A Puzzle in a Pear Tree Page 3

  “Then what’s he doing here—collecting for the policemen’s ball?”

  “That’s a lot more likely than asking you to solve an acrostic that turned up in the Christmas pageant pear tree.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “All right,” Cora said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Fine. I stand warned.” Sherry marched to the door, flung it open.

  Chief Harper stood on their front steps in his heavy winter coat. As an afterthought, he pulled his hat off, stamped the snow off his boots. “Oh, there you are,” he said. He pushed past Sherry into the living room, stomped up to her aunt.

  “So,” he demanded. “You done the puzzle yet?”

  4

  CORA FELTON SMILED SWEETLY, TRIED TO AVOID SHOOTING an I-told-you-so glance at her niece. “Why, Chief Harper, whatever puzzle do you mean?”

  “You know what puzzle. The one you got this afternoon at the pageant rehearsal.”

  “Oh, that. Technically, Chief, it’s not a puzzle, it’s an acrostic.”

  Chief Harper ran his hand through his graying hair and snorted. “I don’t care if it’s a puzzle, a riddle, or a knock-knock joke. I need your help with it.”

  “Of course,” Sherry interceded heartily before her aunt could respond. “We were just talking about it. Cora would have done it by now, but we were trimming the tree.” Sherry took the chief’s arm, guided him into the kitchen. “Sit down, have a cup of cocoa, we’ll be right with you. You fill Cora in on why you’re interested, I’ll pencil in the answers we were just discussing.”

  Chief Harper shrugged off his overcoat, hung it over the back of his chair. He sat, put his hat on the table. “I don’t need you to solve the puzzle. Or acrostic. Or whatever.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Harvey Beerbaum’s already done it for me. So you can save yourself the trouble. Unless you want to double-check him.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Harvey’s right,” Cora said. She hoped her voice didn’t betray how relieved she was. She slid into a chair opposite the chief. “So what do you want from me?”

  “I want your opinion. Here, take a look.”

  Cora took the sheet of paper with the solved acrostic, and had an instant of panic when she realized she didn’t know how to read it. She squinted, saw the grid was composed of words, although that wasn’t totally obvious, since some of them were broken in the middle. They all seemed to end with a black square, however. But what was the bit about author and title?

  It occurred to Cora that she was taking too long and Chief Harper would notice.

  He did.

  “Yeah, I know,” Chief Harper said. “Impossible to read, aren’t they? I had Harvey write the solution out. It goes:

  “Can you figure out the mischief

  That I am going to do?

  Are you apprehensive

  That I might do it to you?

  “Girls who harbor grievances

  And cannot make amends

  Never get the things they want

  And come to gruesome ends.

  “Nice, huh? The author is Guess Who? The title is Death of an Actress.”

  Cora Felton sucked in her breath.

  Chief Harper nodded grimly. “Yeah. You see why I came to you? There’s no way to tel prank. Until I know one way or an this seriously.”

  “And you want my opinion?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “On whether this is a real threat

  “For starters. If so, who’s at risk?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Sherry said, sliding a cup of cocoa in front of the chief.

  “What’s the matter?” Chief Harper said.

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? That poem is doggerel. It sounds like it came from a grade-B slasher movie. What reason is there to think it’s anything else?”

  “It could be William Butler Yeats,” the chief insisted unexpectedly, “I still can’t afford to ignore it. So, Cora, if you have any insights at all, I’d be happy to hear ’em.”

  “Well,” Cora said. “The title is Death of an Actress. That would seem to let the men out.”

  “Brilliant,” Chief Harper grumbled. “I’m sure glad I drove all the way over here for that.”

  “You want my opinion or not?”

  “I want your opinion. I just didn’t know it was going to be so illuminating.”

  “Well, Death of an Actress is rather vague. Now, if it had been Death of a Director . . .”

  “Not getting along well with our new celebrity?”

  “Are you implying that I’m jealous?”

  “I gather there’s some resentment.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Cora snapped. “But I am not a singer. I am not even an actress. I get roped into this, pushed out front, and constantly ridiculed. Does that sound like your idea of a good time?”

  “You’re saying if Mr. Winston winds up dead, I should look no further?”

  “I might even plead guilty.”

  Chief Harper sipped his cocoa. “Anyway, I spoke to Jimmy Potter. He never saw the envelope till he got onstage. Jimmy says Rupert was going to have a run-through, but first he had to work with the milkmaids because they weren’t very good.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re a milkmaid? I should have known.”

  “Well, aren’t you the soul of tact.”

  “I mean I should have known from your resentment of Rupert Winston. Anyway, first Winston worked with the milkmaids. Then he had the run-through of the whole megillah, starting with the twelve whatever. Just before the run-through he asked Jimmy where the partridge was. Jimmy ran backstage, got the tree off the props table. There was a lot of confusion with all the actors getting offstage and taking their places. He didn’t notice the partridge had been swapped with the puzzle. No one noticed till he brought it onstage.”

  “So?”

  “So, the last time Jimmy saw the bird was just before rehearsal, when he checked to see that the pear tree was there. He didn’t have it when Rupert worked with the milkmaids, and he didn’t have it when everyone was onstage while Rupert was giving notes. According to Jimmy, all that time the pear tree was sitting on a props table backstage right near the stage-left stairs.”

  “Oh.”

  “Which means while the actors were all onstage, anyone could have snuck up the stairs and made the substitution.”

  Cora nodded. “Works for me. If you want my opinion, it sounds more like a schoolgirl than a killer.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s my opinion also. Right now we’re saying, What if it isn’t? What if it’s a genuine death threat? What should we do then?”

  “Close down the pageant?” Cora said it hopefully.

  “I can’t do that. Not on the basis of something that’s probably a prank. What I have to do is take certain precautions. Like I said at the beginning. If this is a genuine death threat, who’s at risk?”

  “Any of the women in the show.”

  “That reasoning is not up to your usual high standard. Wouldn’t you agree that the most likely person is Becky Baldwin?”

  “Oh, give me a break,” Sherry Carter said.

  “As I understand it, Becky’s the star of the show. The one who gets all the gifts. The one who sings about her true love sending to me, or however it goes.”

  “There’s another twenty or thirty actresses in the show. Why couldn’t it be any of them?”

  “It could, but Becky’s the star. And the puzzle in the pear tree was given to her. That’s on the one hand. On the other, you have to figure why would anyone want to kill anyone in the show?”

  “You think someone is jealous because Becky has the starring role?” Sherry said.

  “You miss my point,” Chief Harper said glumly. “Becky Baldwin is the type of woman who inspires strong feelings. You either love her or hate her. You, for example, don’t particularly like her. But I can’t imagine you sending her that poem, even if you were able to write puzzles.�
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  “Thanks for your support.”

  “But someone else might. Plus Becky’s an attorney. She hasn’t been back in town long, but she’s handled some high-profile cases.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Sherry said, and immediately felt bad. What Chief Harper was saying was absolutely true. If the acrostic threat was genuine, Becky Baldwin was the most likely target.

  Sherry even begrudged her that.

  5

  “CAN YOU BE A VIRGIN?”

  Sherry Carter raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  Aaron Grant grinned. “Can you be a virgin?”

  “You know,” Cora said, “in all the times I’ve been married, propositioned, and proposed to, I don’t believe anyone’s ever asked me that.”

  “Me either,” Sherry said. “What’s up, Aaron?”

  “They need a Virgin Mary for the live Nativity. I figure if I can be a wise man, you can be a virgin.”

  “Very funny,” Sherry said.

  “Oh, but I’m serious,” Aaron persisted. “I’ve already agreed to do it. Told Charlie I’d ask you.”

  “Who?”

  “Charlie Ferric, the art teacher. Charlie’s in charge of the Nativity. One of the high school girls canceled, and Charlie’s one virgin short. It’s just for an hour. Whaddya say, Sherry?”

  “What’s it entail?”

  “Just posing. On the village green. In a large wooden stable.”

  “Posing?”

  “Sure. Bakerhaven’s famous for its live Nativity. Mary and Joseph are real, and the wise men and shepherds. They pose in the stable with the Baby Jesus.”

  “A real baby?”

  “No. A baby wouldn’t last an hour.”

  “I’m not sure I would either. You better get someone else.”

  “If you say so.” Aaron shrugged innocently. “Becky Baldwin’s doing it. . . .”

  “Becky’s playing the Virgin Mary?”

  “Sure. She’s done it before.”

  Sherry opened her mouth, closed it. “I’m not gonna touch that.”

  “So, can I put you down as a virgin?”

  “Boy, talk about milking a joke,” Sherry said.

  “Well, why not? We got a maid a-milking right here.”

  “A lousy one, by all accounts,” Cora grumbled. “At least according to Chief Harper’s assessment of Jimmy Potter’s assessment of Rupert Winston’s assessment of my alleged performance.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” Aaron said. “Rupert loves it that Harvey Beerbaum’s terrible.”

  “Now you’re saying I’m terrible?” Cora’s face reddened.

  Aaron Grant put up his hands. “I came here to talk virgins, not milkmaids. I just can’t seem to get a straight answer.”

  “When would they need me?” Sherry asked.

  “The schedule’s flexible. They can push the kids around to accommodate you. It’s just a question of saying yes.”

  “Then I guess I gotta.”

  “Good,” Aaron said, grinning. “I’ll tell Charlie, you can meet with him, work it out.”

  “Meet with him? Why do I have to meet with him?”

  “If you’ve never done it before, he has to show you how to pose and where to find your costume. There’s two of each, the one that’s being worn, and the one that’s hanging in town hall, waiting for the replacement. A half hour before you go on, you go to town hall, change, and get ready to take your position in the stable at the top of the hour.”

  “Which hour are you doing?”

  “That’s not set yet.”

  “But you’re not playing Joseph?”

  “No, I am a king of Orient R.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, ‘We three kings of Orient R.’ ”

  “No, doofus. You are a king of the Orient. There’s no such thing as Orient R.”

  “Really. I’ve been hearing it all my life. That’s what I thought it was.”

  “I hope you didn’t use it in today’s article.”

  Aaron had a moment of panic while he thought about it. “No, I did the pageant. The Nativity’s tomorrow’s piece.”

  A horn honked in the driveway. Cora went to the window, peered out.

  The moon on the snow lit up the front lawn. A police car was parked behind Aaron Grant’s Honda, and Sam Brogan clambered out. The cranky Bakerhaven officer was dressed in his winter uniform, complete with leather gloves and fur-lined hat. The hat was slightly askew, as he had been driving without it and had jammed it on his head to exit the car. Sam scowled as he stomped up the path.

  Cora met him at the door. “Hi, Sam. What’s up?”

  “Oh, you’re alive.” Sam didn’t sound particularly pleased. “Think you can stay that way till morning?”

  “I’ll certainly do my best.”

  “Good. Then I done my job. Lock your doors, lock your windows, if you hear anything suspicious call the police.”

  “You got it,” Cora vowed. “Anything else?”

  “Nope. Just don’t get killed, or they’ll be blamin’ me.”

  “I could leave a note saying it wasn’t your fault,” Cora suggested.

  “Yeah, that’s hilarious,” Sam said. “If the chief asks, just remember I was here.”

  “The chief told you to drive by?”

  “He certainly did. So that’s what I’m doin’. Drivin’ by.”

  “And you’re unhappy because you think it’s stupid?”

  “No, I’m unhappy because I’m makin’ straight time.”

  Cora frowned. “What?”

  “It’s my shift. I’m on duty anyway. I swing by here to see you, it’s part of my job. It ain’t a dang thing extra. I’m workin’ anyway. Protecting you on my regular watch.”

  “Isn’t that good?”

  “Yeah, great,” Sam said sarcastically. “Dan Finley’s out keepin’ an eye on the lawyer lady. It’s not his shift, he wouldn’t be workin’ now, he’s gettin’ time and a half for doin’ it. So here’s me and Dan out workin’ tonight, and every time I make two bucks, he makes three.”

  “Dan Finley’s keeping an eye on Becky Baldwin?” Sherry asked.

  “At time and a half,” Sam said. “I ask you, is that fair?”

  “Maybe not,” Cora said. “But think how angry Chief Harper will be if she gets killed.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, uncheered by the prospect. “Just remember I was here.” He turned and stomped back to the car.

  “Well,” Sherry said, “Becky Baldwin gets a full-time bodyguard, and we just get a drive-by.”

  “Becky Baldwin gets a bodyguard at time and a half,” Aaron corrected. “I wonder what that’ll do to the town budget.”

  “I don’t know,” Cora said, “but Harper seems to be taking this thing seriously.”

  “And you’re not?” Aaron asked.

  “Oh, but I am,” Cora replied. “I think the puzzle is a personal message meant for me, warning me to get out of that show. I’d be a fool not to comply.”

  “Oh, sure,” Sherry snorted. “You think you’re going to get away with that one?”

  Cora sighed, but her eyes were twinkling. “I can dream, can’t I?”

  6

  “MY, WE’VE PUT ON A LITTLE WEIGHT, HAVEN’T WE?”

  Cora Felton glared down at Mabel Cunningham as the costume mistress attempted to button Cora’s milkmaid skirt. A plump woman herself, Mabel seemed to take undue delight in the expanding waistlines of others.

  “I haven’t put on a little weight,” Cora told her tartly. “I’ve never worn this costume before. Someone else wore it last year. Someone who was obviously shorter. If it’s going to be a problem, why don’t you talk to Rupert and suggest he replace me with someone the costume will fit?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mabel said. “I can let it out. I do that every year. Take it in, let it out. And this year, with the crazy casting, nothing seems to fit.”

  As if to punctuate the remark, Sherry Carter came walking up with her ladies-dancing cost
ume hanging off her like a tent.

  “Well, look at this!” Mabel cried. She fished a half dozen straight pins out of a pocket in her smock, fed them unerringly into her mouth. With a practiced hand, Mabel quickly tucked and pinned Sherry’s dress. “That’s good. Take it off, hang it on a hanger, make sure your hanger’s marked. You’re done.”

  As Sherry moved off, Mabel said, “There’s a break. It’s a lot easier to baste than let out. Though I seem to have a lot more letting out.”

  Cora seethed in silence. Since she’d been shanghaied into this idiotic project, her acting, her singing, her dancing, and now her weight had been called into question.

  Wendy Brill, one of the high school girls who had been helping Mabel with the costumes, came running up. “Becky’s here!” she announced breathlessly.

  “So, give her a costume. You know where it is.”

  “Dan Finley’s with her.” Wendy’s eyes were wide. “He wants to come in!”

  “Oh,” Mabel said. She glanced around the girls’ dressing room, where the women’s costume call was being held. Sherry Carter, now in bra and panties, was hanging her ladies-dancing gown on a rack. Other actresses were in various stages of undress. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Let me talk to Dan.”

  Mabel straightened, spat the remaining pins into her hand, ambled toward the door. Cora Felton, holding up her unbuttoned skirt, tagged along right behind.

  Becky Baldwin and Dan Finley stood outside. The young policeman looked deeply embarrassed.

  “I’m not trying to get in,” he protested. “Chief Harper said not to leave her alone.”

  “There’s only one door to the dressing room, Dan,” Mabel told him. “And there’s a lot of us here. I think Becky’ll be safe enough with us women.”

  “I think so too,” Dan agreed. “But I got my orders.”

  “You wanna come in?” Mabel managed to put a wealth of insinuation into a two-letter word.

  Dan Finley could not have blushed more splendidly had he been caught trying to peep in the dressing room window. “Of course not. But I don’t see why you couldn’t bring her costume out here.”

  “Wonderful,” Becky said. “You’d like me to dress in the hall?” She shrugged off her coat, thrust it at the beleaguered policeman. “I suppose you’d like to hold my clothes for me?”