CHAPTER 9
Belle was staring disconsolately into a near-empty kitchen cabinet when the doorbell rang. She grabbed a can of condensed mushroom soup, plopped it on the counter, and called out, “Just a sec!” as she hurried through the house.
Rosco stood at the door, a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Belle kissed him. She was so focused on her own thoughts that she failed to notice the paper or Rosco’s curious expression. “Al didn’t need you any longer?”
“I told him everything I knew about Gus and Freddie, Sara’s peripheral involvement, vis-à-vis the dog … the works.… Sister Mary Catherine came by the scene at Lever’s request. She had a strong belief that the dead woman had not been living on the streets.”
Belle nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I feel a certain relief that this latest death isn’t part of a serial crime. In the back of my mind, I’ve been wondering if the city’s more questionable vested interests could be ratcheting up for a war against the homeless shelters.”
Rosco changed the subject. “Have you had lunch yet?”
They walked to the kitchen, hands touching. “We can warm some mushroom soup,” she said. “And I’ve got saltines. We could melt cheese over the crackers.…”
“Sounds great.” Rosco placed the newspaper on the counter. “Sorry to be late. I really did try to call earlier, but the line was constantly busy—”
“My father decided it was time for one final diatribe.” She opened the soup can and unceremoniously dumped the contents into a pot.
“He loves you, Belle. He’s expressing his feelings the only way he knows how.”
“I agree with the latter part of your assessment, Rosco.”
He turned her around to face him and slipped his arms around her shoulders. “I don’t care what he thinks of me, my education, family, work … but I do care about you. I love you, and I’m going to marry you … and you are the only person I’m trying to please. Now and always.”
Belle gazed up into his eyes. “You’re the best guy on earth,” she said. “I hope you know that.”
“We’re not our families, Belle.”
“I know.”
“Or our friends.”
“Well, friends … now, that’s different.” She gave him a grateful kiss, then moved away and opened the refrigerator door. “No milk! Oh, drat! I’ll have to thin this stuff with water. One of these days, I have to learn some basic culinary skills.”
“Such as buying milk?”
“Very funny. I was thinking more in terms of creating meals from scratch.”
“Your deviled eggs are excellent—”
“That’s only one dish, Rosco. It’s not enough to keep body and soul alive. Anyway, they’re more of an hors d’oeuvre than a meal.”
She stirred the soup dreamily. “Oh, I forgot! We had some excellent news! I was waiting till I saw you to share it. A thumbs-up from Captain Lancia. We’re definitely getting married in Newcastle waters, so we can get our license first thing Monday morning. Lancia can’t officiate, but Sara is contacting a JP she knows. Her initial suggestion was a real-life Washington judge, but I nixed the idea, which took some doing, as you can imagine. Il capitáno came to the rescue. His ministrations lessened Sara’s disappointment at not being able to phone her dear friend on the Supreme Court. If Lancia ever loses his job on the Akbar, he can always become a gigolo—”
“You’ve been busy.”
“You don’t know the half of it. If Sara had her way, she’d organize every aspect of our wedding … and maybe play both roles, too.” Belle paused and regarded Rosco thoughtfully. “I’m sorry you’ve been involved in this police business. It doesn’t make for an easy prenuptial week. Besides, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“No trace of Carson’s dog, I take it?” she asked.
“I contacted the Humane Society and all local veterinarians. They swore they’d call me before they … well, did anything drastic. We just have to wait.”
Belle left the soup pot, returned to the fridge, and retrieved a wedge of Cheddar cheese, which she began slicing, laying thin strips atop a number of crackers. Her expression was pensive; it was clear her thoughts weren’t on her work. “I wouldn’t like to be lost and hungry,” she said, then added a typical non sequitur, “Paprika, do you think?”
“Not as much as last time.”
Belle’s eyes narrowed into bemused slits. “The last time I used cayenne, by mistake. Paprika’s not as spicy.…”
As she perused her selection of spices, Rosco unfolded the newspaper. “Hideaway” he muttered as if to himself, “four letters …”
Unconsciously Belle replied. “Nest, cave, hole, lair …”
“Tongue?” Rosco prodded.
“Language, organ of taste or speech, dialect—”
“Six letters.”
“Accent … lingua … What are you up to?” Belle turned around and stared at the newspaper. “Since when have you started doing the crossword in the Boston Sentinel? 5-Across: Hideaway.” Her fingers pointed to the puzzle grid. “Thus your LAIR … and LINGUA for Tongue at 5-Down, making Mr. Amin IDI, of course, and Ms. Parks ROSA.” Belle chuckled. “Oh, and 16, 30, 51 and 65-Across run the full length of the puzzle grid. This looks intriguing … and nicely symmetrical.…”
Rosco took a beat. “Look at 1-Across. Anagram for—”
“Anagram for 75-Across,” Belle muttered. Her eyes darted across the clues. “75-Across: Retreats … four letters … Retreat is both noun and verb. A monk’s cell could be a retreat, likewise a desert isle; to flee is a form of retreating. However, in plural, the words would be five letters.… Wait, I’ve got it! SPAS. The anagram of which is either ASPS, PASS, or SAPS.”
Rosco paused again. “The dead woman was found with a copy of today’s Sentinel under her head. It was open to the comics page. The crossword is at the foot of that section.”
“I know,” was Belle’s wary reply.
“That’s why I purchased the paper.… There may be a connection here.” He pushed the Sentinel across the counter toward her, but she made no move to take it. “Anagram is part of the first clue … like your nickname—”
Belle interrupted. “Rosco, we’re getting married one week from today.”
“I know we are.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“That you don’t want to discuss crime in Newcastle.”
She nodded her head. “It’s not our business, Rosco. Really, it isn’t.”
Inadvertently, his eyes drifted back to the newspaper. “But doesn’t it seem unusual for a Boston daily to be found at the scene—?”
“The city’s less than an hour away—”
“And open to the crossword—?”
Belle’s expression remained unmoving. “A coincidence. That’s all. What does Al think?”
“He didn’t notice the puzzle. Neither did Abe.… Come on, Belle, humor me. This might have some bearing on the case. Call it one of my hunches.… But the woman’s torso was lying atop old Newcastle papers, her head resting on today’s Sentinel. In Carson’s case, there were also newspapers that had been used as a bed—”
“But you just said the situations were unrelated—”
“You inferred that, Belle, when I told you Sister Mary Catherine didn’t believe the dead woman had been living on the streets.”
Belle thought. “I have enormous respect for the nuns, but it’s certainly possible that’s a mistaken assumption. Perhaps the dead woman had only recently taken to the streets.… Maybe she arrived here by bus last night, so as not to be seen begging in her former hometown.… Pride plays an important role in all our lives, whatever our financial circumstances.”
Rosco didn’t reply.
Belle frowned and then sighed, the sound a mixture of frustration and guilt. “Rosco, I don’t want to deal with this. I don’t want to worry about Father Tom and the nuns. I’m being selfish, I know, but for the coming week, all I want to concentrate on is getting married, having a pleasant celebration, and beginning a new life together.”
“There may well be linkages between the two deaths—”
She touched Rosco’s arm and looked into his face. “If there are, Al will discover them. And if they turn out to involve the city’s criminal element, the NPD will handle it.”
“Fill in the puzzle, Belle. It will only take a minute.”
“And then we can forget the entire situation?”
“If there are no clues pertaining to the deaths—”
Belle attempted a jest. “Not good enough.… I’ll make you a deal. First we eat. Then we ink in the crossword. Any linkages go to Al. Okay?”