Dead Man's Puzzle by Parnell Hall Page A

“Because the rain in the plain stays mainly in Tanzania.”
    Sherry batted at him playfully with her binoculars, and they wrestled around in the back of the Land Rover.
    “Easy, tiger lady,” Aaron said, laughing and pinning her hands. “You know, we don’t have to do this.”
    Sherry grinned. “I promised you a wildebeest, I’m going to give you a wildebeest.”
    “I can live without a wildebeest.”
    “You say that now. But when we get home . . .”
    “I’d settle for a reticulated giraffe.”
    “Who wouldn’t? But we’ve seen enough giraffes.”
    “You can never see enough giraffes.”
    “Well, we’re not going to turn back now. It’s wildebeests or bust.”
    “Speaking of bust . . .”
    “Why, Aaron Grant. Was that a racy Cora remark?”
    “That wasn’t the way I saw it.”
    “Well, you watch your mouth. I’m a married lady.”
    “So I recall.”
    “Look!” cried Jonathan. “Wildebeest!”
    The Land Rover bumped over a small rise, and there they were. Thousands of wildebeests, as far as the eye could see.
    “Wow,” Aaron murmured.
    “Worth it?”
    “I’ll say.”
    Jonathan assured them this was nothing. In the height of the migration, the plain would be solid wildebeests. Millions of them.
    Sherry and Aaron were happy to settle for tens of thousands. After all, they were on their honeymoon.
    They got back to camp just before dinner.
    The tents they lived in were large, had electricity and running water. Not that you could drink it, but you could take a heated shower. The tent flaps had to be knotted shut securely so the monkeys didn’t get in.
    The bar and dining room, with thatched roof and open air, and warthogs trotting freely in the yard, still featured a battery-charging station and Internet access port.
    Sherry took her iTouch out of her pocket, logged on.
    “I thought you weren’t going to do that,” Aaron said.
    “I’m just picking up my e-mail.”
    “I thought that’s what you weren’t going to do.”
    “I’m not going to answer my e-mail. That doesn’t mean I can’t pick it up.”
    “What’s the use of picking it up if you aren’t going to answer it?”
    “Just to make sure nothing’s wrong.”
    “Nothing’s wrong. Cora has your international cell phone number. In an emergency, she’d call.”
    “She might forget how.”
    “You wrote it down for her.”
    “Sweetheart. It’s Cora. You know what convoluted logic might make her decide not to call.”
    “I know what convoluted logic might make you decide to check your e-mail.”
    “I’m not going to check it every day. Just every half a million wildebeests.”
    “Wasn’t that something?”
    “I’ll say. . . . Ah. I picked up a signal. And look. Four new messages.”
    “Only four?”
    “I have a good spam filter.”
    “Even so. When was the last time you checked your e-mail?”
    “What’s the big deal?”
    “Sherry.”
    “So, I checked it last night. We didn’t have anything. Just junk. And today we got— Uh-oh!”
    “What?”
    “Cora.”
    “What does she want?”
    “I don’t know, but she sent an attachment.”
    “Cora sent an attachment?”
    “I left instructions.”
    “What does she say?”
    Sherry read, “ ‘Didn’t want to bother you, but I got this puzzle. I gave the first one to Harvey, which was okay because it didn’t mean anything, and he solved it for Chief Harper. Now I got another one, and I can’t give it to Harvey because Chief Harper doesn’t know about it because I found it at a crime scene where I wasn’t supposed to be. I’m hoping it means nothing and I can throw it in the trash. But old man Overmeyer, the geezer with the cabin, got himself poisoned, and I could use a little help. If you can solve this puzzle and send it back, I’d be grateful, and if you happen to notice any way it might relate to a thirty-two-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver, that would be even better. Have a happy honeymoon. Don’t let the monkeys steal your undies.