Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,28

move . . . bingo, case solved, bad guy’s arrested, and no one knows who tipped him off. Okay, let’s try song titles, how’s that? These crosswords should have a theme.”

“Songs . . . ?”

“Are you going deaf or what? Come on, Bonnie baby. Get with it. Light My Fire, as they say . . . we’re trying to open Doors here.”

Ten hours later, a puzzle was complete, and the light of a new day was just beginning to mark the sky.

CHAPTER

10

“Sara was darn lucky. That’s all I can say.” Belle stretched the sleeves of her favorite Irish fisherman’s sweater to cover her chilly hands, then plunged her sweater-clad fists into the pockets of her down vest as she walked in almost perfectly synchronized step with her husband.

“It’s probably not all you can say,” Rosco rejoined, but his wife failed to notice the quip. Nor did she seem aware of the lovely morning weather or the several seagulls lofting high overhead, the coastal city’s unofficial avian mascot.

“No fracture, no severely damaged ligaments. Of course, she’ll be forced to keep her knee immobilized for a while and then engage in physical therapy to strengthen the muscles. But when you think about her age, Rosco . . . it could have been her hip! She could have busted her shoulder when she fell. Or she could even have been alone—without a sensible person like Maxi to take charge of the situation.”

Rosco nodded, then picked up and tossed a small stick for the dogs to chase up a lane pleasantly devoid of traffic. Sunday morning was a peaceful time in the village-within-a-city that was known as Captain’s Walk. An area originally populated by Newcastle’s seafarers, the homes dated from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. They were small and compact dwellings by modern standards; most, like Belle and Rosco’s, had street-facing porches, tiny patches of grass, a mini entry drive suitable for a single sub-compact car, and a leafy rear garden. When Newcastle was a bustling whaling port, Captain’s Walk probably felt like the suburbs. Now it was a time-warp oasis within the township’s hectic sprawl.

Kit retrieved the stick, and Rosco tossed it again. The shepherd-mix bounded off in renewed pursuit; Gabby, slier and wilier, waited at Rosco’s side to pounce on her returning “sister” and thereby wrestle away the prize.

“You’re a sneak-thief, Gab,” Belle observed with a chuckle.

“Sounds a bit redundant,” Rosco told his wife.

“Doesn’t it? I could call her a highway robber, but I don’t think this pokey little road qualifies. At least, it doesn’t any longer. Maybe once upon a time in the wagon and cart days before speed limits were posted at sixty-five miles per hour.” Then Belle returned to the subject of Sara Briephs’s worrisome fall, while the couple—with dog companions—returned home and climbed the three stairs to the porch.

Their stroll had lasted a little over forty-five minutes, and by the time the foursome stepped through the front door all were hungry as bears. Naturally, Kit and Gabby were fed first, then Belle started brewing coffee, while Rosco opened the refrigerator and said, “What would you like for breakfast, love of my life?”

“What do we have?”

There was a long pause. Eventually he said, “Eggs . . . and leftover meatloaf.”

“That’s it? That’s all there is in there?”

“That’s it. Well, there’s some mayo and a jar of capers.”

“There should be English muffins. They’re in the freezer next to the chocolate chocolate chip ice cream. I spotted them yesterday morning when you were out for a run.”

Rosco shook his head. “I’m not even going to ask why you were after chocolate chocolate chip ice cream yesterday morning.”

“I wasn’t,” Belle answered indignantly.

“Hmmmm,” he mouthed, indicating that he didn’t believe her for a minute.

“Rosco, I didn’t eat chocolate chocolate chip ice cream in the morning! What do you take me for? It was the vanilla. We didn’t have any yogurt or milk. What was I supposed to put on my granola? I waited for it to melt.”

He laughed. “Okay, as long as you waited for it to melt. I guess that makes it justifiable.”

“Hey!” Belle exclaimed excitedly, as she rummaged through one of the kitchen cabinets. “Look at this. It’s a can of corned beef hash. It was in with the dog food. Did you know we had this?”

“No.”

“This is super. This is going to be a real breakfast—hash, eggs, and muffins, just like you get a Lawson’s.”

“But without Martha’s sass,” he said with a smile.

However, the moment Belle began to