And a Puzzle to Die On, page 22
“Sherry, I’m in no mood for this.”
“Yes, you are. It’s fun.”
“Why is it fun?”
“Hillary Mustache is an anagram for Cathy Millhauser. And do you know who that is?”
“Was she the Bond girl in Thunderball?”
“No.”
“Then I guess I don’t.”
“Cathy Millhauser is famous for her word games. Punning and gimmickry. She’s a gas. I have her book, Humorous Crosswords.”
“I’m happy for you. So what?”
“There are word games in this puzzle even you would like.”
“Pardon me for not falling on the floor, but I’ve had a rather busy day, what with getting arrested and all.”
“Look the puzzle over in your spare time. See if you notice anything about the long answers.”
“I notice they’re not filled in.”
“I brought a pencil.”
“Dream on!”
“Cora, you got all night. Why not give it a shot?”
“You want me to give you a shot? All I need is some goddamned puzzle.”
“Okay, be that way.” Sherry dug in her purse. “Here’s the solution. Check it out if you get a chance.” Sherry handed Cora a book. “I also brought you some light reading.”
“What’s this? Lifer?” Cora snorted. “That’s a hell of a thing to give someone in jail. Wait a minute! A. E. Greenhouse! Is this the book you Googled?”
“Right. That’s the book Darryl Daigue was in. Lifer, by A. E. Greenhouse. I bought it on the Advanced Book Exchange.”
Cora grinned. “Well, that’s more like it!”
Cora’s enthusiasm for Lifer was short-lived. Despite its exciting premise, the book was dull as dishwater. A. E. Greenhouse was a dry writer, and no new facts were revealed. In just a few pages, Cora’s eyes began to glaze over.
Greenhouse had interviewed Darryl Daigue in prison. Daigue had spun his usual web of lies. Except, in this version, Ricky Gleason had nothing to do with the murder. In fact, Gleason wasn’t even mentioned. Instead, Darryl Daigue blamed the murder on one of Anita Dryer’s classmates.
Though A. E. Greenhouse didn’t actually say so, it was clear that the author didn’t place much credence in Darryl Daigue’s assertions.
Supporting material was skimpy at best. Stacy Daigue expressed the opinion that her brother was pure as the driven snow, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. Darryl Daigue had no other friends or relatives, at least none uncovered by A. E. Greenhouse.
Interviews with the family of the deceased were equally unrevealing. Anita Dryer’s mother and father were dead. Her younger sister could not be found. The only available relative, her brother, Jason, was a notorious thief and drug addict, who had actually served time at the Brandon State Penitentiary.
That woke Cora up.
Before she could get too excited, A. E. Greenhouse spoiled her fun with the news that brother Jason had died of a drug overdose just a few weeks after the interview.
Which was too bad. Because Jason had stated in no uncertain terms that he would gladly have killed Darryl Daigue with his bare hands if he’d run into him in prison. The only reason he hadn’t was that the son of a bitch was in solitary, and Jason had been paroled before he got the chance.
Cora skimmed through the rest of the book, but found nothing useful. A. E. Greenhouse acknowledged Warden Prufrock, among others, for granting him access to interview the prisoners, but that was about it. There were no other references to Darryl Daigue.
Cora sat on the edge of her cot to figure things out. All she could think of was how tired she was. The facts of the case circled through her head, making absolutely no sense.
Cora absently picked up the puzzle. “Misnomers, by Hillary Mustache.” And Hillary Mustache was actually somebody else. Big deal.
Cora picked up the pencil and read the clues. Her eyes began to glaze over. It occurred to her she’d have to get a life sentence to finish the damn thing.
Cora put down the puzzle and picked up the solution. There. That was better. Now, what was it Sherry wanted her to see?
Cora studied the long answers: 17 Across, Kids’ Christmas special, was ELF CARTOON. That didn’t do much for her. Then 21 Across, Tatting-eschewing, was NOT FOR LACE. So tatting must be lace, and eschewing must be not having any. And this had made Sherry’s day. Cora’s mind boggled.
Sing a note, Sinatra-style, 51 Across, was CROON E FLAT. The less said the better. And 60 Across, Witch on a broomstick, was CRONE ALOFT.
Cora stopped. Wait a minute.
CRONE ALOFT was awfully close to CROON E FLAT.
Cora looked back at ELF CARTOON and NOT FOR LACE.
Son of a bitch! Each answer had the same letters. They were all anagrams of each other. And the word anagrams was in the puzzle.
But why was the puzzle called “MISNOMERS”? Didn’t that mean wrong name? So why was ELF CARTOON …?
Oh!
Cora felt like an idiot. The long answers were anagrams, all right. They were all anagrams of her name.
Cora might have been amused, if she weren’t in jail.
Okay. Now that Cora had honed her wits on the puzzle, she could tackle these little murder cases.
All right. A detective and a housewife were murdered. Each one had in their possession a pornographic videotape being used to blackmail a warden into letting a prisoner out of jail. That certainly pointed to the convict’s sister. Or the convict’s girlfriend, assuming she was still in the picture.
MISNOMERS
by Hillary Mustache
ACROSS
1 Role, so to speak
4 Works at the Met?
10 Move one’s mandible, maybe
14 Program file name suffix
15 Luggage piece
16 Pueblo dweller
17 Kids’ Christmas special, perhaps
19 Tennessee’s state flower
20 Cut from copy
21 Tatting-eschewing
23 Ere modern days
25 Cleansed
26 Tuxedo, often
28 1997 novel by Lorrie Moore
33 Comedian Philips
34 Deems culpable
36 EPA concern
37 Drove and drove?
39 Door word
40 ___ nous (in confidence)
41 With a bow, in the pit
42 Muscular
44 Goldfish-swallowing, once
45 How taxes might reduce income
47 Bittern’s kin
49 Poet Hughes
50 Drink that may be hard
51 Sing a note, Sinatra-style
56 Literary miscellanies
59 Modem speed measure
60 Witch on a broomstick
62 Pinza of “South Pacific”
63 Copland, Spelling, etc.
64 Bygone period
65 Breather
66 Least well-mannered
67 Jam ingredient?
DOWN
1 Mind
2 Hot rod rod
3 Killer that would be slippery
4 They might make up a Caesar salad
5 Country singer Lee Roy ___
6 John who sang “Daniel”
7 Laugh and a half
8 Commencing
9 Married mujeres
10 UNICEF beneficiaries
11 Wedding ring-action
12 “The Lord of the Rings,” for one
13 Start to crack?
18 Bean Town hoopster
22 Wheels for 51-Down
24 Cotton ball applications
26 Physiatrist’s field, briefly
27 Board for nails
28 Set right
29 Endangered goose
30 Coward’s agent would do it
31 Notorious Bugs
32 Malamute tows
35 Mideast pooh-bah
38 Kind of puzzle in which kids connect?
40 Checked out
42 Citrus cocktail
43 Blanches
46 Leghorn lady
48 Type of time
50 Its paddlings don’t hurt
51 Handle holder
52 Level
53 Monet’s okays
54 Wiener wife
55 Top of the feud chain
57 Do that might block a view
58 Deer sir
61 Abbr. on Nova Scotia skeds
Cora made a mental note to check if Valerie Thompkins’s maiden name might be Tambourine.
But that would make the girlfriend the victim, not the killer.
Okay, back to the drawing board.
The problem was that there was way too much information to process. Did Darryl Daigue murder Anita Dryer? If not, who did? Ricky Gleason, the other counter boy? If so, did someone kill him and fake a car accident? Was Dr. Jenkins covering it up? Did Dr. Jenkins fake the car accident? Or did Warden Prufrock fake it? Did Valerie Thompkins or Peter Burnside have anything to do with the car accident? They had something to do with the blackmail tape. Were Valerie Thompkins and the detective killed for the blackmail tape? Did the blackmail tape have anything to do with the car accident? The connection was Ida Blaine, who was having an affair with Dr. Jenkins, who might be lying about the accident, and who worked at the prison of Warden Prufrock, the star of the blackmail tape.
Cora yawned.
Who threw the rock through her window? And why was Valerie following her? If she was following her, and not just parking at the vet. How about Ida Blaine’s husband, Quentin Hawes? Or Valerie Thompkins’s deceased husband, for that matter? Whose name was Fleckstein.
How did any of that make sense? Why did it all happen? For starters, why did someone hire her? More to the point, why did someone hire Becky? Was the twenty-year-old murder of a young girl by Darryl Daigue connected in any way to what was happening now?
Cora had the feeling the answer was right there, if she could just put her finger on it.
Her eyes closed, and she immediately fell asleep.
Cora Felton stomped out of the Danbury courthouse to the camera whir of the paparazzi. “Damn it to hell,” she muttered.
“Smile,” Becky Baldwin told her.
“I don’t feel like smiling.”
“Choose the expression you’d like to see in tomorrow’s paper. Preferably one that won’t end your commercial career. Unless you’re planning on auditioning for an acid reflux ad, that one’s not going to fly.”
Cora plastered a lopsided grin on her face, snarled out of the corner of her mouth, “If we weren’t on camera now, I’d wring your neck.”
“When clients do that, I usually refuse to represent them.”
“What do you mean, usually? You’re barely out of diapers.”
“Oh, how witty,” Becky said through a frozen smile. “If you can just hang on till we get in the car, I’ll rip your head off.”
“I usually fire lawyers who do that.”
“You’d have to hire them first, wouldn’t you? I don’t recall you paying me any money.”
“Picky, picky. Where’s your car?”
“Right down the street. You want a ride?”
“No, I want to be left on foot in Danbury.”
Cora stomped off toward Becky’s car.
Becky caught up. “I bail you out, and this is the thanks I get?”
“Well, did you have to look like that?”
“Like what?”
“It’s ten in the morning. You’re dressed for a dinner party. I slept in my clothes.”
“That’s one of the downsides of getting arrested.”
Cora and Becky pulled out as flashbulbs blazed.
“Why didn’t Sherry and Aaron come?” Cora asked Becky.
“They had a little spat.”
“About what?”
“You. The end result is, Aaron isn’t covering your arrest.”
“That puts him in a majority of one. So this won’t make the Gazette?”
“It will. They sent another reporter.”
“Wonderful.”
The women drove in silence a while, then Becky said, “What is it you’re not telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“The buzz around the courthouse is they’d charge you with breaking and entering if they just had a little more evidence.”
“More evidence? You mean they have some?”
“They have suspicions. Valerie Thompkins’s house was broken into. A neighbor says he saw an elderly woman running through the bushes.”
“Elderly?” Cora fumed.
“What do you care? It wasn’t you.”
“Right. Even so, I’d pin the jerk’s ears back.”
“You want to tell me exactly what you were doing last night?”
“I was sleeping in a cell.”
“I mean the night before.”
“According to the police, I was stealing a dog.”
“After that.”
“I really don’t recall.”
“Yeah. So, here’s the deal: I’m driving you home so you can take a shower and get cleaned up.”
“Sounds good.”
“Stay there, and stay out of trouble.”
“Killjoy.”
“You’ve got to, Cora. At least until you beat this dognapping charge.”
“You gonna baby-sit me?”
“No, I trust you to follow my advice.”
“Fine. Take me home.”
Cora was quiet until Becky turned into the driveway.
Then she said, “Hey! Where’s Sherry?”
“I have no idea.”
“The car’s gone.”
“I see that.”
“You’re not leaving me here without a car.”
“Why? You’re not going anywhere.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
Cora jerked the door open and stormed out.
“Hang on. I got something for you.” Becky reached to the floor of the backseat, picked up a paper bag, and pulled out a gift-wrapped box. “Happy birthday. Sorry it’s late, but I’ve been kind of busy.”
Cora’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?”
“Well, actually, it took me a while to find something you haven’t got.” Becky pulled the car door shut.
“See ya.”
Cora stuck her head in the window. “Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for Sherry?”
“Very sure.”
Becky gunned the car down the driveway.
Cora went inside, flopped down on the couch. She lit a cigarette and contemplated her present. What had Becky gotten her?
She picked the box up and shook it. It rattled, like there was something small inside. She tore the wrapping off, lifted the lid, peered inside.
It was a single piece of cardboard, about the size of a business card. Except it was orange and it was blank.
Cora picked it up and turned it over. Her eyes widened.
It was a Chance card from a Monopoly set.
A Get Out of Jail Free card.
Cora leaned back on the couch and grinned. Well, wasn’t that nice? Becky was right. It was the one thing Cora needed: a pro bono lawyer. Cora figured she’d better cut Becky a little more slack.
Particularly since she wasn’t planning on taking her advice.
Cora got up and went into the study. The computer was on. Now, how did Sherry Google people? By pulling up a word browser. But which one?
Cora clicked on an icon, and there it was. The word Google and an empty slot.
She typed in Cynthia Mayberry, the neighbor.
There were only two hits. Cynthia Mayberry had come in second in a pie-baking contest. She was also mentioned in her mother’s obituary.
Cora was disappointed. She would have loved to have nailed the woman with something.
Cora leafed through the book Lifer by A. E. Greenhouse, and Googled everyone associated with Darryl Daigue.
This was not particularly gratifying, either.
Darryl’s sister, Stacy, scored three hits, each of which consisted of some person named Daigue being mentioned in the same article as some other person named Stacy.
Jason Dryer, on the other hand, yielded forty-eight thousand, eight hundred seventeen hits. This seemed promising, but turned out to be due to the fact that the name Dryer was also a word. Cora narrowed her search, checking only news instead of the whole Web. That yielded twelve hits. Scrolling down the page, Cora found one article actually relating to the man: an obituary notice.
The deceased was identified as Jason Dryer, of New York City. The address listed in the Bowery was most likely a none-too-reputable single-room-occupancy hotel. Jason’s age was reported as thirty-two. He was survived by his younger sister, Gwendolyn, of Boulder, Colorado. No other living relative was mentioned, nor was there any allusion to his murdered sister, Anita.
Cora tried Gwendolyn Dryer, with even less luck. A housewife named Gwendolyn was suing the manufacturer of a cordless hair dryer, an actress named Dryer was playing the part of Gwendolyn in Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, and a meteorologist named Gwendolyn seemed to be of the opinion the weather might become dryer, but that was about it.
Cora tried A. E. Greenhouse. She came up with thirty-five hits, all of them relating to the book. There were a few reviews, lukewarm at best. Aside from that, most were from local libraries simply listing the fact they had the book.
Cora dug in her purse again for her cigarettes. A card came out with the pack. At first she thought it was Becky Baldwin’s Get Out of Jail Free card, but then she remembered. It was the card she’d found under the rug in Valerie Thompkins’s spare bedroom. What with finding the porno tape, she’d completely forgotten it.
Cora turned the card over.
It was a business card, all right.
The card read:
A. E. Greenhouse
Author
Mason Westbourne, the editor of Pilgrim Publishing, couldn’t have been more irritating. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“But I need to talk to Mr. Greenhouse.”
“I’m not allowed to discuss the affairs of my authors.”
“I don’t give a damn about his affairs. I just want to get him on the phone.”
“I’m sure you do. But you need to follow the proper procedure. You can write to Mr. Greenhouse care of Pilgrim Publishing. Give your name, address, telephone number, fax number, and e-mail address. If Mr. Greenhouse wishes to contact you, he may.”
