The KenKen Killings Part 1

The KenKen Killings.

Parnell Hall.

For Dennis, who stayed home.

KenKen Kudos.

I would like to thank Tetsuya Miyamoto, for inventing KenKen as a means to help his students learn math; Will Shortz, for popularizing this wonderful creation by featuring it in The New York Times, as well as in his series of bestselling books; and Robert Fuhrer, president of Nextoy, LLC, of which KenKen is a registered trademark, for granting the permissions and supplying the puzzles that appear in this book.

I would like to thank Manny Nosowsky, for creating the crossword puzzles. Manny is invaluable. I couldn't kill people without him.

Last but not least, I would like to thank Ellen Ripstein, for editing the puzzles and catching my mistakes.

Without these people, this book would not have been possible.

Chapter.

1.

Cora Felton jumped in the air and clicked her heels together, a perilous undertaking since she was wearing high heels and had put on a little weight.

"Good Lord! What is it?" Sherry Carter said.

"Chester T. Markowitz is dead."

"Who?"

"My husband."

"Your husband?"

"Yes."

"You have a husband named Chester T. Markowitz?"

"Not anymore."

"But you did?"

"Apparently."

Sherry sighed. Her aunt's loopy behavior could be frustrating at times, and this was one of them. "I give up. I a.s.sume you'll tell me about it when you're good and ready."

"I'll tell you about it when I know myself," Cora said. "But I'm as much at sea as you are."

"Oh, for goodness' sakes. Do you or do you not have a dead husband?"

"I have several." Cora shrugged. "As to this one, I really couldn't say."

Sherry grabbed the letter out of Cora's hand, looked it over. Her eyes widened. "According to this, you not only have a dead husband, he seems to have left you a bit of money."

Cora beamed. "Yes. Isn't that nice?"

"Not if it's a mistake. Not if the money is supposed to go to someone else."

"Who?" Cora said. "If some scheming hussy got her claws on poor Chester-"

Sherry cut her off. "Can we go outside? You're making a scene."

Sherry and Cora were in the Bakerhaven Post Office. Like most town residents, they got their mail delivered. This morning there was a notice in the box saying that Cora had a registered letter. That did not bode well. Usually registered letters meant lawsuits, unpaid bills, late tax returns, and the like.

Cora Felton had all the business ac.u.men of a hyperactive Labradoodle puppy, and Sherry was used to rescuing her from one financial crisis after another.

Sherry wrestled her aunt outside, looked around to see that no one was within earshot. "Okay. Now you can talk without fear of making the National Enquirer. Who the h.e.l.l is Chester T. Markowitz?"

Cora smiled, the trademark Puzzle Lady smile that graced the crossword puzzle column that Sherry wrote for her. Cora couldn't construct a crossword puzzle with a gun to her head. Her niece was the real cruciverbalist. When Sherry created the column, she used her aunt's image to hide from her abusive ex-husband. It hadn't occurred to her that the Puzzle Lady would become nationally famous, do breakfast cereal commercials, and be stuck with the pretense forever.

"It's simple," Cora said. "Since I quit drinking, there are parts of my life I can't remember. The eighties, for instance. It's entirely possible I married this gentleman, though I can't recall him at all."

"But..."

"But what?"

"You had other husbands. You were married and divorced. Several times."

"What's your point?"

"If Mr. Markowitz was living, those marriages weren't legal."

"So?"

"You collected alimony. You inherited from some of them."

"Oh, I doubt if they'd mind. Particularly the dead ones. Anyway, what's the big deal? Some lawyer says I've got some money coming. You think I'm not going to take it?"

"I'm sure you are. It's just something we should do without a bra.s.s band. From a public relations angle."

"Oh, who could possibly care?"

"The kids who eat breakfast cereal. More to the point, the parents of the kids who eat breakfast cereal. If Granville Grains finds out they hired a bigamous spokesperson, they're not going to be happy."

"Oh, you're just an old worrywart. I came into an inheritance. Let's stop by the candy store, pick up some chocolates."

"You sound just like a kid."

"I feel like a kid," Cora said. "Yesterday I was a spinster aunt." She smiled. "Today I'm a widow!"

CHAPTER.

2.

"I can't believe you bought so much chocolate," Sherry said.

"It's a special occasion."

"It's always a special occasion. The sun rising is a special occasion."

"So what?"

"You're putting on a little weight."

"You should talk."

Sherry flushed. Sherry was a newlywed, and ever since she got home from the honeymoon, her aunt had teased her about getting pregnant. So she'd put on some water weight lately. That didn't mean anything. Not necessarily. But Sherry had a hard time denying it, particularly since she and Aaron had begun construction on an addition to the modest ranch house she shared with her aunt.

As Cora turned into the driveway, a backhoe was wreaking havoc in the side lawn.

"How am I supposed to get any work done with that racket?" Cora said.

"What work?"

"My crossword puzzle column."

"I write your crossword puzzle column."

"Exactly."

Sherry got out of the car.

The contractor came up to meet them. Cora knew he was the contractor because he wore a suit and had a blueprint.

"Mrs. Grant...," he said.

"Mrs. Grant? Good Lord. Are you Mrs. Grant?"

"I got married, Cora."

"Right. You're Mrs. Grant, and I'm the widow Markowitz. I must keep these things straight."

"Is there a problem?" Sherry asked.

"A little. We hit bedrock. We can't dig it. We'll have to blast."

"You're going to dynamite our house?" Cora said.

"Not your house. Just your lawn."

"You will tell us when. So I can keep the dog in."

"You'll probably want to stay somewhere else during the demolition."

"So you are going to blast the house."

"We're not blasting the house. But if a stray rock-"

"A stray rock? Tell me you're not talking about a stray rock."

"Cora, let me talk to Mr. Fisher."

"Be my guest."

Cora opened the door and let the dog out. Buddy shot from the house, barking, spinning, and marking his territory. He was peeing on the backhoe as she went inside.

Cora clattered down the hallway to her bedroom, kicked off her dress shoes. She had put them on because of the registered letter. Which was silly. The writer of the letter wouldn't see the person who picked it up. But registered letters meant trouble. If she was marched off to jail, Cora wanted to look her best. Even if she wasn't marched off to jail yet but merely informed such an outcome was in the offing.

Well, what a happy development. In a matter of minutes she had gone from a felon in heels to a widow in flats.

Cora went back in the office, sat at the computer, Googled "Chester T. Markowitz." He didn't Google. That was strange. Everybody Googled. But Chester T. Markowitz had not one single hit.

She left out the t, Googled "Chester Markowitz." That was worse. Now she had fifty thousand hits.

Sherry came into the office. "What are you doing?"

"Googling Chester T. Markowitz."

"Any luck?"

"There's a million Chesters, and no Chester T.'s."

"Get up."

Sherry sat at the computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. Images jumped across the screen. Pages opened and closed in the wink of an eye.