Read Online And a Puzzle to Die On by Parnell Hall - Free Book Online
Authors: Parnell Hall
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you go. Just type
Ricky Gleason
right in the window and click on
Search Internet
.”
Sherry did so. A page of listings appeared.
“Hey, we got a hit,” Cora said.
“Yes, we did. Actually, we got twelve thousand seven hundred and three hits. These are just the first ten.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Not at all. See? There’s the number right there.” Sherry pointed to the screen:
Results 1–10 of about 12,703. Search took 0.25 seconds
.
“Of course, these aren’t the files, just the headers. You have to open the files.”
“You expect me to sit here and open thirteen thousand files?”
“That would be a little time-consuming,” Sherry said. “Why don’t we narrow our search?”
“How?”
Sherry typed in
Bakerhaven, Connecticut
after
Ricky Gleason
, and hit ENTER .
“Hey!” Cora warned. “You didn’t hit
Search Internet
!”
“I hit
Enter
. Same thing.”
“And you wonder why I can’t learn computer!”
Sherry peered at the screen. “Well, that narrowed it down a bit.”
“How many hits do we have now?”
“One.”
Sherry stood up, smiled, motioned to the chair. “Sit down and read your account of Mr. Ricky Gleason, of Bakerhaven, Connecticut.”
Cora sat down and looked.
Highlighted in blue on the screen were the words
DANBURY REGION ROUNDUP
.
Below, in black, were the words …
Ricky Gleason of Danbury, Connecticut
…
Bakerhaven, Connecticut
…
Below was a website address.
“Click on it,” Sherry said.
“Click on what?”
“Anything you can.” As Cora gave her a look, Sherry amended. “Anyplace your arrow turns into a hand you can click. Try the big blue headline.”
Cora did, clicked.
A new page filled the screen with a heading for the Danbury paper. Underneath was the whole article.
Cora scanned it quickly for the part she wanted. Sucked in her breath.
Ricky Gleason of Danbury, Connecticut, was killed instantly yesterday morning when his car went out of control and slammed into a tree. Gleason, 43, was born and raised in Bakerhaven, Connecticut. Mr. Gleason left no next of kin
.
Sergeant Walpole, of the Danbury police, was beaming. “The Puzzle Lady. Ain’t that something! You’re the Puzzle Lady.”
“Pleased to meetya,” Cora murmured, demurely.
It was clear that Sergeant Walpole was the one who was pleased. A hefty man with a bulldog jaw, and a gut that spilled out over his belt, the good sergeant clearly hadn’t had so much fun since the last police barbecue. “Wait’ll I tell my kids the Puzzle Lady was in my station. You know, they eat your cereal.”
“Is that right?” Cora said. She’d never eaten it herself. She wondered if the damn stuff was nutritious. “So, Sergeant, I was hoping you could help me out.”
“You get a speeding ticket? I can’t imagine that, nice lady like you. The thing is, if I fix it for you, it’d cause a stink, you bein’ famous and all. First thing you know, some investigative reporter trying to make a name for himself digs it up, and then there’s hell to pay.”
“I need help with a traffic accident.”
Sergeant Walpole looked astonished. “You had a traffic accident?”
“No. Ricky Gleason. Few months back. Car went out of control, hit a tree.”
“I remember that. Smashed all to hell. Him, and the car.” He glanced at her. “You’re not related, are you?”
“No.”
“Well, the guy was a mess, that’s for sure. Must have been doin’ ninety. There was a curve, a warning sign. He missed ’em both. Only thing he didn’t miss was the tree.”
“Seat belt on?”
“Oh, yeah. Held him right in place. So the tree mashed him flat. Must have been spectacular to see. Not that anyone did. Caught the tree dead-on. Front of the car stopped. Back of the car kept going. Flipped up. Top hit the tree. Mashed in the top of the car and the top of his head.”
“You see the wreck?”
“ ‘Course I saw the wreck. Anytime there’s loss of life, I get the call.”
“So what do you
Ricky Gleason
right in the window and click on
Search Internet
.”
Sherry did so. A page of listings appeared.
“Hey, we got a hit,” Cora said.
“Yes, we did. Actually, we got twelve thousand seven hundred and three hits. These are just the first ten.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Not at all. See? There’s the number right there.” Sherry pointed to the screen:
Results 1–10 of about 12,703. Search took 0.25 seconds
.
“Of course, these aren’t the files, just the headers. You have to open the files.”
“You expect me to sit here and open thirteen thousand files?”
“That would be a little time-consuming,” Sherry said. “Why don’t we narrow our search?”
“How?”
Sherry typed in
Bakerhaven, Connecticut
after
Ricky Gleason
, and hit ENTER .
“Hey!” Cora warned. “You didn’t hit
Search Internet
!”
“I hit
Enter
. Same thing.”
“And you wonder why I can’t learn computer!”
Sherry peered at the screen. “Well, that narrowed it down a bit.”
“How many hits do we have now?”
“One.”
Sherry stood up, smiled, motioned to the chair. “Sit down and read your account of Mr. Ricky Gleason, of Bakerhaven, Connecticut.”
Cora sat down and looked.
Highlighted in blue on the screen were the words
DANBURY REGION ROUNDUP
.
Below, in black, were the words …
Ricky Gleason of Danbury, Connecticut
…
Bakerhaven, Connecticut
…
Below was a website address.
“Click on it,” Sherry said.
“Click on what?”
“Anything you can.” As Cora gave her a look, Sherry amended. “Anyplace your arrow turns into a hand you can click. Try the big blue headline.”
Cora did, clicked.
A new page filled the screen with a heading for the Danbury paper. Underneath was the whole article.
Cora scanned it quickly for the part she wanted. Sucked in her breath.
Ricky Gleason of Danbury, Connecticut, was killed instantly yesterday morning when his car went out of control and slammed into a tree. Gleason, 43, was born and raised in Bakerhaven, Connecticut. Mr. Gleason left no next of kin
.
Sergeant Walpole, of the Danbury police, was beaming. “The Puzzle Lady. Ain’t that something! You’re the Puzzle Lady.”
“Pleased to meetya,” Cora murmured, demurely.
It was clear that Sergeant Walpole was the one who was pleased. A hefty man with a bulldog jaw, and a gut that spilled out over his belt, the good sergeant clearly hadn’t had so much fun since the last police barbecue. “Wait’ll I tell my kids the Puzzle Lady was in my station. You know, they eat your cereal.”
“Is that right?” Cora said. She’d never eaten it herself. She wondered if the damn stuff was nutritious. “So, Sergeant, I was hoping you could help me out.”
“You get a speeding ticket? I can’t imagine that, nice lady like you. The thing is, if I fix it for you, it’d cause a stink, you bein’ famous and all. First thing you know, some investigative reporter trying to make a name for himself digs it up, and then there’s hell to pay.”
“I need help with a traffic accident.”
Sergeant Walpole looked astonished. “You had a traffic accident?”
“No. Ricky Gleason. Few months back. Car went out of control, hit a tree.”
“I remember that. Smashed all to hell. Him, and the car.” He glanced at her. “You’re not related, are you?”
“No.”
“Well, the guy was a mess, that’s for sure. Must have been doin’ ninety. There was a curve, a warning sign. He missed ’em both. Only thing he didn’t miss was the tree.”
“Seat belt on?”
“Oh, yeah. Held him right in place. So the tree mashed him flat. Must have been spectacular to see. Not that anyone did. Caught the tree dead-on. Front of the car stopped. Back of the car kept going. Flipped up. Top hit the tree. Mashed in the top of the car and the top of his head.”
“You see the wreck?”
“ ‘Course I saw the wreck. Anytime there’s loss of life, I get the call.”
“So what do you
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