The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [157]
“Squamous cell skin cancer,” he blurted. “Not pretty, I know, but—aheh—at least it didn’t reach my skull,” he added with an awkward shrug and laugh.
Eve had warned her about this. Like the comic strip folks and the obituary guys downstairs, every crossword designer could use a few lessons in social graces.
As Lisbeth stepped inside, Martin Kassal followed a bit too closely, trying to hide a small limp while trailing her into the living room, where packed bookshelves clogged every wall. Even the tops of the bookcases were stacked to the ceiling with newspapers, magazines, dictionaries, thesauruses, and full sets of the 1959 and 1972 Encyclopedia Britannica. Just past the living room, a small sitting area held a white Formica desk that was yellowed from the sun, a two-person beige love seat buried under newspaper clippings, and a freestanding chalkboard that was framed with at least fifty diamond-shaped, suction-cup Baby on Board signs: Student Driver on Board, Twins on Board, Marlins Fan on Board, Gun Owner on Board, Mother-in-Law in Trunk, Michigan Dad on Board, Nobody on Board, a bright pink Princess on Board, and of course, a black and white Crossword Lover on Board, where the o’s in Crossword and Lover intersected.
“June 1992,” Kassal beamed, his moon-chin rising. “We did a scavenger hunt for the weekend section. Impossible stuff: an old pull tab from a soda can, a baseball card with a player not wearing a baseball cap, and these,” he said, pointing to the Baby on Board collection. “Anything but BABY on Board.”
Nodding politely, Lisbeth looked past the suction-cup signs and focused on the actual blackboard, which held an oversize hand-drawn grid. The top half of the grid was filled with words and darkened boxes; the bottom half was almost completely blank.
“You still design them by hand?” she asked.
“Instead of what, some computer program that’ll do all the work for me? No offense, but—aheh—I’m obsolete enough as it is. Last thing I need to do is wave the white flag and bury myself, if that makes sense.”
“Perfect sense,” Lisbeth agreed, staring down at the two crossword puzzles in her hand.
“So those the puzzles you were talking about?” Kassal asked, raising his nose and peering through the reading half of his tinted bifocals. As Lisbeth handed him the crosswords, he scanned the top one for a moment. “Fifty-six across should be taser, not tasks.”
“It’s not the puzzle that’s the problem,” Lisbeth pointed out. “It’s the symbols on the side.”
Following Lisbeth’s finger to the side of the puzzle, Kassal studied each symbol: the handwritten
“Sure it’s not just doodling?”
“We thought the same—until we found this,” she explains, flipping to the crossword Violet gave her.
“Aheh,” Kassal said with his wimpish little laugh. “Clever buggers. Their own little message.”
“See, but that’s the thing. I don’t think they made it up themselves . . .”
Already lost in the game, Kassal whispered to himself. “If the four dots represent the letter D as the fourth letter, and the two dots stand for B . . . No, no—it’s not a cryptogram—not enough symbols for letters. Not an anagram either.” Looking over the tops of his glasses at Lisbeth, he added, “They could be weather symbols . . . maybe Navajo signs. Who’d you say drew this again?”
“Just a friend.”
“But is it a clever friend, a dumb friend, a—?”
“Clever. Really clever. Head-of-the-class clever.”
“And what do you need it for again?”
“Just . . . y’know . . . just for fun.”
Kassal stared at her, picking her apart like she was the crossword. “This isn’t going to get me in trouble, is it?”
“Sir, the guys in comics—they said you were the best at deciphering these kinds of things.”
“Now you’re trying to flatter me, dearie.”
“No, that’s not—”
“It’s okay. These days, I don’t get flattered too often by pretty young redheads. I miss it.” Hobbling over to the