Rosco hit the roof—as Belle had anticipated he would. “What do you mean you went out to Allyn’s Point? Alone?” his voice demanded through the telephone line. Fear for her safety magnified the outrage in his tone.

“If someone actually kidnapped those two women, Belle, that person is playing for keeps. And if—as you suggested in another scenario—this is an extortion scheme targeting Pepper and his millions, and the women are already dead . . . Then you’re still dealing with a hardened criminal . . . and a sadistic one, to boot . . .” He waited a second or two, then added, “Belle, are you listening to me . . . ?”

“I am, yes.” She stared out her office window. She knew he was right, but that didn’t make the dressing-down any easier to take. In fact, her own criticism of herself made his more difficult to accept. Besides, she hadn’t even told him about the threatening phone call. Not that she was about to share that piece of information posthaste.

“You should have called me, Belle,” Rosco concluded. His anger had given way to old-fashioned worry.

“The puzzle read, ‘Tell no one.’ ”

Rosco sighed. “Belle, you’re a word person—some might say an egghead . . . but you’re not a cop.”

In spite of herself, Belle bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you should have basic training in law enforcement before dealing with criminals.”

“Tom Pepper told you he didn’t want the police brought in on this—and you listened to him.”

“That’s because I used to be a cop. I know what I’m doing.”

“As opposed to me? The egghead?” Belle’s question was delivered in the flat, challenging tone of a statement.

Rosco paused. Belle could hear him breathing slowly and deliberately. “Look, you’re a very smart person, that’s all I meant,” he said. “I can’t quote Shakespeare. You can. French and Latin phrases don’t roll off my tongue. You can jump hoops between languages. On the other hand, I’ve been through the police academy, and I’ve been out on the streets . . . I’ve learned to anticipate problem situations.” The particular stress he put on “problem” painted a vivid picture of just what those times entailed. “I also know when to carry a gun, and how to use it if I have to.”

Belle didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she continued gazing through the window. Midafternoon was giving way to dusk. The sky was still blue, but the color looked heavier and darker, as if the panes of intervening glass had been tinted an amber brown. “Rosco, I may not have sufficient experience with criminal investigations, but everything in that crossword indicated that I’d been designated as a liaison. If I hadn’t gone alone—”

“Why you, Belle?” Although Rosco’s tone was gentle, Belle found herself growing irritable again.

“Why not me? You’re working for Pepper. Most folks consider us to be . . . to be . . .” Annoyance at the situation wouldn’t permit her to say the word “couple” instead she opted for a noncommittal “involved.”

“Only people we know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re presupposing this kidnapper—or extortionist—is a local who’s attuned to the personal relationships of every citizen of Newcastle.”

Belle could see Rosco’s point, but her stubborn streak refused to concede the argument. “Then why were those first two crosswords sent to me, the third to Tom, and the fourth delivered to me again?”

Rosco’s response was a weary: “Those are questions we don’t have answers for yet.”

“But I do! The first puzzle comes to me; I answer the clues, but fail to respond—or so the constructor assumes . . . Ditto with the second crossword . . . although, meanwhile I decide to publish it—and talk to Bartholomew Kerr . . . The puzzle’s printed version and his gossip column don’t appear until yesterday—Friday . . . But in the meantime the constructor becomes frustrated at my seeming inattention and targets Pepper, knowing he’ll pass the puzzle along to me—”

“You’re making a big assumption—”

“No, I’m not, Rosco! This is common sense. I know I’m right!”

“No, Belle, you don’t know it. You believe it . . . That’s a whole different thing . . . I don’t mean to lecture you, but it’s important not to jump to conclusions here—”

“You play hunches all the time. You told me so yourself . . . Besides, Sara ‘wholeheartedly’ concurred that the crossword Pepper received had direct bearing on the case. ‘Wholeheartedly’ was her term, not mine.”

“Tell me you didn’t show that puzzle to Sara.”

Belle remained silent, so Rosco pushed harder. “You showed that puzzle to Sara?” He could feel himself steaming up again. “When Pepper practically ordered me not to inform the police!”

Belle’s tone—and verbiage—turned immediately defensive and grand. “As a subcontractor of the Polycrates Agency, I felt it within my jurisdiction, yes . . . Anyway, Sara—”

“Where did you get that high-flown term ‘subcontractor’?”

“From you!”

Rosco’s frustration echoed through the telephone wire. “And so this employee of mine takes it upon herself to investigate a situation without informing her boss—”

“Well, you’re not my boss, for one thing. Let’s not get carried away—”

“Aha!” Rosco almost shouted. “Now we’re getting somewhere . . . So this nonemployee decides to investigate a case in which she has no jurisdiction . . . not to mention authority—”

But Belle was not to be bested. “Rosco! Two women’s lives are at stake!”

“We don’t actually know that, Belle—”

“Yes, we do!”

“Belle—”

“Okay, okay . . . my assumption is that this is a kidnapping . . . But isn’t that the only way for us to proceed? By hoping that these crosswords lead us to Genie and Jamaica?”

Rosco didn’t answer, and both, in their separate rooms, backed off. Belle glared through the windows. Evening was now marching forward; soon the panes of glass would turn black and cold. She flicked on her desk lamp, but the circle of light did nothing to dispel the sense of hastening gloom.

“Listen,” she said, “this latest cryptic arrived first thing this morning—today, Saturday . . . After the threatening phone call last night, it made perfect sense that I—”

“What phone call?” Rosco’s tone was again on edge.

Belle groaned. She couldn’t think of an answer that would assuage his fears. “I didn’t mean to tell you,” she said quietly.

“Well, that’s just swell,” was his exasperated response. “That’s just terrific! You put yourself at severe risk, and you don’t have the courtesy to tell me?”

“It had nothing to do with courtesy, Rosco. I knew you’d try to dissuade me from going.”

“You’re right! That’s exactly what I would have done—dissuade. And with good reason.”

“But I’m trying to tell you I had to go out to Allyn’s Point alone!”

“Speaking of points, that’s mine . . . Someone wanted you there alone—and that person is most probably a character you shouldn’t meet face-to-face.”

“But he—” Belle began, but Rosco overrode her.

“Belle,” he said, “If you love someone, don’t you want to protect them? Whatever it takes?”

Belle was silent for a long time. How could you stand on principle when someone said they loved you? “Yes,” she finally answered. “Yes, you do.”

“You worry about me, right?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Well . . . ?” he asked.

In response, she frowned at her desk, and at a well-thumbed Oxford edition of Shakespeare’s complete works lying open on its surface.

“What’s good for the goose . . .” Rosco said gently.

“Is good for the gander,” was her mumbled response. Then she added a quick: “ ‘Young blood must have its course, lad, / And every dog his day.’ It’s from Water Babies . . . Charles Kingsley . . . The poem has a goose in it. That’s why it came to mind, I guess . . . although there was this dog out at Allyn’s Point . . .”

“We need to talk about that, Belle,” Rosco answered softly. “Listen, what do you say I take you out to dinner? We can hash over the entire situation then . . . parameters, safety, appropriate information-exchange policy, subcontractors, the works . . .”

“Promise you’ll never call me an egghead again.”

“Only if you positively swear you’ll start considering the consequences of your actions.”

“I’m not sure I know how,” was Belle’s quiet response.

“That’s why I worry about you.” Rosco chuckled a little. The stalemate was broken. “Is half an hour okay? And maybe the Athena? Besides, I’ve got my own news to share. One item being that Genie Pepper’s half brother—and no friend of Tom’s—is the beneficiary of her generous life-insurance policy. The second being that he up and quit his job. No one in Boston has seen hide nor hair of him since last Saturday.”

“Yikes!” was all Belle could think to say.