Death on the Diagonal Part 15

Belle and Rosco watched the car speed off. "Actually, he can't order me to abandon the investigation because he never paid me a nickel. I didn't even get an advance from the guy," Rosco observed after a moment.

Belle nodded although it was clear that her thoughts weren't on her husband's missing fees. "You know what's bothering me about this? Other than the potential stolen ident.i.ty problem, I mean . . . it's a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde sensation I'm getting about this Davis woman. It's almost as if she's two people herself, and then the counterfeit who duped Gudgeon is a third. Sara swears up and down that Dawn's gentle and sweet, but that hasn't been your experience-or mine."

Rosco didn't speak for a moment. "You realize that we're both accepting the fact that Walter Gudgeon was telling us the truth about the woman in Papyrus not being the person he helped?"

"Right, but it's a two-way street, Rosco. Dawn didn't recognize him either."

"These con people can be very slick."

Belle c.o.c.ked her head and looked at her husband. "And your point is?"

"Like I said, he could be lying."

"But why would he do that?"

"Blackmail? Fear of being exposed for being a foolish guy who was conned by a pretty girl? Which would make the scene we just witnessed seem a heck of a lot more plausible. Gudgeon had cold feet before we went in there, remember? And Dawn played her part perfectly."

Belle squinted in concentration. "He definitely didn't want to look at her. I had to urge him to do so, and his reaction was closer to that of a kid caught stealing candy than a grown man confronting a woman who resembles someone he has more than a pa.s.sing acquaintance with."

"And then there's the darker possibility that Gudgeon wanted to find Dawn because he plans to do her harm, either in retribution or for some even more sinister motive. We actually only have his word that he really gave her the $250,000. In other words, it's possible that Dawn Davis isn't the baddie in this; Gudgeon is. Either way, if we walk back in there, she'll deny ever receiving the money, no matter what the truth is."

Belle released a long and frustrated breath. "If you're right, then we're back to square one. And Sara's still in danger . . . Any suggestions, Mister Mister Polycrates?" Polycrates?"

Rosco remained silent for another moment. "Maybe I need to explain the situation to Sara-"

"As opposed to your junior junior a.s.sistant?" was the needling response, but the feeling was more hurt than teasing. a.s.sistant?" was the needling response, but the feeling was more hurt than teasing.

Rosco's tone when he answered was tender. "Sara's relations.h.i.+p with you began on rocky ground, remember-?"

"That's because she thought you were such a cute, young hunk," Belle shot back. "And I was just an interfering word maven as well as a rival to her son in the crossword-puzzle wars."

"I'm simply suggesting that you two may need to cool off for a bit. You're incredibly close to Sara-as she is to you. Maybe your relations.h.i.+p is verging on a mother-daughter scenario, which in the Polycrates family can spell F-I-R-E-W-O-R-K-S. And I know from experience that those conflagrations can require-"

"A guy to put out the flames?" Belle asked.

"Let's just say, a disinterested party is helpful to have on hand. And lots of water."

Belle sighed anew. "Perhaps you're right. Besides, women her age were raised to accept the fact that men called the shots. Maybe you can persuade her that Dawn Davis isn't the guileless person she seems."

"All I can do is try."

"And apply a bit of the Polycrates charm," Belle added with a small smile.

"The good thing is, the pressure is now on Dawn. If she's guilty, she bolts, and we never see hide nor hair of her again. If she's not the person who conned Gudgeon, she'll show up at the Avon-Care center on Tuesday for her therapy."

"Good point . . . I like the way you think."

He put his arm around her waist. "Anything else?"

"I'll let you know." They began to walk to her car, and she added, "I meant to ask you, what was with the name Lexi?"

"I had to call you something, didn't I?"

"And that was what you chose on the spur of the moment? Lex? You've been reading too many Batman comic books."

"It's from lexicographomaniacal lexicographomaniacal, your 'crazy about crosswords' word. I thought you'd like it."

"Oh," was Belle crestfallen reply, "I was actually hoping your explanation would be that it rhymed with s.e.xy."

"Huh, I wish I'd thought of that . . . I guess it's too late to change my answer, isn't it?"

"What do you think?"

"If I answered yes, would I be correct?"

"One hundred percent, Mr. Disinterested-Party."

CHAPTER 26.

The kitchen at Tulip House was a galley-type affair, seven feet long with beige countertops and matching cabinets on either side of a central walkway floored with ceramic tiles-a utilitarian work s.p.a.ce that perfectly suited Jack Curry. Although he was a big man, he found the confined area much to his liking. Probably it was the horse trainer in him that enjoyed the total control he exerted over the room; nothing was more than a short step or an arm's length away: stove, dishwasher, fridge, microwave, pots and pans, mixing bowls, knives, cutting board, sink; and he planned his meals as if arranging hurdles for a show, intermingling simpler tasks with those that required more concentration as though he were piquing a horse's interest and enthusiasm.

At the moment he heard the knock on his front door, Jack was in the process of using a new chef 's knife to dice a sweet green pepper destined for the western omelette he'd planned for dinner. Within easy reach were an onion, a late-season tomato, and chunk of yellow Vermont cheese, all of which would soon fall to the blade.

"Come on in," he shouted. "The door's unlocked."

He returned to his work and looked up only when his visitor's form appeared in the kitchen doorway. He shook his head slowly and gave a disapproving glance. "Not a good idea, my partner in crime. my partner in crime. If we're seen together alone too often, people might begin to talk." If we're seen together alone too often, people might begin to talk."

"As in, 'What would the neighbors say?' Is that it?"

Jack didn't bother to respond; instead, he pushed aside the pepper and began to deftly peel the tomato.

"It's dark. No one saw me."

"Quite the stealthy critter, aren't you?" He glanced at his visitor's hands. "What's with the gloves? Playing doctor tonight, are we?"

His unexpected guest also looked down at the gloves. "Blisters. They're killing me. I guess I've been working too hard-"

"Blisters from overwork, there's a joke. I didn't think you knew what the phrase meant." He gave a snide laugh and waved the tip of the knife in the air. "Come on over here. Let me show you how to make an omelette, Jack Curry style." With his free hand, he reached up and lowered the window shade, while his guest walked over and leaned on the counter next to the stove.

"That's the knife I gave you for your birthday . . ." The tone was suddenly wistful.

"Yep. It's a beauty," Jack replied. "And you know something? You're the only one who remembered the big day."

"The only one?"

"Surprising, ain't it? h.e.l.l of a world we live in when family family doesn't care for its own." doesn't care for its own."

The response to this was an abrupt, "We've got to talk, Jack."

He shrugged. "So, talk. Who do you want to be? Cleopatra? Ghengis Khan? Jack the Ripper . . . ? No, sorry. I forgot. That part's always reserved for me."

"Can that stuff, alright? Last night I woke up at three in the morning. I could see that d.a.m.n puzzle in my head clear as day. And you know what, Jack? I didn't like what I saw."

His casual, "Which one?" had a disingenuous tone. He returned his concentration to the cutting board.

"Don't get cute. It doesn't become you."

"Okay, so fine, we don't make any more word games. You told me the last one was the end for you, anyway. So be it."

"It's a little late for that, Jacko. The cat's out of the bag-as you well know. Did you think I was too stupid to discover what you laid out in those dumb black and white squares? You don't think I noticed that you were straddling both sides of the fence?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. You helped make the puzzles, right? You drew 'em out with your own fingers."

"Don't double-cross me, Jack. I know a lot more than you think I do."

"Goody for you."

"Like who killed Ryan, for one thing."

Jack's response to this statement was to open the refrigerator door. There was no indication he'd heard a word that was said. "I know there's cilantro in here somewhere," he muttered to himself. "Nothing better than fresh cilantro for a nice, fresh tang . . . found it . . . good . . . Well, so, enlighten me. Who killed the lovely Ryan? Was it you? Should I be shaking in my boots?"

"Is that part of your plan? To set me up as her murderer? You'd be better off killing me, too-"

Jack reached out and pulled his guest so close their faces nearly touched. "If you don't know what you're talking about, you'd be well advised to keep your mouth shut."

"I saw you, Jack. I was there."

"Saw me? Saw me what?"

"Let me go. I can't breathe-"

"I thought that was how you liked it."

"Well, I don't anymore."

Curry released his grip; the gesture was both defiant and all-powerful. " 'Don't hurt me, Jacko. I don't like it anymore, ' " he mimicked as he returned to his task, but his guest's hurried words ignored the insult.

"Sunday night. I saw you slip out the back door of the Big House. It didn't take a brain trust to put two and two together the next morning when Ryan turned up dead."

Jack placed the knife on the cutting board. "You're suggesting I killed killed Ryan? Is that it?" Ryan? Is that it?"

"I'm not suggesting suggesting anything. I know you did. But I don't care. She's gone, and we're all happier because of it. But you'd better not buck me, or I'll go to that Lever jerk with everything I know." anything. I know you did. But I don't care. She's gone, and we're all happier because of it. But you'd better not buck me, or I'll go to that Lever jerk with everything I know."

Jack laughed. It was a hearty, self-satisfied sound. "You're crazy. You've got no proof. It's your word against mine, and we all know how much Pop C. admires me. Besides, if you saw me leave-or think think you saw me leave-that places you at the murder scene, too, doesn't it?" you saw me leave-that places you at the murder scene, too, doesn't it?"

"I was outside."

"So you say. And you just admitted to being there-which I don't."

"You're as low as they come-"

"Two peas out of the same pod, Jessie Jessie with an with an ie. ie." He slid the pepper into a frying pan and turned to the cilantro, holding it under running water while he grabbed a fistful of paper towel to dry it. "So, you figured out that puzzle, huh? Good for you. Very bright. But, you see, I've been busy, too. Doing some solo work. Working on a little insurance policy insurance policy in the form of another couple of crosswords-" in the form of another couple of crosswords-"

"What do you mean 'insurance policy'?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out. It's amazing how similar our handwriting is, especially our printing. Have you noticed that? That'll keep Ms. Graham guessing when she sees my latest creation. But I'm an easy-goin' guy: I'll give you a helpful hint about what I've been up to: The nice people at the post office are involved."

The response to this was a snarling, "Well, if that Graham woman figures out what you wrote in that other puzzle, I'm going straight to the cops with everything I know about your involvement."

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that. Besides, like I said, if you turn me in, you might as well be jumping straight into this frying pan here. And I'll throw in the olive oil free of charge." Jack grabbed the onion, cut it in half, then nicked the tip of his finger as he began dicing. He emitted a crude curse, followed by a tight-lipped, "d.a.m.n, that smarts. New knives, they're like horses and women: ya gotta break 'em in." He stuck his finger into his mouth and licked at the drop of blood that had formed on the end. "Hand me a bandage, will you? There's some in that top drawer there."

His visitor pulled the box of bandages from the drawer and tossed it to him. "Where'd you learn how to chop onions anyway? You do it like a scared old lady. Here, give me that knife. I'll show you why I bought it for you."

"So it's kiss and make up? We're back to Bonnie and Clyde again? Boy, you sure do like bein' unpredictable."

"This time I'll be Clyde."

"Gonna get kinky, are we? Well, take off your gloves. How clean are they?"

"They're clean. I don't want to get onion juice in my blisters. It'll sting like crazy. Do you want me to dice up that thing for you or not?"

"Does this mean you're sticking around for supper? That would surely get certain people talking, wouldn't it?" He chuckled, handed over the knife and proceeded to open the bandage and fold it over his fingertip. He then opened a second bandage to hold the first in place. Another laugh escaped from his lips. "It's a good thing I trust you. All of a sudden that knife looks awfully big in your hands."

"Never trust anyone, Bonnie," was the terse reply as the knife was plunged through Curry's ribcage and into his heart.

Jack Curry only had time to create a surprised and quizzical glance before he sank in a heap onto the ceramic floor. His killer regarded the bulky, inert form for a second, then stepped over it in order to rinse the blood from the gloves and knife before walking into the living room and dropping the blade on the floor. There, Clyde stood for a long moment, pondering what the dead man had meant by "insurance policy." Opting not to take any chances, Clyde began a search of Tulip House in earnest. But it only lasted for a few minutes, because a knock at the door and another voice calling Curry's name brought the pursuit to an immediate halt. At that point nothing had been found.

Across 1. Tempe campus; abbr.

4. Existed 7. That guy's 10. Question 13. Shadow 14. Malady 16. Middle grade 17. M for M thought, part 1 19. Jerry Lewis link?

20. ___ Na-Na 21. Taxi 22. Gravy problem 23. M for M thought, part 3 27. Marshal of Napoleon, and family 29. Exist 30. Calif. neighbor 31. Turkeys 35. Storage box 36. Music man, Coward 39. Following 40. ___ de Pascua 42. Vitamin jar letters 43. Singer, Turner 44. M for M thought, part 4 49. 7-Across, in Paris 50. Morning drop 51. Donkeys 53. Salty 55. M for M thought, part 5 58. Buck tail?

59. Turf 62. June honorees 64. Scooted 65. M for M thought, part 6 69. Stare at 70. California road 71. Maker of 68-Down 72. NASDAQ compet.i.tor 73. Explosive letters 74. Comedian, Louis 75. Absolutely

Down 1. "Much ___ About Nothing"

2. Scatter seed 3. Sound of disgust 4. M for M thought, part 2 5. Wine label 6. Hearst grp.