Page 3 of Puzzle for Two

Zach repeated firmly, “About those threats?”

“They started two weeks ago. At first, I didn’t make too much of it. Silly jokes or hate mail aren’t unknown to a man in my position.”

Zach’s brows rose as he jotted down this information. It was hard to imagine what hate mail the owner of a toy company would receive. Still, given the current social climate, anyone whose circle of acquaintanceship stretched wider than their immediate family could probably expect to receive hate mail eventually. He’d received a couple of doozies from Ben, though Ben had never threatened him with bodily harm.

“Email or snail mail?” Both could be prosecuted as state or federal crimes. As could threatening phone calls. Funny how many people didn’t know that.

“Mail. Post. They always came by post to my home address in the shape of toys.”

“Toys?”

“Correct.”

“Did you—”

Zach didn’t have to complete the question. Beacher opened his leather messenger bag and produced a small gold box, no more than six inches tall, which he set on the desk.

Casting Zach a grim look, Beacher pressed a button, and a flimsy plastic clown sprang from the box, bouncing gently back and forth on springs. The clown held a business card in its tiny mitts. Printed in block letters were the words: YOU ARE DEAD.

Tiny clowns bearing death threats. Because this case wasn’t weird enough already.

“Cute.” Zach tossed his pen aside, pulled a pair of plastic gloves from the desk drawer—undoubtedly pointless, given that Beacher had handled the toy barehanded how many times? He picked up the little box. “This is how it started?”

The jack-in-the-box was a cheap, mass-produced novelty item manufactured by Old Timey Fun Ltd.

“No.” For the first time, Beacher seemed uncomfortable. “The first one was a crossword puzzle. The answer cells were filled in with words likemurder, blood, pain,death,payback, etc. It was clumsy, lazy. Not a true crossword puzzle. The entries were unkeyed.”

“Unkeyed?”

“Unchecked. Uncrossed. The answers didn’t intersect.”

“Gotcha.”

Beacher sighed. “As I said, I get my share of hate mail. I simply assumed someone was being more creative than usual, and tossed both the crossword and the envelope it arrived in.”

Zach grimaced, but in fairness, he’d have probably done the same.

“A week later I received a doll’s severed head with the eyes gouged out and the hair burned.” Beacher propped Exhibit B on Zach’s desk. The doll’s ripped eye holes seemed to gaze accusingly at Zach. “Then two days ago, the jack-in-the-box arrived. I decided that level of…commitment should perhaps be taken seriously.”

“I think you’re right about taking this seriously. But why hire a private investigator? Why not go to the police?”

Beacher shook his head. “The police are better at prosecuting than preventing. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, not n—”

“I’m a businessman, Zach. I can’t afford the scandal of a police investigation. I need someone to handle this quietly, discreetly.”

“Sure, but—”

“Besides, there’s still the other thing.” Beacher raised his eyebrows meaningfully, reminding Zach of the part of this job he was least thrilled about. The part that took the case from weird to wacko.

“Right. The, er, dating game. I couldn’t help noticing that you’re wearing a wedding ring, Alton.”

For the first time Beacher’s smile reached his pale-blue eyes, briefly warming them. “Thank you for noticing.”

“Um, my pleasure?”

Beacher laughed. “I admit, the idea of hiring an investigator who could also pose as my companion only occurred to me a little while ago.”

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