A Crossword to Die For by Nero Blanc

would she imagine those two people could feel the remotest connection to, or concern for her?
    Belle had finally succumbed to hunger and gone off for a midmorning feast. Scrambled eggs, and cinnamon toast, and grapefruit juice, and extra-crispy hash brown potatoes, and coffee—not tea—drenched with cream: She did nothing halfway. Cholesterol-hell, Rosco said of her eating habits. And he was right.
    Climbing the stairs to her father’s apartment, she encountered Debbie Hurley on her way back down. “I put the mail on Ted’s desk like always,” she sang out.
    Belle stopped. This wasn’t a situation she’d anticipated. Nor was it one she appreciated. “You were in my father’s apartment?”
    Debbie gave her a look that plainly stated: Duh! then continued in a chirpy tone. “I mean, it makes him not feel so, like gone , you know?”
    â€œLook, Debbie … I think we have to do things differently from now on—”
    â€œOh, yeah, I know … I mean, there isn’t so much work for me anymore …”
    Belle drew in a breath. “None, actually.”
    Debbie’s face fell. She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak.
    â€œI’m going to be selling my father’s condo. In fact, I’ve already contacted a realtor. In order for the place to be shown, I need to pack up his books and papers and ship them up North. The rest of the furnishings—”
    â€œBut what about his project on the Olmec civilization?” Debbie seemed stricken at the idea of forsaking “Ted’s” final opus.
    â€œI’m afraid it will have to be shelved. I’ll see that his extant research is delivered to Princeton. That’s the last university he worked for. If someone there chooses to continue what Father began or make use of the information—”
    Debbie Hurley’s lips compressed. She looked as if she was going to begin crying again; and Belle found herself gripping the banister as if it were capable of transmitting emotional as well as physical support.
    â€œI’ll also see that you get two weeks’ severance—”
    â€œIt’s not the money—”
    Belle’s jaw tightened automatically. “No, I didn’t think so …”
    â€œI mean, he was your dad! You must know how crazy everyone was about him!”
    â€œWell, no, I didn’t,” was Belle’s unhappy reply. “I’m sorry, Debbie, but you must realize by now that my father and I weren’t close.” Belle paused. There seemed nothing more to say. As an afterthought, she added, “Oh, by the way, Woody stopped by. I had to break the news to him … It seemed to upset him quite a bit although he clearly didn’t feel like talking … at least not to me. If there are other friends or acquaintances I should contact, I’d like to have a list of—”
    But Debbie Hurley’s goggle-eyed stare stopped Belle’s speech. “Woody? Ted didn’t know anyone named Woody.”

CHAPTER 8
    Belle closed the apartment door behind her, leaning heavily against it as she tried to make sense of Debbie’s statement and those that had followed. “Ted” hadn’t known anyone named Woody—of that Debbie had been adamant. And yet this Woody person had stood on the doorstep, looking for all the world like a man who’d suddenly discovered he’d lost his dearest friend.
    But what had he actually said? Belle tried to reconstruct their brief conversation. As she thought, she unconsciously slid the chain lock in place, then stepped back and regarded this paranoid piece of handiwork. What was she worried about? Debbie Hurley sneaking in? Or the reappearance of a man who might — or might not — have been a close friend of her father’s?
    I’ve got to get Debbie’s set of keys , Belle told herself, but made no move to seek out her father’s assistant. Instead, she walked