Crosswords and Puzzles: An Amateur Sleuth Cozy mystery (A Millie Holland Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) Read online

  Crosswords and Puzzles

  Nancy C. Davis

  ©2015 Nancy C. Davis

  Copyright © 2014

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Thank you

  Your Gifts

  Chapter 1

  Horror flick ‘The ____ That Dreaded Sundown.

  Millie scowled down at the crossword clue. She preferred the New York Times crosswords because they challenged her, but this went beyond difficult. She looked up at Viggo and Newman, cleaning themselves atop the dining table, just on the other side of the newspaper.

  She pulled off her reading glasses, and complained, “How on earth do they expect anyone to answer that? The demographic interested in these would know more about news anchors and quotes from old novels than horror movies. I can’t think of a single person I know who’s seen a horror movie since Christopher Lee played Dracula.”

  Viggo hissed in a perfect imitation of a vampire, while Newman merely yawned, as if bored by her moaning. She gave him a withering look. “Unless you want me to put my DVD of Cats on constant replay, I suggest you tolerate my grievances.” Instantly, Newman was on his dainty paws, traipsing over the newspaper to rub his thick gray and white coat against her hand, purring. Millie grabbed his face and stared into the crystal blue eyes that had caused her to name him after the actor, smiling. “That’s more like it, lover boy.” She kissed his nose and shooed him off the paper, huffing her frustration.

  Before she could consider the clue again, she heard a commotion just outside, the second in less than twenty-four hours. Once again, she stood and paced to the front door, cracking it to see what all the fuss was. Coraline appeared in her usual attempt to escape back to the alley from which Millie rescued her, and Millie gently toed at the skinny black cat, nudging her away from the door. She meowed in protest, and Millie hushed her harshly, peering through the small opening with a gasp.

  She watched in horror as a stretcher carrying a zipped body bag was wheeled out of the apartment next door. Without thought, she stepped out, pulling her robe tightly around her as she closed the door to keep Coraline from making a beeline for the nearest trash can. If she ever doused herself in that sort of funk again, she wasn’t welcome back inside.

  An EMT and a police officer stood in front of the open doorway, and Millie marched right to them, tapping the officer on the shoulder. He flinched and whipped around to look at her. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  She gazed up at him, knowing the answer to her questions before she asked. “Excuse me, Officer, but is that Mr. Williams?” She gestured with a long arm and a pointed finger to the stretcher being wheeled away to the ambulance.

  He nodded grimly. “Yes, ma’am. It appears he passed sometime last night in his sleep.”

  Now, that wasn’t possible. “I’m sorry, sir, but you must be mistaken. This is an early retirement community, not a senior citizen’s home, and just yesterday morning, I chatted with Mr. Williams as we stepped out to collect our papers from the porches. He had a doctor’s appointment the day before, received a clean bill of health, and was quite jovial. It’s not possible that he simply keeled over.”

  She knew instantly the man didn’t take her seriously from the exasperated expression he wore. “I appreciate that, ma’am, and I’m sorry for your loss. But this is a clear case of natural causes, and there isn’t likely going to be any sort of investigation.”

  Millie scoffed. “Why, because there’s no blood and gore at the scene? No evidence of forced entry? I’m sorry, sir, but first of all, since we’re in a gated community, there are several of my neighbors who don’t always lock their doors at night, and not because we’re old or senile. Secondly, if you had bothered to canvas the neighborhood, I could have told you two young women I’ve never seen before arrived at Mr. William’s door last night sometime around seven o’clock.

  I know that, not because I’m the crazy cat lady who spies on her neighbors, but because they were rather loud about it and interrupted the beginning of Criminal Minds so I had to rewind and start it over.”

  By now, the cop was frowning, and he crossed his arms as he stared down his long Toucan Sam nose at her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t catch your name.”

  She held out her hand to shake. “I’m Mildred Carlisle.” She blanched. “I’m sorry, Mildred Holland.” Eight years divorced, and she still made that mistake from time to time. “And you, officer?”

  He didn’t reach for her hand. “Officer Jonathan Marx. Tell me, Ms. Holland, do you work?”

  She heard the derision in his voice and promptly smiled, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “You know, there are times when my faith in the Ft. Lauderdale police fails me, but you have instilled me with a modicum of confidence.” His befuddled look was humorous, and she thought how she couldn’t remember a single time Gary Sinise had appeared so confused in CSI: New York.

  “You asked me about my employment because you think I’m old and no longer exercising my mind, so I must be prone to episodes of overactive imagination. But you also wonder, if I do happen to hold a day job, how I would know these two girls had never come to Mr. Williams’ door before, since I must be out of the home at least part of the time.”

  She watched his mouth move, like he was searching for words and continued confidently, “In fact, I am employed, writing advice columns for multiple publications, including some online. However, I work from home and, therefore, am likely the most solid source of information regarding the comings and goings of neighbors and their friends and family. I can assure you, the two girls last night have not been here once before in the entire three years I’ve lived here.”

  Officer Marx seemed less than thrilled to obtain the information Millie offered freely, but he nodded. “Ms. Holland, I really don’t think there’s anything substantial to look into, but since you bring up a question, I’ll make sure we follow up on it. I believe there’ll be an autopsy, and should the medical examiner find anything unusual, I’d like to ask you some more questions. If I could get your contact information…”

  Millie nodded eagerly. “I’m more than happy to cooperate, Officer Marx. I’ll get you a business card, if you can wait right here for just one moment.” Millie hurried into her apartment, tripping over five cats winding around her ankles as if she’d been gone for weeks instead of minutes.

  She shooed them with promises of treats later and hustled back outside, handing her card to the cop. “My home and cell numbers are both on there, as well as my address. I’m here most of the time, but I’d prefer to speak between t
he hours of four and seven in the evening. It doesn’t interfere with my work, my reading, or my shows.”

  Marx raised an eyebrow at her and offered a patient smile. “Alright, Ms. Holland. Thank you, and I’ll be in touch if we discover anything out of the ordinary. If you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got a job to do.”

  “Of course, but I’d like to ask one more question.” He waited impatiently, and Millie asked, “How were you made aware of Mr. Williams’ passing?”

  He seemed reluctant to answer her and sighed. “We received an anonymous tip early this morning.”

  “Aha!” Marx’s eyes went wide at her exclamation. “Tell me, sir, who would call with valid information that no one should have and not give his or her name, unless it was a guilty party?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she opened the door again and slipped inside, calling back over her shoulder, “I look forward to your call, Officer Marx!”

  She knelt down to attend to her four-legged children with a smile. “Oh, we’re just starved for attention, aren’t we?” Newman pawed at her leg, while Viggo tickled her arm with his tail. Coraline stretched and purred as she rubbed behind the girl’s ears, and Harlow jumped onto her raised knee, practical bent in half as she draped herself in what was assuredly supposed to be a ‘come hither’ pose, exposing the white of her belly usually hidden beneath mounds of orange fur. Only Grant remained sitting in a debonair pose of superiority, and even he melted when Millie reached to stroke under his chin.

  They scattered as she pushed back to her feet and trailed after her to the kitchen, where she tossed them each a treat and refilled her coffee mug. She glanced at the crossword puzzle and sighed, shaking her head. “Well, my loves, duty calls, so I suppose I’ll have to discover what dreaded sundown later.” She tried not to think about never speaking to Mr. Williams again; she’d grown fond of the man. Had she not already suffered one nasty divorce, she might have found him attractive, but much preferred the unconditional love of her cats to the straying eyes and criticisms of a husband. Or at least, that had been her experience with Doug, and she couldn’t imagine it being much different with anyone else.

  She made her way to the bathroom, showered and dressed, and then she sat at her desk and logged into her computer with the intention of sorting through the hundreds of emails to find the ones she would address in her weekly columns.

  She rather preferred to answer those asking her opinion about a direction to take in life, as opposed to people asking for sexual or romantic advice. She was the last person who should be offering up solutions in those areas of expertise. Still, she found many of her inquiries amusing, and the first one she opened today made her laugh out loud.

  “Harlow, this one’s right up your alley, pun intended,” she giggled and read aloud, “’Dear Diane, my boyfriend says he can’t orgasm unless I call his male part by his name, but I feel silly saying it, and it ruins my pleasure. How do I get over my aversion to this so we can both enjoy our intimacy? Sincerely, Nameless Parts.’ Now, I don’t know who’s more ridiculous, Nameless Parts or Little Timmy!”

  How did people bring themselves to share such personal information with a complete stranger? Millie wondered if she’d get half of the questions she did if her readers knew she was a 60-year-old divorcee who lived with five cats and stuck to a strict schedule every day at a small apartment in one of the country’s largest retirement zones.

  She heard a hacking sound behind her and turned to scowl as Coraline produced quite the offensive fur ball. “I’ll thank you to stop reading my thoughts, child, and you should really mind your manners in making such rude remarks.”

  She turned back to the computer screen, but she couldn’t concentrate on her work. Instead, her mind kept drifting back to the previous evening and the two girls at Mr. Williams’ apartment. They’d crashed into the door, and when Millie had gone to see if the building was falling down, they were three sheets to the wind, reeking of alcohol and giggling uncontrollably. She’d smiled sweetly at them and said, “Good evening, girls. It would be much appreciated in a quiet community like this if the volume of your revelry and shared mirth were kept to a minimum.”

  They’d looked at her with wide eyes, turned to stare at each other, and burst out laughing again, spittle flying so Millie had closed her door and gone straight to the bathroom to wash up, just in case. They’d made such a poor showing even Coraline backed away from the exit and refused to get near the door for the rest of the evening.

  She’d waited to see if they would make trouble before turning her show back on, and she’d heard Mr. Williams answer his door, the two girls chattering, and then the door close again. There were multiple muted voices inside the apartment next door, and she’d turned the volume up to drown them out.

  “I should have listened to my gut, shouldn’t I, Newman?” The cat lay in a ball beside the warm, buzzing CPU, and Millie nodded. “Yes, you always know best, and Coraline sensed it, too.” She looked back at the only cat that had ever made her worry the slightest bit about superstition and demanded, “If you can hear what I’m saying, you should learn to plant your thoughts into my head, as well. And I don’t mean for you to turn me into a mindless slave that spends all her time feeding and petting the likes of you.”

  She couldn’t help thinking she could have prevented whatever happened by calling the police last night, and she truly didn’t believe Mr. Williams had simply quit breathing during the night, not without some sort of poison or being smothered. She narrowed her eyes, thinking hard, and pulled up a Google window. Having been married for twenty years to a software developer had left her with some very useful skills, and she linked her fingers to crack her knuckles before placing them on the keyboard and asking herself, If this was a Mary Higgins Clark novel, what would I do?

  She started by searching her neighbor’s name. Vince Williams was obviously a very popular name and brought up hundreds of results. She tried again.

  Vince Williams Fort Lauderdale.

  Viggo jumped in front of the screen, still filled with various people of the name, and smiled at her mockingly. “Unless you have a suggestion, get down and behave,” she chided, and he dejectedly jumped down, prancing away with his feelings hurt. Millie imagined, if she’d had children, a son would have given her similar attitude.

  The screen had changed, probably due to Viggo’s heavy paws, and it had somehow landed on a realty site. Of course! She typed frantically into the search bar again, this time adding ‘properties owned by’ to the front of the keyword string. Her little Accidental Tourist had inadvertently reminded her that Mr. Williams owned several houses and rented to both college students and older couples who didn’t want to invest in buying a new house but weren’t comfortable in a simple apartment like hers.

  Finally, she had some real information at her fingertips! She grabbed her notebook and jotted down the six addresses she’d found and tapped her chin, trying to decide what to do next. Mr. Williams kept files on all his tenants, but they were hard copies. He’d been a dinosaur when it came to technology, and Millie had actually bought him a basic cell phone and convinced him to keep it charged for emergencies. She wondered if he’d tried to call her from it but hadn’t had time to reach it before his killers caught up to him.

  And that was an example of the overactive imagination the officer had been certain of. If there had been running or screaming, Millie would have heard the ruckus. Whatever the girls had done sent Mr. Williams to eternal slumber peacefully.

  She needed to get into his apartment and find those files. But she might need more information, and she didn’t know what else to look for just yet. She entered another query, this time looking for known relatives of the man. Maybe those girls belonged to an estranged sister or something. If they were family, she could track that down.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t find perfect records, but she did find the ‘About Me’ page on the website he’d had built for his property rental business. According to that, he had three daughters –
all pictured on the site and none of them the two Millie had seen – and a son, all of which lived in Boston, where he’d come from. He was apparently a widower, and both his parents were ‘deceased’. He didn’t explain why, and he didn’t mention any brothers or sisters who might have kids the girls’ ages.

  And yet, he had to have known the girls, or he would never have let them into his apartment. Millie hadn’t lied when she told the officer that several people in this ‘secured’ community left their doors unlocked at night, but she and Mr. Williams had agreed on their opinion that you could never be too safe. He wouldn’t have left his deadbolt open, much less the main lock. From the quick glance she’d had, she’d agreed there was no forced entry, as far as she could tell.

  Stella, Avery, and Delia. She wrote down the names of his daughters, just to be safe. After all, those pictures weren’t new; all three girls looked like they were freshly graduated from high school. They could have changed over the years. Mr. Williams had talked about them often, and Millie knew they were all in their 20s and 30s now, living out west and probably panicking as they received word of their father’s death.

  Millie chewed her nails as she thought, an old habit she’d had her hand smacked for countless times in grade school and still stubbornly refused to stop. Those girls could have been relatives, friends of his daughters’, or completely unrelated in any way. This was going to be difficult, and she had no way of filtering that information. Perhaps, though, her description of the two women would assist the police in finding the culprits.

  She took some time to carefully describe each girl in a document while their images remained fresh in her mind, and once that was saved, she felt a modicum of relief that allowed her to return to work. Still, she was far less productive than usual and grew frustrated easily. She simply wanted to assure that whoever had taken Mr. Williams’ life from him far too early, taken him from his family, paid the price.