solved the puzzle. I have a theory. Look at my solution.”
“I can’t play humble?”
“Humble is tough when you have so much to be humble about.”
“Hey, don’t get nasty,” Cora said.
“And don’t you be silly,” Sherry said. “Your credibility is not high at the moment. I don’t know how much you remember about our trip to the Hurley house, but you happened to accuse the heirs of murdering their aunt. That and the fact you almost did a header into the four-poster bed puts you on rather shaky grounds.”
“Murdering their aunt?”
“Instead of looking at the crossword puzzle, you announced to the world in general that Emma Hurley had been killed. Not the brightest move you could have made.”
Cora Felton pursed her lips. “But not that off-the-wall either, with fifteen million dollars involved.”
Sherry snorted in exasperation. “Aunt Cora. Please. Emma Hurley was a very old lady who died of natural causes. So get murder out of your head and concentrate on the crossword puzzle.”
“But I like murders,” Cora grumbled. “I don’t like crossword puzzles.”
“Do you like money?” Sherry asked.
“Yes, I do.” Cora nodded. “Point well taken. I like this crossword puzzle. Come on. Let’s go call the shyster.”
Harvey Beerbaum seemed nervous. Chief Harper sensed it immediately. Not that he’d had that many murder investigations—he certainly hadn’t—but Chief Harper had been a policeman for years. He had investigated robberies, assaults, traffic accidents, enough to know when witnesses were cooperating fully, and when they were holding something back.
Not that there was anything to withhold. Still it was a homicide. Medical examiner Barney Na
someone had killed him. Someone was guilty.
Could that someone possibly be Harvey Beerbaum?
Chief Harper didn’t think so. Harvey Beerbaum looked more like a computer nerd than a killer. True, some killers were that way. Quiet, loners, kept to themselves. In Harvey Beerbaum’s case, however, Chief Harper just couldn’t see it. Sneaking up behind someone, bashing him on the head … The image of a weapon in the hands of Harvey Beerbaum was laughable.
And yet there was something.
“You saw him in the parking lot?” Chief Harper asked.
“Oh, yes,” Harvey Beerbaum answered. “Quite drunk, and quite obnoxious. I’m sorry Mr. Beasley’s dead, but that’s a fact.”
“What did he do?”
“Hassled the kid on the motorcycle.”
“Daniel Hurley?”
“If
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