A Crossworder's Holiday by Nero Blanc Read Free Book Online Page B

out?”
    â€œThere are entrances on each floor—including the cellar.”
    â€œDo the doors have locks?”
    â€œOld-fashioned brass ones.”
    â€œLet’s hope they still work.” As a seeming afterthought, Rosco added a cheerful, “By the way, is there any of that terrific Hunter’s Pudding left over?”
    Finney looked chagrined. “Sorry, no … I finished the last of the crumbs when I was cleaning up last night.”
    â€œBut we each have a copy of the recipe, right? I mean, if we wanted to recreate the experience?”
    â€œThat’s right. I followed it to a tee.”
    R ETURNING to the parlor, Rosco found the group even edgier and more hostile toward one another, and Sara’s placid puzzle solving seemed to only exacerbate the situation. “Look at this,” she said brightly to Belle. “Here’s a reference to COSBY at 50-Across … and SACKS—why, that must be Charlotte and Chuck—at 26-Across.”
    â€œLet me see that.” Charlotte barreled across the room, the feathers of her dressing gown flying into her open mouth and sticking to her lips until she was forced to spit them out. “Where’s my name?”
    â€œOh, and here’s LAVORO at 48-Down,” was Sara’s calm reply.
    Charlotte grabbed the crossword. “Where does that so-and-so get off putting my name in a puzzle?”
    â€œYou and your husband, dear.”
    â€œAnd what’s this stuff about COSBY?” Charlotte wheeled on Marcia while throwing the word game to the floor. “Did the Lavoros know in advance what that creep husband of yours was planning to do? Were the four of you aiming to cheat us?”
    â€œHon …” Chuck Sacks cautioned although he began eying Marcia Jaffe intently.
    â€œGene thought you’d all be thrilled with his idea!” Marcia finally offered, her voice a wisp. “Your stock value would have been—”
    â€œTell me another funny story!” Charlotte snorted as she reached down and grabbed Marcia’s arm. “Is that why Tad and Stacy canceled out at the last minute …’cause they were waiting for you to drop this bombshell?”
    â€œI don’t know why they canceled,” Marcia fought back. “And I don’t care, either.”
    â€œWhy, look at that,” interrupted Sara at the window. “Snowshoe tracks walking toward the inn. What a perfect winter’s scene.”
    Belle winced; Rosco winced while the feuding Tylers, Sackses, and the forlorn Marcia Jaffe all hurried to the old lady’s side.
    â€œWho made ’em?” Naturally, it was Chuck Sacks who spoke first.
    â€œI would imagine our host or our hostess,” offered Sara, “checking to ascertain potential damage during the—”
    â€œHow come they’re just walking toward the inn and not around it?” Sacks argued.
    â€œYou probably need to ask Mr. or Mrs. Finney.”
    But at that moment a collective and frightening insight seemed to dawn. “Someone coming in and not going out …” Bobbi Tyler said in the barest of whispers, then suddenly turned around to face Rosco. “What if Gene was murdered?”
    Rosco was ill-prepared for the question, but Belle replied with a reasonable: “Sometimes a violent allergic reaction can present an appearance of asphyxiation—or if, as Mrs. Jaffe suggests, her husband had coronary—”
    â€œGene was strangled?” Marcia yelped.
    â€œI didn’t say that—” Belle began, but Charlotte cut her short with a ghoulish:
    â€œAnd that ‘someone’ is still here …”
    â€œOh, my God!” Marcia screamed, then flailed her arms, snagging Rosco’s shoulder. “Get the police! Get them up here! Get them up here now !”
    â€œWe tried that already, Marcia,” Frank Finney said as he walked into the room. “Remember? There’s been an accident near