Dead Man's Puzzle by Parnell Hall Page B

Cora.’”
    “The monkeys steal your undies?”
    “An old South African toast.” Sherry smiled. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard it.”

Chapter 23
    Cora glowered at the puzzle and considered Overmeyer the most annoying, stupid, idiotic, exasperating man she’d ever met. And she’d never met him. But he ranked right up there with some of the ones she’d married. The man deserved to die a thousand painful, gruesome deaths. Arsenic was too good for him. Surely something more diabolical could have been planned for the dead man from hell.
    Cora gnashed her teeth and looked at the dead man’s puzzle:

    The theme entry read: “Flip me over onto my back. Upside head take a whack.”
    Boy, if the son of a bitch were only here, Cora would take such a whack. The two poems had to be the worst meaningless drivel she’d ever encountered. “At noon I can not be done. So I should try to at one.” And “Flip me over onto my back. Upside head take a whack.” It should at least be “Upside my head.” Probably didn’t fit. Or maybe he was afraid she’d do it and wanted to maintain deniability. “No, not my head. Did I say my head? I didn’t say my head. How about his head? Take a whack at his head, if you want.”
    Cora had been so eager to get the puzzle back from Sherry. At the same time, she had been conflicted about the possible result. If it meant anything, she’d have to take it to Chief Harper. Which she could get away with if it was important enough. If it was dropping a significant clue in his lap. The theft of the puzzle would be forgiven in exchange for unveiling the culprit.
    On the other hand, if the puzzle was meaningless, she didn’t have to show it to Chief Harper. In fact, she couldn’t show it to Chief Harper. It would be suicide to show it to Chief Harper. If the poem was meaningless, she would keep quiet and pretend it never happened.
    Well, there it was, and if there was a meaning hidden within it, Cora wouldn’t know it. Nor would any other sane, rational person on the face of the earth. Which wasn’t fair. If the guy was going to hide the damn thing behind his poker-playing-dogs picture, it ought to mean something.
    Only it didn’t.
    It really wasn’t fair.

Chapter 24
    Cora Felton saw him as she came out of Cushman’s Bake Shop. He ducked back into the shadows, but that was what gave him away. Cora was always on the alert for elusive surveillance tactics. Not that she was often followed, but when she was, she knew it.
    In this case, she knew the shadow. Becky Baldwin was right. The man snooping around was none other than Sherry Carter’s worthless ex-husband.
    So. Dennis Pride was watching her. Had he followed her to the bake shop? Or just spotted her going in and waited for her to come out?
    Cora was tempted to grab him by the scruff of the neck and demand to know what he was doing. But he’d probably lie. And then she’d waste her time figuring out what he was doing, why he was lying, and the whole nine yards. It was easier just to see for herself.
    She hopped into her red Toyota, backed out of her parking spot, and drove slowly out of town. In the rearview mirror, she could see a black sedan pull away from the curb and follow. Cora went by the gas station, took a left on Holcomb Road. The sedan put on its blinker. Cora grinned in satisfaction, stepped on the gas, hurtled down the road. After a few seconds, she took her foot off the accelerator, let the engine slow the car. The Toyota had gone from twenty to eighty to thirty in the wink of an eye, and when the black sedan came into view, Cora was driving safely within the speed limit, though way down the road. It occurred to her that it would be really neat if Dennis had been smoking dope. After all, the guy was in a rock band, and if he was really stoned, her car seeming to teleport ahead would be a weird trip.
    Cora was coming up on Overmeyer’s cabin. To her right was George Brooks’s house, a mansion by comparison. She could