CHAPTER 10
“But what about 65-Across?” Rosco insisted. Tenacity kept him on his feet; he leaned over Belle as she finished inking in the Sentinel crossword. “Or 30-Across, for Pete’s sake?”
Belle put down her red Bic pen and gave him a long, indulgent look. “It’s a theme puzzle, Rosco. Look at the title. ‘King’s Ransom.’ Constructors have a field day creating them. You take names of flowers or world capitals, movie stars, anything … and find inventive ways of—”
“Come on, Belle.… First of all, I don’t like anything with the word ransom in it. And look at 65-Across. You’ve got to see the connection there.”
“HEARTBREAK HOTEL? The answer merely follows the Elvis Presley theme. And I’ve got to add that the person responsible for this crossword did an excellent job. “BLUE Suede Shoes, which also references CARL Perkins, who recorded the same song and is found at 72-Across.… Frankie AND Johnny … ALL Shook Up … For cleverness, I liked that solution the best—”
“But Heartbreak Hotel was what Gus Taylor called the Saint Augustine Mission—”
“And the clue here is Hanoi Hilton competitor, providing a brainy bit of historical allusion. This is an interesting and challenging crossword, Rosco, but that’s all it is. Nothing points to murder. And nothing remotely alludes to a serial crime or—”
Rosco groaned in frustration. “30-Across,” he said. “HARDHEADED WOMAN. We have an unidentified female victim. Carlyle’s initial estimate on cause of death was—”
Belle interrupted. “And what’s the clue?”
“Like a Barbie doll?”
She tilted her head in amusement. “I love you, Rosco, and I wish I could agree that this cryptic had some bearing on that poor woman’s death, but I think we’re just grasping at straws.”
“But Anagram, Belle! That’s your nickname, right there in 1-Across!”
“Uh-huh. And we have Detectives’ traits at 51-Across. And EDITH Wharton at 13-Down and Playwright David RABE at 28-Down. I don’t mean to be glib, but the only hidden connections I can find are the king of rock and roll and literary lions, which are also kings of their own particular jungles.”
Rosco let out a resigned sigh and walked to the window. Almost miraculously, the sodden clouds of the prior two days had disappeared, leaving in their wake young grass so brilliantly green it stung the senses and an afternoon sky wafting with hope and golden light. “It was worth a shot,” he said.
“It was,” Belle agreed, then added an affectionate, “Al and Abe and Carlyle are working these cases, Rosco. Your job is to get married.”
“I spotted that Anagram, right away.…”
Belle cocked an eyebrow. “You never did explain how a puzzle klutz like you constructed a crossword marriage proposal. MARRY ME BELLE; I LOVE YOU DEAR. That was quite impressive.”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
Belle chuckled. “Oh, I’ll find out, all right.”
Rosco caught himself grinning from ear to ear. “How about we drive to the beach, take a long, slow walk, and then have supper at the Athena?”
Belle sighed, but the sound was full of yearning. “How about we visit Cleo first, check on her kitchen’s progress—or lack thereof—and then take a solitary stroll?”
“We’ll never get out of Cleo’s house without staying for dinner.”
“You said we weren’t our families, Rosco.”
“Right … but walking into Cleo’s house is a little like joining the Marines. You may have entered voluntarily, but leaving is another story; you’re not going anywhere until your tour is up.”
The phone rang. Instinctively, Rosco grabbed it, barking a quick, “Yup?” into the receiver. Simultaneously, Belle reached for it, a mixture of astonishment tinged with indignation on her face. “Hello?” Rosco announced. “Hello?” He dropped the receiver back into the cradle. “Phone sales … The person didn’t even have the courtesy to speak.”
“Did it occur to you that the call might have been for me?” Despite her smile, Belle’s tone was cool.
Rosco attempted a joke. “If a man answers, hang up?”
“That’s not what I meant, Rosco … but … well, this is my home, you know.”
“And soon to be shared, right?”
They remained silent for a minute, both suddenly engrossed in the magnitude of the adjustment they were anticipating. It was as if neither Belle nor Rosco had fully focused on the issue of joining two households before. Belle pictured her quiet little habits forever altered: working till all hours in her ancient and beloved terry cloth robe, dictionaries and encyclopedias lying open at her feet, a licorice stick dangling half-consumed in her hand; while Rosco envisioned the morning silence of his brisk routine: talk radio with The I-Man, a jog, a shower, the first jolt of coffee … all irretrievably transformed into chatty domesticity.
Then apprehension gave way to reflection. Rosco broke the ice. “Are we talking about phone etiquette here or something bigger?”
Belle thought, then reached for his hand. “Phone etiquette …”
“What do you say we discuss that over a candle-lit dinner?”
“I thought you said Cleo wouldn’t allow us to desert her,” Belle teased.
“I’m marrying you, Belle, not the Marines.”
Sharon was in tears when Belle and Rosco pulled up to Cleo’s driveway. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” she kept saying, her big face livid with anguish. “I thought Geoff had a grip on the damn thing.…”
Cleo, torn between ire and sympathy, merely shook her head and stared at the badly dented cardboard crate lying in her drive. Geoffrey Wright’s pickup truck loomed to one side with its owner standing irresolutely near the tailgate. “We’ll order another,” he said. “It’s no big deal.”
Cleo’s response was waspish. “And when will that arrive?”
The usually take-charge artisan thought for a moment before offering a noncommittal, “We can put a rush on the order.”
“I’ve ruined Belle’s wedding!” Sharon moaned. It was at that moment that Belle stepped out of Rosco’s Jeep. Her heart flip-flopped when she heard the words; she tried to smile, but the effort felt sticky and false.
“What happened?” she finally managed.
Cleo turned to her future sister-in-law. “Geoffrey and Sharon drove over to Ace Plumbing and Electrical to pick up the new dishwasher. They came back. Prepared to unload. And voilà! The top-of-the-line Miele that’s been back-ordered for almost two months fell off the truck.”
“It was my fault,” Sharon said. “I thought Geoff had—”
Rosco looked at the three women’s stricken faces. “It’s just a dishwasher, right? We’re not talking a broken hip.”
Sharon began crying afresh, while Cleo gave her brother a nasty glance. “It’s the one piece of kitchen equipment we’ve been waiting for, Rosco. Without it, the refurbishment simply can’t proceed. Sorry, Belle. We’ll have to make other arrangements for the party. Maybe Ariadne can … No, her home is far too cramped—”
“We can use paper plates, Cleo,” Rosco offered. “Nothing to wash. No muss or fuss—”
Cleo’s response was biting. “We can’t leave a vast hole in the cabinetry, Rosco. There’s no countertop!”
Sharon echoed a similar objection: “I can’t finish laying marble without all the major appliances in place. I won’t risk chipping my stone trying to slide the dishwasher under it.”
Belle said nothing.
“Sorry for the setback, Tinker Bell,” Geoffrey Wright finally proffered, then reiterated his hopes that a replacement machine could be found. “Maybe by midweek,” he said.
“That simply isn’t possible,” Cleo interrupted. “The Miele was back-ordered—”
“From the factory, Cleo. From the factory. But, when stock finally reaches the wholesalers, it doesn’t take a genius to scare up another model.”
Cleo’s face remained grim, but Sharon’s brightened considerably. “I’ll go back to Vermont for a couple of days, make sure the lambs are okay and the barn still standing. We can start fresh on Wednesday … Thursday, at the latest. By Saturday, I’m sure we’ll have—”
Belle finally spoke. “Perhaps we should arrange to have the party at my house, Cleo. With a little effort we could—”
But Rosco’s sister wouldn’t hear of the suggestions “I wouldn’t dream of welcoming you into the Poly crates family without throwing a big Greek bash. Don’t worry Tinker Bell, we’ll get this worked out if it kills us all in the process.”