Free A Puzzle in a Pear Tree by Parnell Hall Page A

particularly badly.
    There was no other Mary.
    “Are you sure you’re all right?” Cora asked. “I may have influenced the doc a little ’cause I didn’t wanna have to follow you to the hospital.”
    “Uh-huh. Is she . . . ?”
    “Is she what?”
    “Dead?”
    “You already asked that. Maybe I should stick around a little. But, yes, she is. Dead as a doornail.”
    “I guess that joker wasn’t kidding. It’s hard to believe.”
    “Yeah. Look, if you’re sure you’re all right, I’d like to get out to the crèche. Harper’s there now, and Doddsworth’s on his way.”
    “Go on. I’ll be fine.”
    Left alone, Sherry realized she was still somewhat dizzy. She sat back on the gurney to catch her bearings.
    On the other side of the room the interrogation of the actors continued. Sam Brogan seemed intent on his task, and no one paid the least bit of attention to her. Not that she needed it.
    Still.
    Sherry wished Aaron were there. Surely he’d be along soon, it being a murder.
    And not just any murder.
    Her
murder.
    Becky’s murder.
    Becky Baldwin.
    Her rival.
    Her nemesis.
    The thorn in her side.
    Never had Sherry been gripped with such conflicting emotions. Suddenly it seemed as if every obstacle to her happiness with Aaron Grant had been removed. But removed in such a way as to make happiness impossible. Could she ever look at Aaron again without feeling she had won by default? That but for the hand of fate, she might not have been so lucky?
    Lucky.
    Sherry shuddered.
    Get a grip,
she scolded herself angrily. She was behaving like a child. A lovesick schoolgirl. A self-centered, self-obsessed, lovesick schoolgirl. Evaluating every action solely in terms of herself. How could she be so crass, so cruel, so—heartless? Becky was dead. Never mind what it meant to her. Becky Baldwin was dead. Murdered. Someone had killed her. As promised in the poems. The poems Sherry had dismissed as doggerel. Had ridiculed. Just as she’d ridiculed the police surveillance. Becky’s bodyguard, Dan Finley. Where had he been when this happened? And what kind of trouble was he in now?
    As if on cue, Dan Finley banged in the door, glanced around, then strode over to where Sam Brogan was interrogating the actors. While Sherry watched, Dan pulled Sam aside, and the two conversed in low tones.
    “So where’s Chief Harper?” an imperious voice demanded.
    A familiar voice.
    Sherry turned and looked.
    Becky Baldwin stood in the doorway.

12
    THE VIRGIN MARY LAY IN THE SNOW. HER COWL WAS OFF, and her blond hair fanned out behind her like a halo. Her sky-blue eyes were open, staring. Her cheeks were frosty pale. Yet she still had that ethereal, waiflike quality.
    It was heartbreaking.
    Jonathon Doddsworth looked stricken. “Dorrie?” he cried incredulously. “Good God, little Dorrie!”
    “Would you keep it down, sir?” Barney Nathan said snippily. The prissy medical examiner was nattily dressed in a pin-striped suit. His bow tie was red, perhaps in keeping with the season. “Hard enough, having to examine the Virgin Mary without outside interference.”
    “But that’s my daughter’s best friend!”
    “Well, you can’t help her now. Just let me do my job.”
    “Come on, now,” Chief Harper said. “Come on, now.” He and Cora guided Doddsworth back to the stable.
    Doddsworth stumbled, climbing, had to be helped up. He rose from the straw. A tremendous sigh rumbled the features of his face. “Poor Max!”
    It took Cora a second to realize he was talking about his daughter.
    Doddsworth seemed overwhelmed, as though his mind refused to process the information. “And you say she wasn’t supposed to be here?”
    “No,” Cora said. “It should have been Becky Baldwin. Somehow they must have swapped shifts.”
    “Good God!”
    “I know it’s upsetting,” Harper sympathized, “but if you have any insights I’d be grateful.”
    “Of course, of course.” Doddsworth made a visible effort to pull himself together. Cora