blabbed. That was just plain dumb. Water under the bridge, or whatever they say. Ancient history.” Dawn looked at her watch. “For pete’s sake, what’s keeping them? I’ve gotta get to work. We’re running short of staff at Papyrus—that’s where I work—and the manager’s gonna tan my hide if I don’t show up for my shift.”
“He can’t blame you if your physical therapist kept you waiting.”
“Wanna bet? He’s as big a jerk as my—” Dawn clapped a hand over her mouth.
“As your boyfriend? Is that what you were about to say?”
Dawn didn’t reply, and so Sara took the lead. The conniving subcontractor to the Polycrates Agency was nowhere in evidence. “It sounds to me as if you should walk right out on that good-for-nothing person,” she stated. “Mistreating a woman! How low can a man stoop? And you realize, dear, that those types don’t stop at a single abusive incident.”
“Yes, I know . . .” The words were so muffled Sara could hardly hear them. “Look, Sara . . . ma’am . . . I didn’t mean to talk about this. I’m really trying to pull things together. I’m taking night school classes and everything. I mean, I don’t want to take home the diddly pay I get at Papyrus forever, you know? I want to be a paralegal and work in a law firm or somewhere fancy like that, and well, Andy—he’s my boyfriend—he’s not too happy about me, you know, giving away all my time—”
“You’re hardly giving it away if you’re earning a paycheck, dear.”
“Well, you know how men like to talk . . . and, anyway, I don’t think he likes the paralegal stuff, either. He thinks I’m getting ahead of myself or something.”
Before Sara could make another incensed comment, Dawn Davis was called for her appointment. She jumped to her feet with the alacrity of someone anticipating being reprimanded—or slapped. “Gotta go . . . listen, forget what I said, Sara. It’s just me running off at the mouth. Oh, I’m Dawn, by the way. Dawn Davis.” She shook Sara’s hand. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You know, with a maid and everything. That’s pretty cool.”
Sara watched as Dawn gathered up her purse and book-bag. “You know, my dear, I’m a lonely old lady. I’d be delighted if you felt like visiting me someday. My maid could prepare us a meal.”
“Really? That would be so cool. Yeah, I’d like that . . . and we could compare doctors and things.”
Or talk about a man named Andy whose girlfriend wound up in the operating room, Sara didn’t add; instead she opted for a noncommittal: “How about tomorrow after you finish work?”
Dawn thought for a second. “Darn, I can’t. I’ve got a class. Maybe I could cut it, though—”
“Nonsense. You keep up with your schooling. It’s very important.”
“I could do Saturday,” Dawn offered. “Andy won’t be around. Like, maybe supper after my shift at the store?”
“That’s a date, my dear. Saturday, it is. I’ll leave a note with directions to my home with the receptionist—in case I’m already gone when your appointment concludes.”
CHAPTER
20
This wasn’t the first time some oddball had sent his wife crosswords that seemed to relate to a case Rosco was investigating; and, as in past situations, a number of familiar dilemmas presented themselves. One: Was the message in the puzzle genuine? Two: If it was, who was sending it? And three: Or, could it be that Belle’s growing notoriety as a word-game editor and sometime crime solver was making her the target of a person who got his or her jollies by imitating felons and murderers? It was the couple’s experience that there were more than a few warped brains in the world, and would-be copycat criminals who constructed complex crosswords during their spare time definitely made that list.
Pondering the telephone call he’d just received from Belle regarding the newly faxed missive, as well as the seemingly innocent puzzle that had arrived on Sunday morning, Rosco again drove out to King Wenstarin Farms. The afternoon had become gray and ominous, and the canvas top and side curtains had been returned to the Jeep, a fact Pete commented on as Rosco stopped at the front gate.
“I guess this means summer is officially over,” he said with a broad smile. “You seemed to be the last holdout. All the BMWs and Benzes put up their tops a month ago.”
“Never give up, that’s me.”
“Does this mean you’re wearing socks, too?”
Rosco smiled. “Let’s not go overboard; still a