Free And a Puzzle to Die On by Parnell Hall Page A

case?”
    Cora told Sherry about Ricky Gleason’s “accident.”
    “So?” Sherry said. “What’s wrong with that?”
    “Guy wasn’t drunk enough to wreck his car. He was barely drunk enough to slur his words.”
    Sherry could see what had put Cora in mind of having a drink. “Some people hold it better than others.”
    “Granted. But it takes a snootful to drive into a tree.”
    “I think you’re making too much of this guy.”
    “Me? You’re the one who Googled him to death.”
    “It was a traffic accident. Months ago.”
    “Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
    “It’s been twenty years. People die.”
    “Yeah, but he died before I could find out what he knows.”
    “Come on, Cora. You got it all backwards. If someone killed Ricky Gleason to keep you from finding out what he knows, they did it months before you started looking.”
    “Interesting point,” Cora mused. “That makes me wonder.”
    “Wonder what?”
    “When all this started.” Cora motioned to the computer. “Lemme check my mail?”
    “Sure,” Sherry said, happy to have her calmed down. She slid out of the seat, let Cora take her place.
    Cora opened her e-mail server. Six messages came in.
    “Hmm. Salami. Salami. Salami.” Cora hit DELETE .
    “Spam,” Sherry corrected, gently. “Who’s Rocky?” she asked, looking over Cora’s shoulder.
    “None of your damn business. You gonna let me read my mail or not?” Cora clicked down. “What the hell is this?”
    “What?” Sherry looked. “Oh, my God! Manny Nosowsky!”
    “You know him?”
    “I feel like I know him. He posts all the time on Cruciverb-L.”
    “You mean he’s a crossword person?”
    “You gotta learn to say that less like you swallowed a bucket of nails.”
    “Oh, hell,” Cora said, opening the e-mail. “Here it is. ‘Cheers from Manny.’ And there’s an attachment.”
    “Click on it.”
    “Do I have to?”
    “Only if you wanna know what it is.”
    Cora clicked on the attachment. It opened a puzzle in Crossword Compiler.
    “Oh, look at that,” Sherry said.
    “What?”
    “It’s a seventeen by seventeen.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake. You mean it’s bigger?”
    “It certainly is.”
    “Aw, hell.”
    “What do you care? It’s not like
you
were gonna solve it.”
    “No, but I gotta read the damn thing. Harvey will probably grill me on what it says.”
    “Boy, talk about lazy.”
    “Lazy, hell. How’d you like people to make a fuss about your birthday?”
    The sound of tires in the driveway announced thearrival of Aaron Grant. Sherry and Cora met the young reporter at the front door.
    “Hi, girls,” Aaron said. “What’s up?”
    “Girls?” Cora said. “My, my, how tactful.”
    “Tactful in your case,” Sherry said. “In my case, it’s politically incorrect.”
    “Yeah, talking’s a minefield these days.” Aaron headed for the kitchen. “You got anything to drink?”
    Cora shot a look at Sherry. “Funny you should ask.”
    “Lemonade or iced tea?” Sherry said.
    “Iced tea would hit the spot.” Aaron jerked the refrigerator open, took out the pitcher of iced tea, poured himself a glass. He sat down at the table, took a sip. “Ah, that’s good. Hear you got a murder, Cora.”
    “Oh, you hear that, do you?” Cora picked up the pitcher. “Guess I’m reduced to iced tea too.”
    Aaron shot Sherry an inquiring glance. She pretended not to notice. “Yeah,” he said. “I hear you’re doing some work for Becky Baldwin.”
    “You’re not writing it up, are you?”
    “Good lord, no. I don’t even know what it’s all about.”
    “If I tell you, are you going to write it up?”
    “Not if you don’t want me to.”
    “Remember the Darryl Daigue murder case?”
    “That what you’re working on?”
    “Remember it?”
    “I’m not that old. I know about it, of course.”
    “How’d you like to get back in my good graces?”
    “I didn’t know I was in your bad ones.”
    “You’re not. How’d you like to win a