Table Of Content
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your
personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any
way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy
of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright,
please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
For my wife,
who hasn’t killed me yet
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Double Indemnity
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Also by Parnell Hall
About the Author
Copyright
Double Indemnity
I have taken out insurance against my ineptness and lack of expertise by
enlisting the help of two of the finest puzzle constructors in the field:
New York Times crossword editor Will Shortz created the sudoku, and
frequent New York Times contributor Fred Piscop created the crosswords.
And I have doubled my coverage by prevailing upon American
Crossword Puzzle Tournament champion Ellen Ripstein to edit them.
These people ensure me against my own folly.
I cannot thank them enough.
Chapter
1
Cora Felton looked out the window and proclaimed, “I hate winter.”
“That’s nothing new,” Sherry Carter said. “You also hate spring,
summer, and fall. They’re too hot, too wet, too windy, as I recall. Though
not in that order.”
“What, you thought I was going to call you on your wordplay? Let’s
remember who’s the cruciverbalist here.”
The cruciverbalist was Sherry. Cora, the Puzzle Lady, whose crossword
puzzle column was nationally syndicated and who hawked breakfast cereal
to schoolchildren on TV, was merely a front for her niece. Cora hated
crossword puzzles, largely because she couldn’t solve them and people
were always asking her to because they thought she could. This tended to
make Cora cranky regardless of the season.
At the moment there was no puzzle on the horizon, only snow.
“Now is the winter of our discontent,” Cora said.
“Richard III? You’re quoting Richard III?”
“Hey, I’ve been to the theater.”
“Yeah, but Shakespeare?”
“It’s the first line of the play. I didn’t fall asleep till five minutes in.”
Sherry shook her head. “Cora, why must you always pretend to be less
educated than you are?”
“Give me a break. I’m the goddamned Puzzle Lady. I’m always
pretending to be more educated than I am. It’s exhausting, feigning an
expertise you do not have. You know what a relief it is to let my hair down
and be lowbrow?”
“Nonsense,” Sherry said. “You do that all day long. You delight in
shocking people with your earthy, just-one-of-the-guys approach to
everything. It’s only when the topic turns to crosswords you go into your
shell.”
On the front lawn, Sherry’s daughter, Jennifer, was loping through the
snow in large, happy circles. Buddy the toy poodle cavorted along behind.
Every now and then an ear or the tip of his tail could be seen over the top of
the snow.
“I should charge you a babysitting fee,” Cora said.
“I should charge you a dog-walking fee. Aren’t you glad Buddy has a
playmate?”
“I’m glad he doesn’t expect me to play in the snow.”
“No, only Jennifer expects that.”
“I’m a city girl, born and bred. Snow is that white stuff you can’t go out
until doormen shovel off the sidewalk.”
“You’re going to hole up inside the house until it melts?”
“That’s a depressing thought.”
“Everything’s a depressing thought for you these days. You’ve been in a
funk ever since you broke up with the policeman.”
“We didn’t break up. We live in different places. When I’m in New York
I call him up.”
“And when he’s in Bakerhaven?”
“Hell has frozen over. He’s a New York City cop. What would he be
doing in Bakerhaven?”
Jennifer fell on her face. She stood up, plastered with snow from head to
foot, and immediately started bawling.
“Guess I have to go get her,” Sherry said.
“You have to get her anyway. Here comes the snowplow.”
“Again? They were here yesterday.”