Puzzled to Death Read online

  Raves for Parnell Hall’s

  LAST PUZZLE & TESTAMENT

  “[An] homage to the very entertaining, breezy mind-game mysteries of the 1930s and ‘40s. Enjoy the show!”

  —Los Angeles Times

  “A witty, airy, and busy detective story … filled with love triangles, false leads, and danger.”

  —The Dallas Morning News

  “Cora is emerging as a lovable and unique sleuth. [She’s] no sweet-natured Jessica Fletcher or wise-as-an-owl Miss Marple.… This series is a joy for lovers of both crosswords and frothy crime detection.”

  —Chicago Sun-Times

  “[Last Puzzle & Testament] has its merry way with the cozy concept of the small-town spinster-sleuth.”

  —Los Angeles Times

  “Fun from the first page … This cozy mystery has a slightly different point of view and pair of detectives.”

  —The Dallas Morning News

  “Takes a sweet-faced grandmother on the gumshoe spree of a lifetime.”

  —The Washington Post Book World

  “Cora’s heart of gold personality gives Last Puzzle & Testament a special feel that turns this novel into a keeper that will be read many times over in the years to come.”

  —The Midwest Book Review

  “The author proves himself very adept at constructing the puzzles that are at the core of his mystery. The reader gets a chance to solve the puzzles before the protagonists do, which adds to the fun.”

  —Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

  “A decidedly different pair of detectives.”

  —Creative Logic

  “Crossword puzzle fans, this one is for you.”

  —The Oklahoman

  “This novel’s puzzles within puzzles will charm and so will its attractive cast.”

  —Booklist

  “Just the ticket for the puzzle addict(s) on your list.”

  —Booknews from The Poisoned Pen

  “Laced with witty dialogue and enough twists to satisfy the most demanding of mystery fans.”

  —Greenburg (PA) Tribune-Review

  “Parnell Hall pulls off a clever and entertaining crossword-based mystery.”

  —Mystery Lovers Bookshop News

  __________________

  Raves for Cora Felton’s debut in

  A CLUE FOR THE PUZZLE LADY

  “Some puzzles are real killers … devious and delightful.”

  —Chicago Sun-Times

  “Deft … clever … fun.”

  —Booklist

  “The real lure here is the mystery, whose ingenuity takes quite unexpected forms en route to the final unmasking. Heaven for crossword fans, who’ll rejoice over the solve-as-you-go puzzle!”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Cora Felton is a delightfully different sort of sleuth—hardly the decorous, tea-sipping village spinster. In truth, she’s a hoot. I hope her niece can keep her out of too much trouble so that we can all savor future adventures of the Puzzle Lady.”

  —Joan Hess, author of the Claire Malloy and Maggody mystery series

  “In addition to his trademark zippy, witty dialogue, Hall provides a dandy puzzle, congenial secondary characters, plenty of laughs, and a true original in Cora Felton, the Puzzle Lady.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A Clue for the Puzzle Lady is fresh, funny, and ingeniously devised. It kept me guessing right down to the end—just like a good crossword!”

  —Will Shortz, Crossword Editor, The New York Times

  “Parnell Hall’s superb new series dazzles like the Fourth of July, crackling with fun, wordplay, more twists than a maze, and a clever, vulnerable, wild woman sleuth—Cora Felton, the Puzzle Lady. Sheer delight!”

  —Carolyn Hart, author of Death on Demand and the Henrie O mystery series

  “A twisting plot, an intriguing puzzle, and a surprisingly satisfying romance. This one is hard to beat.”

  —Janet Evanovich

  “A fresh series with an engaging sleuthing duo … a lighthearted romp.”

  —Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine

  “A fun and entertaining story to challenge all mystery readers … A great premise … lively characters, an intriguing plot and a well-written story.”

  —Rendezvous

  “A Clue for the Puzzle Lady is going to please puzzle fans and mystery lovers alike.”

  —Romantic Times

  ALSO BY PARNELL HALL

  A Clue for the Puzzle Lady

  Last Puzzle and Testament

  This edition contains the complete text of the original hardcover edition.

  NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.

  PUZZLED TO DEATH

  A Bantam Book

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Bantam hardcover edition published November 2001

  Bantam mass market edition / September 2002

  A FOOL SUCH AS I

  Words and Music by Bill Trader

  © Copyright 1968 Universal—MCA Music Publishing, a division of Universal

  Studios, Inc. (ASCAP)

  International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved

  I’M SORRY

  Words and Music by Ronnie Self, Dub Allbritten

  © Copyright 1968 Universal—Champion Music Corporation (BMI)

  International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved

  SORRY (I RAN ALL THE WAY HOME), by Aristedes Giosasi and Artie Zwirn

  © 1959 (Renewed) EMI Longitude Music

  All Rights Reserved Used by Permission

  WARNER BROS. PUBLICATIONS U.S. INC., Miami, FL. 33014

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2001 by Parnell Hall.

  Puzzles edited by Ellen Ripstein

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001025751

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information address: Bantam Books, New York, New York.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-77956-4

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.

  v3.1

  For Kate,

  who helped me

  ditch the body

  PUZZLE CLUE?

  The Puzzle Lady will encounter the following cryptic clue in the course of this story. If you could help her decipher it, she’d be eternally grateful.

  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Parnell Hall

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34


  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  About the Author

  CORA FELTON PULLED THE HEAVY KNIT SWEATER AROUND her shoulders, crinkled her nose, squinted her eyes against the sun, and declared: “I. Hate. Fall.”

  Her niece, Sherry Carter, smiled indulgently. “You don’t hate fall, Cora. You’re just not used to it.”

  “I’ll say.” Cora Felton kicked her foot absently at the dead oak and maple leaves that adorned the front lawn. “We don’t have seasons in the city. It’s warmer or colder, and that’s it. Unless you go to the park, and why would I do that? There are no stores in the park.”

  “That’s very true,” Sherry agreed. She hiked up the sleeves on her green fleece pullover, stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and tilted her chin up. “Just breathe that morning air.”

  “I can breathe it inside,” Cora muttered. “That’s why we have windows. What are we doing out here?”

  In point of fact, Sherry Carter had lured Cora Felton out to the lawn of their tidy little Connecticut house in the hope that the brisk November air would take the edge off Cora’s hangover. Sherry’s aunt had been cranky at breakfast and seemed on the verge of mixing her second Bloody Mary, always a bad sign. Sherry loved her aunt dearly and looked out for Cora’s welfare, usually against Cora’s will.

  Sherry smiled. “Cora, we’re out here for just the reason you said. To notice the seasons. Something we don’t do in Manhattan. I mean, isn’t this a gorgeous day? And here we are, on a beautiful woodsy lot, on a deserted country road, no neighbors to speak of, the only sign of civilization the power line up the driveway. What’s not to like?”

  Cora Felton smiled, her patented trademark smile that lit up the picture that adorned the nationally syndicated crossword-puzzle column that ran under her name. “Sherry, sweetheart, it’s nice. It’s just not New York. I mean, take food, for instance. In my apartment, I open the kitchen drawer, I got twenty or thirty menus from the best restaurants in town that can be there at the drop of a hat. Can you name me one restaurant in Bakerhaven that delivers?”

  “You could take a cooking class,” Sherry suggested.

  “I’d rather get married again.”

  “Aunt Cora.”

  “At my age, a husband wouldn’t be nearly as annoying as some teacher telling me what to do.” Cora yawned and stretched. “Well, that’s enough of nature. Time for a drink.”

  “Little early in the day to be drinking,” Sherry ventured.

  “It’s fall,” Cora replied. “There’s a time change. We set our clocks back. I’m still on daylight savings time.”

  “It’s ten in the morning.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “You remember why we came out here?” Sherry asked. “We were going to walk around the house. So far we’ve managed to get down the front steps. Not good enough, Aunt Cora. We’re going to stroll the perimeter of the property.” Sherry took Cora’s arm, led her away as she talked. “At least the tree line. I like the sound of that, don’t you? The tree line. Doesn’t it sound like we have a couple of hundred acres, instead of only one?”

  “You’re awfully talkative this morning,” Cora grumbled. “Without really mentioning anything. And you’re in an awfully good mood. Was Aaron here last night?”

  Sherry flushed slightly. Lately she’d been seeing quite a lot of the young Bakerhaven Gazette reporter. “Aaron stopped by after work. Why do you ask?”

  “I have no sex life of my own at the moment, I have to live vicariously. I didn’t see his car when I got home. I guess he didn’t stay over.”

  “Aunt Cora.”

  “And you couldn’t go home with him, since he lives with his parents. It must be tough being young.” Cora stopped, looked around. “Okay, this is the backyard. I remember it from last summer. There’s the picnic table, there’s the grill. As I recall, on various occasions you made hamburgers, steak, and a couple of kinds of fish. How’m I doin’ so far? And look at these leaves.” Cora kicked her feet. “They’re so deep back here you can hardly walk. Tell you what, if there’s a rake down in the cellar, maybe I’ll clean ’em up.”

  “There’s no cellar. It’s a prefab house built on a slab.”

  “There’s no cellar?”

  “You don’t know we don’t have a cellar?”

  Cora smiled and patted Sherry on the cheek. Her cornflower blue eyes twinkled. “Then I guess I can’t rake the leaves. Well, it’s the thought that counts.”

  Cora took two steps, struck a pose, jerked her thumb. “Come on, pardner. Let’s check out the north forty.”

  Sherry Carter smiled to herself. Her plan was working. Once around the house and her aunt was in a much better mood.

  Cora rounded the corner of the house and stopped abruptly, looking toward the road. Sherry hurried to catch up with her.

  A blue Nissan was coming up the drive, but with the sun glinting off the windshield, Sherry couldn’t see its driver.

  “That’s not Aaron’s car,” Cora observed. “Who can that be?”

  The Nissan pulled to a stop next to Cora Felton’s red Toyota. The door opened, and a nebbishy little man in a herringbone tweed suit climbed out. He ran his hand over his bald head, pushed thick-lensed glasses up his nose, then turned and carefully and deliberately locked his car door in a decidedly fussy manner.

  Cora Felton’s face fell. “Prim, prissy, picayune, precise,” she muttered. “It’s what’s-his-name. The walking thesaurus.”

  “Harvey Beerbaum,” Sherry murmured.

  It was indeed the noted cruciverbalist, whose crossword puzzles often graced the pages of The New York Times. He spotted Cora Felton, smiled, and waved.

  “Oh, my God, look at his face,” Cora muttered under her breath. “He wants to marry me. Sherry, promise you won’t let me.”

  “Aunt Cora—” Sherry hissed.

  “Promise me.”

  “He doesn’t want to marry you.”

  “What, you think I’m too old?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Sherry, you let me marry that man, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “You’re not going to marry him.”

  “What if he asks me?”

  “Just say no.”

  “What are you, Nancy Reagan? I have a problem with marriage proposals. You know how many times I’ve been married?”

  “I lost count after Henry.”

  “So did I. Back me up, Sherry. Here he comes.”

  The puzzle-maker came bustling across the lawn on little cat feet, with a neatly tied bow tie around his chubby neck and a beatific smile on his baby face. All he needed was a fat bouquet of flowers or a jeweler’s box with an engagement ring to pass as a hopeful suitor. Harvey Beerbaum was empty-handed, and yet he looked so animated that for a split second Sherry began to share her aunt’s apprehensions—the man was going to ask for Cora’s hand.

  Fortunately, on reaching Cora Felton, Harvey Beerbaum did not fall on one knee. Instead, he grabbed both of her hands, clasped them joyously, and declared, “Miss Felton! Miss Felton! Have you heard the news?”

  Cora’s brain was not working at lightning speed, yet she was clearheaded enough to grasp the concept that a marriage proposal as yet unmade was unlikely to have been reported by the media. “No, I haven’t,” she replied. She extracted her hands from his, straightened her sweater. “What news?”

  Harvey Beerbaum could scarcely contain himself. He grabbed Cora’s hands again and positively beamed as he made his announcement.
/>   “We’re a team! You and I! We’re cohosting a charity crossword-puzzle tournament!”

  “I WON’T DO IT.”

  “Aunt Cora.”

  “I hate crossword puzzles.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “And I can’t do them.”

  “You don’t have to do them. You’re not a contestant, you’re the host.”

  “How can I be the host when I don’t know squat about puzzles?”

  “You don’t have to. It’ll be just like your TV commercials. You just smile in a knowing way and everyone thinks you’re smart.”

  “It’s not like my TV commercials. My commercials are for breakfast cereal. They’re thirty seconds long, and I have a script. I don’t have to ad-lib. I don’t have to pretend to know anything I don’t. You put me in a roomful of cruciverbalists who think I’m a crossword-puzzle whiz, we got major trouble.”

  “Drink your coffee.”

  Sherry and Cora were seated at the kitchen table. The large, eat-in country kitchen was the best feature of the modest ranch house. Sherry and Cora hung out in it more than they did in the living room, which was still cluttered with unpacked boxes from when they’d moved in the previous spring.

  Cora took a sip of coffee, made a face. “This is bad, Sherry. Is it decaffeinated?”

  “Cora, don’t start.”

  “Sherry, I need the caffeine. You talked me out of the Bloody Mary, then you give me decaffeinated coffee? Have a heart.”

  Cora’s enormous drawstring purse was on the table in front of her. She pulled it open, rummaged inside, came out with a pack of cigarettes.