M Is for Malice

grocery store checkout lanes. I made a peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwich and joined him in the sunshine.
    "You want one?" I asked, holding out my plate.
    "Thanks, but I just had lunch," he said. "Where'd Dietz disappear to? I thought he intended to stick around."
    I filled him in on the "romance" and we chatted idly while I ate my sandwich. The texture of the peanut butter was a sublime contrast to the crunch of the bread-and-butter pickles. The diagonal cut exposed more filling than a vertical cut would and I savored the ratio of saltiness to tart. This ranked right up there with sex without taking off any clothes. I made a sort of low moan, nearly swooning with pleasure, and Henry glanced up at me. "Give me a bite of that."
    I let him have the plump center portion, keeping my fingers positioned so he couldn't take too much.
    He chewed for a moment, clearly relishing the intense blend of flavors. "Very weird, but not bad." This is what he always says when he samples this culinary marvel.
    I tried another bite myself, pointing to the puzzle he was working on. "How's this one coming? You've never really told me how you go about your business." Henry was a crossword fanatic, subscribing to the New York Times so he could do the daily puzzle, which he completed in ink. Sometimes, to amuse himself, he left every other letter blank, or filled in the outer borders first in a spiral moving toward the center. The puzzles he wrote himself seemed very difficult to me, though he claimed they were easy. I'd watched him construct dozens without understanding the strategy.
    "I've actually upgraded my technique. My approach used to be haphazard. I'm better organized these days. This is a small one, only fifteen by fifteen. This is the pattern I'm using," he said, indicating a template with the grid work of black squares already laid in.
    "You don't devise the format as well?"
    "Usually not. I've used this one several times and it suits my purposes. They're all symmetrical and if you'll notice, no area is closed off. The rules say the black squares can't exceed more than one sixth of the total number. There are a few other rules tossed in. For example, you can't use any words of fewer than three letters, stuff like that. The good ones have a theme around which the answers are organized."
    I picked up one of his reference books and turned it over in my hand. "What's this?"
    "That book lists words in alphabetical order from three through fifteen letters. And that one's a crossword finisher that lists words in a complicated alphabetical order up through seven letters."
    I smiled at the enthusiasm that had crept into his voice. "How'd you get into this?"
    He waved dismissively. "Do enough of 'em and you can't help it. You have to have a go at it yourself, just to see what it's like. They even have crossword championships, which started in 1980. You ought to see those puppies go. The puzzles are projected on an overhead screen. A real whiz can answer sixty-four questions in under eight minutes."
    "Are you ever tempted to enter?"
    He shook his head, penciling in a clue. "I'm too slow and much too easily rattled. Besides, it's a serious business, like bridge tournaments." His head came up. "That's your phone," he said.
    "It is? Your hearing must be better than mine." I hopped up from the table and made a beeline for my place, picking up the receiver just as my answering machine did. I reached for the Off button as my voice completed its request for messages. "Hello, hello. It's me. I'm really home," I sang.
    "Hey," a man's voice said mildly. "This is Guy. Hope you don't mind my calling on a weekend."
    "Not at all. What's up?"
    "Nothing much," he said. "Donovan called me at the church. I guess last night the three of them – him and Bennet and Jack – had a meeting. He says they want me to come down for a few days so we can talk about the will."
    I felt my whole body go quiet. "Really. That's interesting. You going to do it?"
    "I think so. I might, but I'm not really sure. I had a long talk with Peter and Winnie. Peter thinks it's time to open up a dialogue. He's got a prayer meeting in Santa Teresa tomorrow, so it works out pretty good. They can bring me down after church, but he thought it'd be smart to talk to you about it first."
    I was silent for a moment. "You want the truth?"
    "Well, yeah. That's why I called."
    "I wouldn't do it if I were you. I was over there last night and it all seems very tense. It's nothing you'd want to be