Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,44

the gray, don’t you, Emma? The time for our rendezvous is ten in the morning, but the pink might appear overly informal. We want to be taken seriously, don’t we?”

“And a full or half apron?”

Sara thought. “Half. There won’t be any cooking involved. Unless it’s someone’s goose.”

Belle couldn’t stop chuckling the entire way home. “Well, how else did you imagine this playing out, Rosco? You know you can’t get Sara involved in any scheme without her pulling out all the stops. Just be grateful those two don’t want to dress up as Batman and Robin. Besides, you can’t have forgotten the situation in Hollywood when she actually believed she’d become a world-class thespian, or the time we took her to that inn in Vermont. Or our wedding, for pete’s sake, which she insisted be performed on the senator’s yacht.”

Rosco shook his head. “I don’t know . . . The idea of Emma in her uniform, and Sara togged out in a Queen-Elizabeth-type hat . . . I’m not certain they’re going to inspire a woman like Dawn Davis to share her deepest and darkest secrets. On the other hand, who could suspect that dynamic duo of trying anything underhanded?”

“They could always shame her into gabbing,” Belle shot back. “Ask where her white gloves and lace hanky are, for instance. Besides, you deserve everything you got, sitting there wolfing down cookies while I was trying to keep the tea from sloshing all over the floor.”

“You’re the neophyte lady of the mansion, not me,” was Rosco’s serene response. “Anyway, in case you’d forgotten, you’re also the one who invented the term subcontractor to the Polycrates Agency.”

“And now you have two more,” Belle laughed.

“Hooo boy.”

“And you’d better hope the three of us never gang up on you and mutiny.”

“Or demand union benefits. I’m losing sleep over that scenario already.”

CHAPTER

18

The moment the car once again reached the seclusion of the Munnatawket Beach parking lot, the driver glanced down at the blank sheet of quarter-inch graph paper lying on the passenger’s lap. “I still don’t know why—”

A hand was raised, commanding silence. “How about we play the James Boys tonight, what do you say?”

“Can’t you take this seriously? I’m not into games tonight.”

“Who do you want to be? Frank or Jesse?”

“I really don’t want—”

“Make up your mind,” was the brusque reply. “Jesse . . . or Frank. C’mon, this thing only works if you act on instinct; you know that. Besides, when you look at the string of murders those two logged in, I’d say we couldn’t get more serious.”

“But I—”

“Don’t tell me you’d prefer Groucho and Harpo? Or maybe Abbott and Costello?” This was said with a laugh, but the sound was cruel and goading.

The response was a beleaguered sigh. “I liked playing the woman’s part last time.” Another pause, followed by, “Okay, I’ll be Jesse.”

“Spell it with an ie if it’ll help you work through that feminine thing.” The suggestion was accompanied by another jeering chuckle.

“Just skip it, okay? But I’ve gotta tell you, this is getting way, way too harebrained for me.”

“Tortoise and the hare . . . You wanna play bunny rabbit instead? And I’ll be a big, old snapping turtle—”

“Stop it! I said I’d do Jesse, didn’t I? So quit it! I just don’t understand why we’re going through the trouble of making another stupid puzzle when the first one got no reaction whatsoever.”

“Frank’s” head shook in frustration. “That’s exactly why we need to create another one, Jes; clearly, the first attempt failed, or the transmission didn’t go through. Who knows? All I can tell you is that no one’s approached the guilty party. At least, not that I’ve heard.”

“Parties,” “Jesse” corrected acidly. “There’s more than one, brother dear.”

“Right, fine, parties. Have it your own way. Anyway, we also made a serious construction mistake with the last one. I checked out the newspaper crosswords. These things need to be symmetrical.”

“Well, that sure makes it easier,” was the muttered reply. However, Jesse’s hands were now trembling so violently that the caustic tone of voice sounded no more threatening than a puff of evening air.

“What’s wrong with you all of a sudden? You’re not losing your nerve, are you? Look, we agreed on this thing . . . We’ve got to get information to them; and we need to stay anonymous. And the only way to do that is—”

“Someone was murdered!” Jesse nearly screamed. “In case you’ve been so busy you haven’t noticed.”

Even though they’d returned to the deserted parking lot and