Anatomy of a Crossword (38 page)

63.  Killer whale

64.  License plates

65.  Some Greek letters

66.  Fires

Down

1. Backdrop

2. Type of ether

3. STAN McKENET

4. Noah's craft

5. Grand___Dam

6. Brünhilde's mother

7. Some Greek letters

8. GALE HARMBLE

9. Koufax stat.

10.  Mr. Caesar

11.  Pie in the___

14.  GERRY ORSO

15.  Ryan & Tatum

18.  Transports

23.  Concern for 5-Down; abbr.

25.  LANCE diRUSA

27.  MAX CHUGORRO

28.  Roscoes

30.  DEAN IVALD

32.  On the___

35.  Ms. Grant

37.  May honoree

38.  Lambs' 37-Down

42.  Fastener

43.  Green shampoo

45.  Silver or Wood

47.  Battle groups

48.  Position

51.  Icelandic sagas

53.  Roman 2,101

55.  Smash

56.  Certain savings acct.

57.  Low clouds

59.  Pound sound

60.  Mauno___

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

Anagrams from “Anna Graham”

After completing the Post Script, puzzle you've obviously discovered that some characters' names are anagrams of famous personalities from the past (except our own Belle Graham).

But these aren't the only ones! Here are some more anagrams that appeared in
Anatomy of a Crossword
. Hint—they're all performers except one famous writer (W) and one famous lawyer (L)

Turn the page to continue reading from the Crossword Mysteries

CHAPTER 1

Lily was one of those children whose beauty and wholehearted delight in the world around them made total strangers stop in their tracks and smile. She was four, almost four and a half, with the kind of curly blonde hair normally associated with baby angels in Italian Renaissance paintings, and a face that glowed with a cherubic sense of fun.

She liked knock-knock jokes, storybooks, and picture books—except those with an over-abundance of green or purple. And she loved to talk. “Why” had once been her favorite word, and she'd been persistent in demanding answers. Now that it was five months past her birthday, the question had been replaced by her own set of improbable and marvelous theories. She was an authority on everything, including the fact that the family dog, a chocolate-brown Labrador retriever named Bear, was a real bear—because of “his big feets.”

It was fortunate that Lily; her mother, Karen; Bear; and Lily's “very busy” father, “Doctor Dan” lived in the coastal Massachusetts city of Newcastle. Shaggy wild beasts of the
Ursus arctus
and
americanus
varieties had forsaken Newcastle's populous shoreline and its tree-dotted inland suburbs several centuries before. Not that this piece of information would have altered Lily's assessment. Her Bear was permitted to play in the large, cliff-side dog park with the city's other pets or swim at the several public beaches because he was a “gentle bear.”

This reasoning led her to wonder about the species of another visitor to the dog park, a brown and black Shepherd mix named Kit who was often called “Kitty”—causing Lily to often suggest that the tallish dog with the four white paws might really be a cat. Belle Graham, who usually brought Kit to the park, was deemed “Cookie” because of the four-year-old's fondness for graham crackers, which she called cookies; however Gabby, the terrier and poodle combination who was Kit's companion was allowed to retain her name.

“'Cause she likes to bark,” Lily stated, making it clear she'd heard the word “gabby” before, but not necessarily associated with a shortening of Gabriella. Cookie's husband “Rock”—Rosco to anyone over the age of six—was one of Lily's favorite people and one for whom she harbored just the smallest bit of a crush.

“Where's Rock?” she now demanded. Lily and her mother were standing on a broad, grassy rise overlooking the many-gabled building that had once been the Dew Drop Inn, a summer resort that changed hands every decade or so, but that never saw a lasting rebirth. A wide but dilapidated porch encircled the structure; on this sunny afternoon in late May, it exuded an aura of bittersweet nostalgia as if the rocking chairs that once lined its painted boards were still moving in gentle harmony.

“Rock needs to buy a new car,” Belle said. “He's out looking at some right now.”

“Finally biting the bullet, is he?” Karen asked with a chuckle. Like her daughter—and like Belle—Karen was also blonde, although her hair was now a tawny hue while Belle's and Lily's were the color of corn silk. Standing together, the threesome looked gilded and happy, just as the warm day spreading about them also seemed graced with prosperity and peace.

“Yup,” Belle chortled. “He and Al Lever are starting their ‘fact-finding mission.' I wasn't invited; I guess they thought I'd pick the first vehicle the salesman trotted out.”

“Men and their precious machines.” Karen shook her head while Belle laughed again.

“What's that weird relationship all about anyway?”

“True love?” Karen's blue eyes sparkled with mirth.

Belle smiled in return. “You may be right. Although Rosco knows absolutely zip about cars, when those goons destroyed his Jeep last November, he acted as if they'd attacked a member of the family.

“And it's taken six months for him to get up the courage to hunt for a permanent replacement. Now, I don't want to get overly clinical, but—”

“You're suggesting he should have passed his period of mourning?” Belle's laughter grew.

“The way my Dan runs through cars, he doesn't have time for grief. If it's hot off the assembly line, he's got to get it in our driveway. And I mean,
pronto.”
Karen raised her hands in anticipation of her friend's next comment. “I know, I know…. Consumerism run rampant, the throw-away society, materialism at its worst, etcetera, etcetera. But Dan had such a hard-knock life as a kid that I just can't bring myself to criticize his spendthrift ways now. Besides, he insists he's actually
saving
money by leasing a couple of them…. Not that I believe him.”

“You can only drive one at a time.” But Belle stopped there; she liked Karen too much to point out the obvious: that she and her husband were fortunate to be able to indulge in such expensive habits. Instead, Belle offered a cheerful follow-up. “It's clear I'm going to have to construct a crossword for the legions of automotive buffs out there. How about ‘Driven to Distraction' for a title?”

“I don't like cross words,” piped in Lily. She was scowling fiercely, almost defiantly.

“But Cookie makes crossword puzzles for the newspaper, sweetheart,” her mother soothed. “You know that because your daddy—”

“I don't like cross words!” Lily insisted while Karen gently tried to correct her daughter's mistake.

“Being cross and using cross words isn't the same as doing Cookie's puzzles, sweetheart.”

But Lily's brain had already flown off in another direction. “Guess why Bear likes to swim?” she demanded of Belle.

“Why?” was the amused response.

“Because bears eat fish. Mommy and I saw them on TV. They catch them with their feets.” Then she pelted away from the two adults, calling “Bear! Bear! Bear!” at the top of her lungs.

Karen laughed as she watched her daughter and the dogs flying over the emerald-green grass, a whirl of furry legs, pink, little-girl knees, and two very turquoise and glitter-strewn shoes. “Imagine being accosted with that decibel level
inside
. Sometimes Dan claps his hands over his ears, but it only makes Lily yell all the more. Personally, I think he does it to egg her on. Then he threatens to go outside to the driveway and sit in his latest ride with the windows rolled up and the sound system blaring. One time I came home from the supermarket and found them
both
ensconced in the Explorer. They were fast asleep: Lily sprawled across the rear seat, Dan behind the wheel. I didn't have the heart to wake them, but I did turn the music down lest the neighbors report us to cops.”

“Maybe you should sell your house and move into a mobile home.”

“If Lamborghini decided to make such a vehicle, I'm sure Dan would consider it.”

CHAPTER 2

“It's been hit,” Al Lever said as he straightened from the crouched position he'd assumed beside the right front fender of a three-year-old red Ford Mustang. He groaned slightly as he rose, then leaned against the car. “Man, my knees just aren't what they used to be.” After that, he coughed twice and lit a cigarette.

Lever was Newcastle's chief homicide detective, a balding guy with a large paunch who relished playing the role of the gruff, hard-nosed police inspector—a demeanor that was all smoke and mirrors. He also had a solid knowledge of automobiles and how they worked, which was why on this particular Tuesday afternoon he'd taken some of his precious “liberty” time to accompany his former partner, Rosco Poly-crates, on his mission to purchase a vehicle that would replace his ruined Jeep. Greek American male or not, Rosco lacked a major masculine trait: he knew very little about cars and what it was that kept them moving forward. This lack of expertise in automotive matters was a source of perplexed embarrassment to his brothers-in-law, and even to his sisters, although they consoled themselves that at least he could talk intelligently and ardently about the Boston Red Sox and New England Patriots—in Greek, no less. You couldn't be a resident of Massachusetts and not be a Sox or Pats fan no matter what language you spoke, or how many.

Rosco broke other stereotypes, as well. His eight years as a detective with the Newcastle P.D. had taught him that he was too much of a free spirit for the bureaucracy of organized law enforcement. He didn't like filling out paperwork. He didn't like jouncing around in the city's unmarked cars. He hated carrying a gun, and he refused to wear socks except with running shoes. He'd left the NPD six years ago, opened his own private detective agency immediately thereafter, and never looked back—except for the bonds of friendship he continued to maintain with Lever and Abe Jones, who was the NPD's forensics honcho.