A Puzzle in a Pear Tree by Parnell Hall Page A

you have to find out who did this to Dorrie. You have to.”
    “It’s not actually my place.”
    A pudgy man erupted from a Mercedes, came lumbering across the lawn. He wore a suit and tie, but no hat, coat, or boots. His black leather shoes disappeared in the snow. He slogged forward, his muscles clearly unused to any such activity. He seemed on the brink of falling down.
    A woman ran after him. Thin and big-boned, she had no trouble keeping up, would have been in the lead had she not been sitting in the passenger seat and had to run around the car. She tore across the green, her blond hair streaming out behind her in the wind.
    The man ducked under the crime-scene ribbon, leaned on the stable, breathing hard. His face was red. His hair, an elaborate comb-over, hung down the side of his head, leaving him virtually bald. His flesh was even flabbier than Doddsworth’s, sporting double and even triple chins.
    The woman scrambled up beside him.
    Chief Harper, confronted with Dorrie Taggart’s parents, swallowed hard. “Horace. Mindy.”
    “Where is she?” Mindy Taggart cried.
    “Dr. Nathan took her,” Chief Harper said.
    “To the hospital?”
    “Yes.”
    Mindy grabbed her husband’s arm. “I told you. Come on, Horace. Let’s go.”
    Horace Taggart had recovered his breath. “Who did this?” he growled.
    “Mr. Taggart—” Chief Harper began.
    “Who?”
    “Horace—”
    “Mindy. I have to know.” Horace looked up pleadingly at the chief. “Tell me. What happened?”
    “Dorrie was playing the Virgin Mary. Miss Carter here came to relieve her and found her dead.”
    “You did?”
    From that angle Horace Taggart was a grotesque apparition. Sherry could barely meet his eyes. “Yes.”
    Taggart studied her from head to toe. If he found it strange that she was dressed as a policeman, he gave no sign. Cora could practically see his brain whirling, filing the information away.
    “Who did Dorrie relieve?” he asked.
    “Me!” Maxine Doddsworth fell to her knees. “Oh, Mr. Taggart!” she wailed. “It was
me
!”
    Horace Taggart digested that fact too. His expression never changed. But Mindy Taggart looked stricken. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.
    “Horace—” Mindy began.
    Taggart put up his hand, silencing her. “Harper, I want this solved. I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care who gets hurt. Do you understand me?”
    Chief Harper cleared his throat uncomfortably.
    Doddsworth opened his mouth to say something.
    “Do you understand me?” Taggart’s query was like steel, cutting Doddsworth off.
    Mindy Taggart seemed drowning in emotions, the loss of her daughter overcoming her natural instinct to apologize for her husband’s bad manners. She looked at Doddsworth as if appealing to him for understanding.
    But Doddsworth’s eyes were on his weeping daughter, clasped in his ex-wife’s arms.
    Chief Harper exhaled heavily. “I understand you, Horace.”
    Horace Taggart turned and stomped back toward his Mercedes.
    Mindy Taggart followed. As she went, she glanced back over her shoulder at the Doddsworths.
    Cora frowned.
    Mindy Taggart looked grief-stricken, yes.
    She also looked terrified.

14
    THE CROWD IN FRONT OF THE CHURCH HAD SWELLED. THE spectacular nature of the crime, with the Virgin Mary tumbling headlong from the stable, had drawn the townspeople as well as the sightseers who had driven up to see the Nativity. Grumbling, Sam Brogan had taken on the job of keeping them back. Even so, they filled the road, making it impossible to drive around the green.
    Chief Harper and his contingent from the crèche had just reached the church when a puce Volkswagen Super-beetle careened by and skidded to a stop inches from the crowd.
    Rupert Winston erupted from the door. The eccentric director looked as flamboyant as ever in a full-length suede overcoat, felt hat, and six-foot-long scarf of scarlet velvet. “Is it true?” he cried, playing to the crowd, the heavens, and the last row of the