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  Raves for Cora Felton’s Debut

  in Parnell Hall’s A Clue for the Puzzle Lady

  “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

  “Parnell Hall’s superb new series DAZZLES LIKE THE 4th 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 the Death on Demand and 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 LIGHT-HEARTED ROMP.”

  —Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine

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

  —Rendezvous

  “A Clue for the Puzzle Lady is GOING TO PLEASE PUZZLE FANS AND MYSTERY LOVERS ALIKE.”

  —Romantic Times

  Bantam Books

  by Parnell Hall

  A Clue for the Puzzle Lady

  Last Puzzle & Testament

  Puzzled to Death

  A Puzzle in a Pear Tree

  With This Puzzle I Thee Kill

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

  NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.

  A CLUE FOR THE PUZZLE LADY

  A Bantam Book

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Bantam hardcover edition / 1999

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1999 by Parnell Hall

  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.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-77957-1

  Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

  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, New York, New York.

  v3.1

  For Stanley,

  who loved a good puzzle.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  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

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Solution

  About the Author

  A Puzzle from the Puzzle Lady

  I am pleased to be able to include the following crossword puzzle, compliments of the Puzzle Lady. Miss Felton and I hope you enjoy it.

  A word of caution: Since solving the puzzle will identify the killer, you should not do so until after reading the book. You would probably not be able to anyway, as several of the clues are based on a knowledge of the story.

  The answers may be found in the back of the book.

  A CLUE FOR THE PUZZLE LADY

  by Miss Cora Felton

  ACROSS

  1 Sonny, or lead singer of rock group mentioned on CRUCIVERB-L

  5 Minimal lot size on Cold Springs Road

  9 Operated

  12 Sherry to Cora

  13 Ed Sullivan’s really big ones?

  15 Lounge or pony

  16 Crime scene

  18 Surprise attack

  19 Open on the victim

  20 A long time

  21 A-frames, for instance

  23 Deer

  24 Very French

  25 The 60s, e.g.

  28 Foamy wave

  32 Foe

  33 Cereal

  34 Soft drink

  35 Early man

  36 Fork end

  37 Motel rental

  38 Finish last

  39 Skating locale

  40 _______ off (repel)

  41 Probable action of Barbara Burnside’s car

  43 Pined for or played college prank

  44 Skin rash or small dwelling

  45 John Dickson

  46 Ebert milieu

  49 Single

  50 Expire

  53 Type of code

  54 Graveyard Killer

  57 What this book should be

  58 Keen

  59 Put up

  60 Type of training

  61 Shade of color

  62 Night light

  DOWN

  1 What Aaron wouldn’t dare call Sherry

  2 All right

  3 Shoes worn by murder victim

  4 Number of shots fired

  5 Not at sea

  6 Intone

  7 Guns the engine

  8 Answer to 14) A

  9 Surface left by Kevin Roth

  10 “I Cannot tell____ ”

  11 Gets sleepy

  14 Entrapping

  15 Chief Harper’s antagonist

  17 Prepared

  22 Wager

  23 Murder weapon part

  24 What Oscar winners seem obliged

  to do

  25 What Billy Spires undoubtedly offered

  26 Bestow

  27 Stop

  28 What Johnnie done to Frankie

  29 Schwarzenegger role

  30 Not dead

  31 Narrow on one end, wide on the other

  33 Salt water

  36 None of your business

  40 Lesions

 
; 42 Vigor’s cohort

  43 Fertilizer

  45 Songwriter Leonard

  46 Give a damn

  47 Rages

  48 Way to drink whiskey

  49 Child’s building set

  50 Hamlet, for one

  51 “Do not go gentle____that good night”

  52 Garden for 35 across

  55 Tipped to show respect

  56 Forbid

  1

  The first clue came with a corpse.

  The body lay next to a gravestone in the Bakerhaven Cemetery.

  Police Chief Dale Harper stood in the pouring rain and looked down at it with displeasure. What was a corpse doing in the cemetery? Chief Harper was not unaware of the humor in the question. A body in the cemetery—the press would have a field day. Chief Harper frowned and wiped the water off his face.

  The body was that of a young girl in her late teens or early twenties. She was lying facedown with her head twisted to the side. Her left eye was open. Chief Harper wished he could close it. It was eight in the morning, he had barely had his coffee, and the sight of her made him queasy. What in the world was she doing there?

  And why was she in the cemetery? If she’d only been on the other side of the fence, not a hundred yards away, she’d have been in the township of Clarksonville, and he wouldn’t have gotten the call that dragged him away from the breakfast table before his toast had even popped, on a rainy Monday morning the last day in May.

  But, no, this corpse fell under his jurisdiction. The good citizens of Bakerhaven would expect him, as chief of police, to do something about it. It was up to him to find out who killed her and why. At the moment, he didn’t even know who she was.

  “Never seen her before,” the caretaker said.

  It was the fourth or fifth time he’d said so. A shriveled little man with a somewhat belligerent nature, Fred Lloyd had found the body when he’d arrived for work this morning. He’d driven in the gate, and his headlights had picked up the girl’s silhouette. He’d called the police station, the cop on duty had called the chief, and now Lloyd and Harper were standing together in the cemetery in a drenching rain.

  “So you said.” Chief Harper knew he should interview Mr. Lloyd, but at the moment he couldn’t think of a thing to ask him. The guy had found the body, he’d never seen the girl before, and what else was there?

  Chief Harper wasn’t entirely up on procedure because murders just didn’t happen in Bakerhaven, Connecticut. Waterbury or Danbury, sure, those were big cities, they had their share of crime. Bakerhaven was one of those small, quiet, respectable towns where nothing much happened. There had not been a murder in Bakerhaven in the year and a half that Dale Harper had been chief. So he was not entirely sure what to do.

  One thing he knew was he couldn’t touch the body until the medical examiner got there. The ambulance he’d called for had arrived, and the paramedics had confirmed what he already knew, that the girl was dead. But they couldn’t take her away until the medical examiner saw her, and Barney Nathan, the notorious stick-in-the-mud who served that function, was undoubtedly taking his own sweet time finishing up his breakfast before venturing out on a morning like this to stand in the cemetery in the rain. The paramedics had gone back to the shelter of their ambulance. Chief Harper hunched his orange slicker up over his neck, wished he were somewhere else.

  The phone bleeped.

  Chief Harper reached under his slicker, fished out the cellular phone, flipped it open, said, “Hello?”

  “Dale?”

  Chief Harper sighed. His wife. “Yes, dear.”

  “You ran out on breakfast. Is everything all right?”

  “I can’t talk now. I’m out in the rain.”

  “Clara’s upset. She doesn’t want to go to school.”

  “I can’t deal with that now.”

  “What shall I tell her?”

  “Tell her to go to school.”

  “Dale.”

  “Ellen. I’m in the cemetery. A young girl is dead.”

  “Oh, my God. Who?”

  “It’s no one we know. I can’t talk now. Tell Clara if she doesn’t go to school she’ll miss all the gossip. The phone’s getting wet. I gotta go.”

  A car drove through the cemetery gate, stopped behind the police car. An umbrella popped out from the driver’s door, mushroomed open. The trim figure of Barney Nathan emerged. Despite the early hour and the rain, Dr. Nathan was nattily dressed in a blue suit, white shirt, and red bow tie. He would have looked more in place on the dais of a medical convention than at the scene of a homicide.

  If this was a homicide.

  Dr. Nathan stepped carefully through the streams of water up to the two men. “What do we have here?”

  “You tell me,” Chief Harper said.

  “You mean you haven’t touched it yet?”

  “Just to make sure she’s dead. Aside from that, we’ve all been waiting for you.”

  If Dr. Nathan took that as a pointed remark, he didn’t acknowledge it. He went over to the grave, bent down beside the body. Examined it with one hand, while holding the umbrella with the other. After a few moments he straightened up.

  “Okay. Let’s get her out of here.”

  “So what do you think?”

  Dr. Nathan’s smile was superior. “Much too soon to tell. I’ll have to do a postmortem.”

  “Any idea when she died?”

  “That’s what I’ll be trying to determine. Okay, that’s all I need here. They can take her away.”

  “In other words, I can touch the body,” Chief Harper said.

  “With all due care. I still have to determine the cause of death.”

  “Yes, of course. I’d also like to know who she is.”

  Chief Harper rolled the body over.

  The girl was wearing a cotton pullover and blue jeans. No shoes or socks. Harper felt in the hip pockets, looking for an ID, but they were empty. The right front pocket had some cash. Eight dollars in bills and some change. He put it back.

  The left front pocket appeared empty, but proved to contain a folded piece of paper. Chief Harper slid it out in his cupped hand, and looked up to see Barney Nathan standing there watching him.

  Which irritated him. Granted, Chief Harper had never liked the man, but it was more than that. Chief Harper had waited for the doctor, held everyone off, shown him the proper respect for his office. In return, Dr. Nathan had not given him the time of day, and was now looking over his shoulder, poking his nose into police business, as if insinuating he didn’t trust him to do his job.

  This particularly grated since Chief Harper wasn’t all that confident about doing his job in the first place.

  Which is why, instead of opening the paper, Chief Harper palmed it and casually slid it into his pants pocket as he straightened up.

  “Okay, you can take her,” he said.

  “You find anything?” Dr. Nathan said.

  “She’s got no ID on her.”

  “That should make it more difficult.” Dr. Nathan gestured to the two medics in the ambulance to bundle up the body.

  “Where they taking her? The hospital?”

  “No. My office. I have one of the rooms set up for autopsies.”

  “Uh huh,” Chief Harper said. As he watched Barney Nathan walk off, he couldn’t help wondering how much the good doctor charged the town for the service.

  With the umbrella gone, Chief Harper was getting soaked. He gave way for the paramedics, nodded to the caretaker, and plodded through the mud over to his police cruiser. He hopped in the front seat, started the car, turned the heater up. He snuffled, found a tissue, blew his nose. It occurred to him it would be just his luck to catch a cold.

  Dr. Nathan had already driven off. Watching him go, Chief Harper reached in his pocket, and pulled out the piece of paper he’d taken from the pocket of the girl.

  He knew it was probably nothing. And he was not entirely sure why he had concealed it from the doctor. With low expectations, he
unfolded the paper.

  It was an ordinary piece of lined notebook paper.

  Chief Harper looked at it and blinked.

  On it was written in ballpoint pen:

  4) D – LINE (5).

  Chief Harper shook his head. Just his luck. A dead body in the graveyard wasn’t enough. He had to get an enigmatic clue.

  Chief Harper sighed, wondered what it meant.

  2

  After the ambulance left, Chief Harper took a crime scene ribbon out of the trunk of his police car and went back and cordoned off the grave. He considered it a futile gesture and felt stupid doing it; still it had to be done.

  Chief Harper had no stakes on which to hang the ribbon, so he wrapped it around the gravestones. It encircled nine graves, eight on the perimeter, and one inside, the one where the girl had lain, the one that was just a mud puddle now.

  When he was done he got in his car and drove back to town.

  Bakerhaven, Connecticut, was one of those small towns you could drive right through and never see a store. Not that they weren’t there, they simply weren’t conspicuous. Discreet, hand-painted signs were all that distinguished the shops from the private homes. Of course, most of the shops were private homes, with the proprietors living upstairs.