It's the holidays once again, and The Checker Maven offers best wishes for a wonderful season to you and yours.

At this festive time, the checkerboard often gets set aside as we all become busy indeed, perhaps more so than we ought. So we invite you to take a step back and relax with an entertaining checker problem. It's one that you can easily share with relatives and friends as a sort of mini holiday present, a nowadays all-too rare gift of time and attention.

The problem comes from our old friend Willie Ryan, who calls it a simple problem and yet in the class of gems, because it comes up often in practical play and many times is missed over the board.

Here's the situation.

Forces are even at four men each, but White is obviously cramped, and in checkers, mobility is key. How can White save the game?

Follow the path we proposed at Thanksgiving this year. Reward yourself and friends and family for tackling the problem with an extra slice of holiday pie.

[Read More]

The Checker Murders is a 16,000 word novelette published in seven monthly installments. It is perhaps the most extensive work of checker fiction ever published. We hope you enjoy it, but if you wish you can skip to the end to see this week's checker problem. Be forewarned that the problems in this series are for the most part very difficult.

---

A little while later, Sheila made up a bed for Mortimer on the living room couch. "You sleep here," she said. "I don't want to take things too fast."

Mortimer, still floating in a dazzled state, didn't object.

"In the morning we're going to have to figure out what to do. It's Thursday now, and I know neither of us have class until Monday. It's also my day off work. We'll have a little time to work this through."

She paused at the doorway to her bedroom. "Good night, Mortimer." The door closed behind her.

It was already four AM. Mortimer didn't think he'd be able to sleep, but somehow he did. When he awoke, it was bright daylight and he smelled coffee brewing in the apartment's kitchen.

Sheila was up and about, dressed in a snug-looking blue bathrobe, her hair slightly in disarray. She smiled in Mortimer's direction.

"Good morning, sleepy boy," she said in a bright tone. "It's nine AM and time for you to be up and about. As I said last night--- I guess it was actually this morning--- we'd better make some plans here. Things are already happening."

"Uh... what kinds of things?" Mortimer managed to ask, still a bit groggy but coming back to the realization that he really was in a difficult situation and that it wasn't all a dream.

In fact, there were parts of this adventure that he was glad weren't a dream, like just about everything to do with Sheila. But the rest of it ... he wished he could pick and choose. But reality didn't work that way.

"Special Agent Purdy has already called me twice," Sheila was saying. "Once to say that you weren't at home, and then about an hour later to ask if I was sure I didn't have any idea where you were. Now, as I also said earlier, he's not going to come in here looking, but he may have someone keep an eye on the apartment entrance just in case you show up. But since you're already here ..."

"You said he hasn't really got anything on me, though," Mortimer protested, "so why all the drama?"

"He still thinks you know too much about the case, things that you wouldn't have known if you weren't involved somehow. And no, it won't stand up, but you could be in for a few unpleasant days and some legal bills that you probably can't afford."

"So what do we do?" Mortimer asked.

"Uh, you're the one that calls himself Sherlock, so I was hoping you had some ideas. The only one I have is for you to lay low for a couple of days, maybe even a week. But there's a problem with that, too. If you suddenly disappear, you give Purdy more to work with and a better argument in front of a judge for getting a warrant out on you."

Mortimer thought for a moment; at least, he gave the impression of doing so. "Then there's only one way," he said, with all the decisiveness he could muster prior to his first cup of coffee. "We have to go stake out the Glasgow Circle address ourselves."

Sheila stopped in mid-motion, nearly spilling the pot of coffee. "Uh, Mortimer, maybe we should talk about this a little?"

# # #

Over coffee and toast, they discussed Mortimer's suggestion.

"Mortimer, do you have any idea what you're suggesting?" Sheila asked.

"Can't you see, there's just nothing else to be done," Mortimer said. "We know for sure where the next murder will be and I might know how it will be done."

"How?"

"Something to do with black widow spiders. The Black Widow variant of the Glasgow."

"Spare me the technical details," Sheila replied. "It makes sense and I finally understand it, though you don't need to try to make a checker player out of me. But trying to apprehend a dangerous criminal ... isn't that a little out of your range? You're a nice guy and you know how much I like you, but you're not exactly the action type, if you know what I mean."

Mortimer didn't know how much Sheila liked him, but he was beginning to have some serious hopes in that direction. After the way she kissed him last night, and how she was trying to keep him safe ...

"Look, Sheila, you said yourself that we can't go back to the police or FBI. But the murderer is going to strike. We can't just let that happen, can we?"

"Well ... no ..."

"Then it really is up to us, Sheila. We have to prevent the next killing and maybe bring in the suspect. I have a list of names, it's down to three possibilities. Maybe we could narrow it even further with a couple of phone calls."

"Uh ... call the potential killer and start asking questions?"

Mortimer was fidgeting in his seat. "Well, maybe that might not work so well ..."

"Yeah, maybe not, Sherlock."

"OK, but look, we can wait until dark and then take your car over to Aurora. We can be there in fifteen minutes. Even if someone is watching the place, seeing you drive off in the evening will seem very natural, won't it?"

"With you in the car?"

"I'll duck down in the back seat or something."

Sheila laughed. "Oh, Mortimer, you watch too much television. But I suppose it could work, and yes, we can't stand by and let another murder take place. But what do we do if we're there and something actually happens? We can't take on an armed killer. I don't have a weapon and I'm just about certain you don't."

"No, no, I don't like guns." Mortimer gave an involuntary shudder. "I don't even go hunting. Or fishing for that matter."

"Or hiking or skiing, I suppose," Sheila added. "You've got to give that computer of yours a rest sometimes."

They made their plans. They would drive to Aurora in the late afternoon, planning to arrive just before dark. That would give them time to have a look at the projected crime site and find a place of concealment. Then they would wait it out. They agreed that if they saw anything out of the ordinary, they would make an anonymous 911 call. They wouldn't risk taking action on their own. Mortimer argued that they might have to do something, but he privately wondered if it was just bravado. Sheila's comment about him not being a man of action stung a little but he knew it was true.

The only real risk was that the police or FBI might still be watching the Aurora address. But Sheila figured they wouldn't do that; they had surely thrown out all of Mortimer's theory by now.

Sheila went out around noon to get some takeout Chinese for lunch, after having made a crack about that being the kind of food that she understood nerds and hackers to like. She ended up apologizing and offering to buy, and to his delight the whole episode earned Mortimer another kiss.

Sheila returned with the food and a report that there was indeed an unmarked car down the block, in a location with an unobstructed view of the apartment block's entry. "Not good," she said, "Purdy's definitely suspicious of me. That car must have been out there for hours, which means he's got at least a small team on it. You really will have to lay flat on the floor in the back of the car. Or else ride in the trunk." She punched Mortimer playfully on the shoulder.

"I'll go with the floor," he said.

"At least I wasn't followed," Sheila said. "I'm pretty sure of that. So you won't have to stay in back for too terribly long."

# # #

Just before dusk, they piled into Sheila's car, an old four door Chevy, a little more downscale than Mortimer had expected. "Yeah, I know it isn't much, but remember, I have about as much money as you do," she said.

Then Mortimer took up a position on the floor in the back of the car. Sheila told him to stay down and lay as flat as possible until she gave the word. He was to pull a blanket over himself just in case anyone got too close and looked in.

At just about four PM, Sheila pulled out of her apartment building's garage. Sure enough, the unmarked car was still down the street. Someone else was in it, but she pretended not to notice as she drove by. It didn't follow her, and she spent the next twenty minutes or so driving around more or less aimlessly, making turns at random and watching to make sure she was not being followed by any other unit.

When she was satisfied, she made a few more turns and headed toward Aurora by an indirect route. She called to Mortimer, "All clear now, Sherlock! You can get up."

Mortimer shook off the blanket that covered him and groaned. "That took forever, and I'm so sore!" he complained.

"No griping!" Sheila said. "I've got us on our way, what more do you want?"

"I want to sit in front!" Mortimer whined.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Sheila said, feigning disgust. "We'll be there in fifteen minutes. You can last that long."

# # #

It all worked out about as expected, at least initially. They arrived at their destination in Aurora a little before dark and were easily able to find the address that Mortimer indicated. They parked a few blocks away, intending to walk to their destination.

Mortimer said something about maybe picking up a few snacks first. "You know, like some potato chips and beef jerky," he told Sheila.

Sheila nixed the idea. "Mortimer, this isn't one of your play adventures. You've been at one of the crime scenes. This is all too real."

Mortimer, suitably chastened, shuddered a little.

They walked together until they were within a block of the target address. "Let's split up," Sheila said. "We'll circle the block in opposite directions, then meet up here and compare notes. I don't want the neighbors to suspect anything, and if we're seen walking back and forth several times, someone might notice. We don't need the police being called right now."

Mortimer realized that somehow the lead had shifted to Sheila. It might have been his idea, but it was quite clear who was running the show. Well, he thought, she works in a crime lab and knows more about this stuff than I do.

But Mortimer still felt a little bit of a nagging need to show her he wasn't just a wimpy nerd. He vowed to himself that before this operation was over, he'd do just that.

# # #

About twenty minutes later, they met back at the same intersection a block from the house. They had both had an opportunity to make some observations from both front, back, and sides. Neither of them had seen anything remarkable. The house was a typical split level, with a front entrance, garage with a side door, and a patio entrance in the back. It didn't look as if anyone was home at the moment. They hadn't been able to find much information about who lived there; there was no phone listing and internet searches hadn't shown much.

There was a side street with a vacant lot opposite the target house, and they decided that if they parked by the lot and sat in the car, they could safely observe the house. There was almost no pedestrian traffic in the neighborhood, it would soon be dark, and they felt they had good chances of avoiding detection.

They went and got the car. It was dark when they parked alongside the vacant property. Sheila stayed behind the wheel and Mortimer was in the passenger seat.

"Sherlock, where's your night vision goggles?" Sheila said, obviously teasing.

"Left them at home," Mortimer replied in a matter of fact tone.

"I'm not surprised you have them," Sheila said.

Mortimer grinned. "Gotcha! You just assumed again... although to tell the truth, I wanted a pair but they were just too expensive."

Sheila smiled back, and time passed in periods of silence broken by an occasional remark.

"We're whispering," Mortimer noted, "even though there's no one to hear us."

"Look!" Sheila pointed to the house. A car had pulled up in the driveway. The garage door opened. the car went in and the door closed behind it. Not long afterward, lights started to go on in the house.

"It looks like the owner's come home from work," Sheila observed. "About eight PM; that's fairly late."

Ten minutes later, Mortimer thought he saw movement in the hedges in front of the house.

"Did you see that?" he whispered.

"Yes," Sheila whispered back. "It looks like just that one hedge moved."

They both gasped as they saw a darkly-clothed figure emerge from behind the thick hedge. The hedge was positioned toward the right edge of the house. It seemed to be right below an unlit window. The dark figure pulled himself up by grasping the window ledge. The figure was holding something in one hand, tracing it around the edge of the window.

"He's cutting through the screen," Sheila said. "He's going to break in!"

They watched as the figure dropped the cut screen and the cutting tool to the ground, and instead wielded a short pry bar. It didn't take long to jimmy the window open, and it was done without making any sound that they could hear.

"He's a professional, all right," Sheila said. "I'm going over there to see what's going on."

"Isn't that uh... dangerous?" Mortimer asked.

"I'm trained, and I won't take any chances. You call 911 right away." She was out of the car before Mortimer could say another word.

Mortimer wondered about just how well trained Sheila might be. He didn't think it was usual for law enforcement to take on a possibly armed intruder without backup. And Sheila didn't even have a weapon of her own. You would have thought she might have called 911 /before/ leaving the car.

He watched as she carefully crossed the street, staying low and using shadows for cover. She stopped at the edge of the property and crouched behind a tree.

The intruder had gone into the house.

Time for a 911 call for sure, Mortimer thought. He reached for his cell phone.

Which wasn't there.

Too late, he remembered leaving it on the couch in Sheila's apartment. And of course, Sheila had taken her own phone with her.

No way to make the emergency call unless he too crossed the street and got Sheila's phone.

He realized that if the intruder confronted him he wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do and would probably wet his pants. But he felt the need to act.

Sheila had now moved to the hedges in front of the house. Was she going to follow the intruder inside?

Mortimer got out of the car and started for the street. He was about to cross when he heard a loud scream coming from inside the house. It sounded like a male voice.

Sheila, hearing the scream, quickly pulled herself up by the window ledge and entered by the same route as the intruder.

What was she going to do besides get herself hurt?

Mortimer was across the street and on his way to the hedges when he heard Sheila scream in turn.

There was only one thing to do.

Mortimer felt his whole body start to shiver and shake with fear, but this was the moment for proving himself. No matter how afraid he was, he would have to go in there after Sheila.

He had even less idea what he was going to do than he thought Sheila did.

His real hope was that someone in a neighboring house heard the screams and would call the police. But the houses were set pretty far apart and he couldn't count on that.

He got over to the hedges. No further sound was coming from the house, not that he could hear at this distance. He grasped the window ledge and attempted to pull himself up.

In high school, Mortimer wasn't much of an athlete, and in college he didn't even try. He especially was bad at doing chin-ups. He was having a real time of it trying to pull himself up to the window so he could climb in. The feat seemed beyond his abilities.

How did Sheila do it so easily? he wondered. She was up and through the window in seconds. So was the intruder for that matter.

Mortimer was starting to sweat. Finally he got the idea of pushing against the side of the house with his feet, rather than trying to just use his arms to lift himself. If only he didn't fall and make a racket...

He made it. He was up to the window and starting to wriggle through. That too was a lot harder than he had expected. His legs dangling in the air, he got his upper body through and levered forward with his elbows. He finally fell through and landed in a heap--- in a bathtub.

Luckily, he wasn't very heavy and didn't make a lot of noise on impact.

He heard muffled voices coming from the direction of what was probably the kitchen. The bathroom door was half open.

"There's really no difference if I kill one person or two," a man's voice was saying. "I make my point either way."

"There's no need to kill anyone." That was Sheila. Her voice was unsteady and fearful. "It's not too late to stop. You can get help."

"Lady, if I get caught, I'm going to jail and we both know it. I need to make this clean. Tough luck for you but you shouldn't have interfered."

Mortimer heard a second man. "I didn't do anything to you," the man was saying. "There's no need to kill me."

"This isn't about you," the intruder said. "But you wouldn't understand."

Mortimer realized there wasn't much time left. He had to act /now/. But what should he do?

Was there anything in the bathroom he could use as a weapon? He glanced around quickly; just enough light was coming in through the door for him to make out various objects. All he saw was the usual stuff: bars of soap, a toothbrush, bottles of shampoo.

A straight razor.

The guy who lived here must like close shaves.

Mortimer grabbed the razor and opened it, holding the blade out in front of him. He could only hope that the intruder didn't have a gun, though Mortimer didn't know how else he was keeping both Sheila and the homeowner at bay.

Mortimer moved stealthily out of the bathroom, in a crouch, with the razor held at the ready, although ready for what was something he didn't exactly know. He went in the direction of the voices. Sure enough, they were coming from the kitchen.

Surprise: that was the only thing he had going for him. He would have make his move quickly.

He was almost to the entry to the kitchen. Gathering his courage about him, he made what he hoped was a horrifying facial expression and leaped through the doorway, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Banzai! Stop thief! Single-edged razor!"

Sheila and the homeowner were sitting in a corner of the kitchen, against some cabinets. A stocky-looking man was about six or seven feet away. With his right hand, he was pointing an automatic pistol in their direction.

At Mortimer's screaming entrance, he started to turn in Mortimer's direction. Mortimer was about three feet away and had stopped dead, waving the razor blade around in the air and continuing to scream. "You're under arrest! I have a razor blade! FBI! Drop your weapon!"

The gunman was now facing Mortimer. "Who or what are YOU?" he said, almost laughing.

There was a sudden blur of motion from behind the intruder. Sheila had sprung up from her seated position on the floor and with a spinning motion delivered a hard kick to the intruder's head with her left leg. The man staggered backwards, almost falling into Mortimer, who shrieked and leaped backwards. Sheila's right leg came around and her foot caught the intruder full in the stomach. He groaned and fell to the floor. Sheila was instantly on top of him and the edge of her right hand chopped at the back of the man's neck.

It was all over.

Mortimer stood open-mouthed, the razor still in his hand.

Sheila looked over at him. "Mortimer, you were very brave, but please put that thing down before you hurt yourself."

Mortimer obediently set the razor blade on the kitchen counter, next to a checkerboard that had already been set up to exactly the position he would have expected. The checkerboard was right next to a small metal box. Mortimer didn't have to look to know that the box was filled with black widow spiders.

[black widow spiders]

# # #

The police and FBI were on the scene and had the intruder in custody. Mortimer and Sheila had a long night ahead of them. They'd have to go to the police station and make statements, and that would include some explaining about why they were where they were that evening. But Sheila assured him that it would all work out. The Checker Murders killer had been caught and that was what the authorities really wanted. Sheila and Mortimer had prevented another murder. They wouldn't really be in any kind of trouble.

It was something like five in the morning when their statements were complete and a police cruiser dropped them back at their car.

On the way back, with Sheila driving, they talked about the night's events a little more.

"I had no idea you had combat training," Mortimer said.

"Not exactly combat training," Sheila replied. "But I do have a black belt in Taekwondo. I always knew it would come in handy some time."

"No kidding. That guy probably would have killed all of us if you hadn't taken him out like that."

"I was only able to do it because of you," Sheila said, reaching over to pat his arm. "You really were very brave, in your own unique sort of way. You could have been shot right on the spot. Would you have really used that razor?"

"I don't know," Mortimer said, "I didn't really think that far ahead."

Sheila laughed. "I didn't think so," she said, and they continued to drive on into the night.

# # #

It was starting to become light when they pulled in at Sheila's apartment. Mortimer said he could take a taxi home, but Sheila insisted that he sleep a while first. Mortimer assented readily; he was too tired to object. He started to make up a bed on the couch as he had done the night before.

He felt a touch on his shoulder. "No, Mortimer," a voice whispered in his ear. "Not there."

# # #

They were having breakfast at about four PM. Mortimer had spent an hour or so on the internet, ending with an exclaimed, "Aha!"

"What is it?" Sheila asked.

"The last piece of the puzzle," Mortimer said with satisfaction. "The motive for all of this, and why the killer wasn't any of the three people on my list."

Sheila placed two mugs of coffee on the kitchen table, where Mortimer was sitting with his laptop. "All right, tell," she said, sitting down and taking a sip from her mug.

"Well, I expected the killer to be from the Denver area, as you know."

Sheila smiled. "I'm not surprised, given that all the murders took place in Colorado."

"So, who in Denver would know enough about checkers to know the openings so well as to be able to set up problem positions from all of the main opening groups? And who would be clever enough to come up with a method of murder that related to the nickname of a particular sequence of opening moves? It had to be someone at the master level, or at least with a lot of background in checkers. That person would probably be an ACC member of some note."

"Go on," Sheila said.

"So I checked the roster. There were only three ACC players in Denver who met the criteria. So I figured it had to be one of them."

"But it wasn't," Sheila said.

"No, it wasn't. I had trouble figuring any of them to be a murderer, but it was all I had to work with. As it turned out, I had forgotten a fourth possibility, someone who definitely had motive. And that's who it turned out to be."

"That guy--- what would have made him do those terrible things?"

"He was a checker player, all right, and a really good one. He was a member of the ACC, but was booted out. He played in a tournament a little while ago, and insisted in playing in the master's division. The ACC wouldn't let him because he had no rating and no track record. He had never played in an ACC tournament before, and they wouldn't let him play in the masters until he proved himself. He got really angry and made a scene. The police were called. The ACC revoked his membership and told him not to come to any more tournaments."

"And that turned him into a killer?"

"Well, not in and of itself. But you know how nerds can be, well, a little unbalanced?"

Sheila smiled again. "Present company excepted, of course," she said.

"Uh... maybe not," Mortimer said candidly. "But at least I'm not a murderer."

"You looked pretty fierce waving that razor around and yelling, 'Single edged razor!'" she said, and couldn't help laughing.

Mortimer laughed along with her. "I guess that was quite the sight," he said.

"But finish your explanation," Sheila said. "It's good practice; I'm sure you'll be repeating it again more than once."

Purdy had of course heard about what had gone on in Aurora, and had called Sheila several times. She didn't answer his calls. Of course, Purdy now couldn't bring Mortimer in as a suspect, but Mortimer and Sheila both knew they'd have to make more statements before the affair was concluded.

"The guy just snapped, I guess," Mortimer said. "Now that he was banned from tournaments, he had no way to show that he really was a master player. So he came up with this scheme to show very deep knowledge and to get revenge on the ACC."

"What I don't get," Sheila said, "is why he just killed random people. None of them played checkers, at least not seriously."

"It was all about the addresses, having the street numbers match the opening moves, the street names match the openings, and the method of murder matching the opening nickname. The victim's identity didn't matter. It was all about the rest of those things, to prove that he was a master player."

Sheila's phone rang again. Purdy. "I better answer it this time," Sheila said, "and then we'll be downtown at the office for quite a few hours. It'll be another late night."

She waited a few seconds, then continued, "Maybe it'll be so late that you'll need to stay over again."

Mortimer laughed and pulled her over to him. The phone continued to ring. "Mortimer, I really need to answer that."

"Call him back," he said, pulling her even closer.

---

Once again, experts may recognize this position and know how to proceed. The rest of us will struggle, but it's a great learning experience and worth the effort. When you're ready to see the solution, click on Read More.

[Read More]

Every year we say the same thing: Thanksgiving is our favorite holiday. It's a wonderful family occasion, it's uniquely American, and the theme of giving thanks appeals to every race and creed.

Similarly, each year we turn to the great American problemist Tom Wiswell for a Thanksgiving treat, another of our "coffee and cake" specials. Solve the problem and then have another cup of coffee and a slice of Thanksgiving pie or cake.

Here's this year's offering.

Mr. Wiswell titled this one ABC, which he said might stand for "A Beginner's Classic." However, he goes on to add that it shouldn't be taken too lightly and has fooled some experts!

Expert or beginner, you'll enjoy the problem. When you've reached your solution, click on Read More to check your moves.

[Read More]

The Checker Murders is a 16,000 word novelette published in seven monthly installments. It is perhaps the most extensive work of checker fiction ever published. We hope you enjoy it, but if you wish you can skip to the end to see this week's checker problem. Be forewarned that the problems in this series are for the most part very difficult.

---

Mortimer was pretty tired the next morning when his alarm rang and he had to go off to his classes. He couldn't imagine how Sheila felt, up all night for the second night in a row analyzing evidence. And she had to go straight from the FBI office to her own classes. Mortimer couldn't imagine how she managed it.

When Mortimer got home after class, just on an off-chance of catching her, he called Sheila's number, but as he thought might happen, it went straight to voice mail. "Just seeing if you might be able to have a quick dinner before you sleep," he said, being /very/ careful with his choice of words this time. "I'm hoping to finish my analysis this afternoon, and I'll share the results with you if you like. Just give me a call, OK?"

All afternoon he worked on his computer and with a few of the handful of checker books he had on his bookshelf.

Things were starting to really add up. His collection of notes, a growing assemblage of checker diagrams, lists of checker moves, and references to checker books and websites, became pretty substantial.

Finally he went to the American Checker Confederation website and started researching the names of members that lived in Colorado. There were quite a few, but he sorted them out by rating and assumed skill level.

In the end, he thought he had it narrowed down to three suspects.

It had to be an ACC member, and the proof lay before him. No one else would have known enough about checkers, not to the level of detail that the murders all too clearly exhibited.

What Mortimer had no idea about was motive. He would have to dig still deeper. After all, three suspects was too many. He needed to get it down to one, and then he could announce his results. He very badly didn't want to get it wrong.

When he decided to take a break, it was nearly seven o'clock in the evening. He realized that he hadn't heard from Sheila at all. She must have been too tired.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Sheila?"

"Who's Sheila?" said the obviously male voice on the other end.

"Oh. Roger."

"You sound disappointed, old pal," Roger said. "Look, I know it's just Wednesday, but we don't have class tomorrow morning. How about Baker Street for a quick beer?"

"I don't know..."

"Hey, come on. I think there's stuff you need to tell me, you know, about this Sheila chick for instance."

"She's not a chick!" Mortimer, realizing how that might have sounded, continued, "I mean, yes, she's a girl, but..."

"You're going to tell me she's special," Roger cut in.

"Well, she is ..."

"Baker Street. Half an hour. You have a lot of explaining to do." With a chuckle, Roger hung up.

Oh well. No doubt Sheila was sleeping straight through and didn't get his message. Probably wouldn't get it until tomorrow morning. Sure, he'd go to the Baker Street Pub and try to get his friend Roger to quit making fun of him. As if that was going to be possible.

Mortimer talked and talked, trying to explain to Roger what made Sheila different, and realizing that he was just getting himself in deeper and deeper.

Finally, when they were both on their third beer--- never, ever before had either of them had more than two, and they rarely even finished the second one--- Roger said, "You're in love with her, aren't you." He looked Mortimer straight in the eyes, or at least as straight as he was capable of after three beers.

"No I'm not!" Mortimer exclaimed. "I mean, so what if I am!" He hiccuped. "I don't know," he went on. "I think I better go home. Can't drive. Take the bus. Get the car tomorrow."

"It's on me," Roger said, showing a little sympathy. "Guy doesn't fall in love every day, you know." He put some money on the table and the two of them staggered out into the plaza in front of the pub. "Going to walk home," Roger said. "Need the air." He disappeared around a corner without another word, leaving Mortimer to attempt to find his way to the bus stop.

Luckily, years of living a poor student life made Mortimer's bus riding instincts strong. He actually managed not only to find the bus stop but to get on the right bus to take him home.

Somehow he got into his house and lay down fully dressed on his bed. He immediately fell asleep.

But there was a sound in his head. What was that? It was insistent and demanding. He wanted to sleep, didn't anyone know that?

The sound wouldn't go away. It stopped for a moment, then began again, as shrill and unignorable as ever.

Finally, he awoke, and realized that it was his phone. Half dazed, he noted that his bedside clock read just after midnight. He grabbed for his phone. It fell on the floor.

"Go 'way," he told it, but it continued to ring unabated. Mortimer rolled out of bed and hit the floor with a thump.

"Ow!" he exclaimed. He was sitting on the still-ringing phone. He managed to roll to the side a little, dislodging a small pile of paperback books. Finally he got hold of the phone and pressed the green 'answer' button.

"'Lo?" he said, his voice thick and uncertain.

"Mortimer?"

Oh, no. It was Sheila. And he still hadn't sobered up.

"Yeah.. 's me."

He heard a hiss of breath. That couldn't be good.

"Mortimer, have you been drinking or something? You don't sound right, and I need you to listen."

"'M Ok, guess 'm good," Mortimer said.

"Mortimer, you're in a lot of trouble, and frankly I'm not very happy either because you got me into hot water with Special Agent Purdy. I tried to stick up for you--- again--- but this time he's not listening. The best I could do is get him to wait until morning...."

Mortimer was sobering very, very quickly now. "Uh... what's the problem?"

"The problem, Mortimer, is that there's been another murder, and it isn't at the address you gave us. Special Agent Purdy and a lot of other agents and police were at that Glasgow Circle location in Aurora while a murder was going on at Dundee Place in Grand Junction. Purdy is very angry and he's saying you threw him off track so the murderer would have a clear field for tonight's crime."

"That.. that's crazy," Mortimer said. "Why would I ever.. wait..."

"What?"

"It was 1216 Dundee Place?"

"Yes, how did you know..."

"It's out of order. The killer went out of order to fool us."

"I don't know what you're saying, but just listen. Purdy was going to have you picked up tonight as an accessory, but he knew that would never hold up. So he's going to pick you up personally first thing in the morning. when he gets back to town around four am. You'd need to be somewhere else other than home or you'll end up back at the FBI building, and it won't be for a friendly meeting."

"But... where can I go..."

"My place."

"Huh? I thought you were angry with me or something.,, and won't you get yourself into trouble?"

"Not exactly angry, just upset."

Mortimer wasn't at all sure he knew the difference, but he wisely didn't pursue the point any further.

"And you're not a fugitive. There's no warrant out for you. So I can do what I want. Oh, maybe Purdy will say I'm obstructing an investigation, but I can just say I was going to bring you in myself and that you were more likely to answer questions from me than from him. He won't like it but there isn't a lot he'll try to do about it either."

"Ok, so ..."

"Did I ever give you my address, or do you already know it."

Mortimer didn't dare lie. Of course he knew her address, and he said so.

"Good, I'll be home by two AM. You be there a few minutes after that. Purdy knows what your car looks like, and even though I don't think he'll look for you here, take a taxi just to be sure. Don't take it from your house; go a couple of blocks away and call one. Try to find a pay phone, there's probably one of them at a Seven Eleven or someplace."

There was a long pause. "And, Mortimer ..."

"Yes?"

"You may be coming over to my place but don't get any ideas into your head." She broke the connection before he could say anything in reply.

Mortimer couldn't figure it; if he wasn't a wanted fugitive, why all the cloak and dagger secrecy stuff? But he guessed Sheila knew what she was doing and left it at that.

He decided he had better put a few things together to take with him, like one of those "go bags" he'd seen spies in movies use when they had to flee in a hurry. Usually they had a hundred thousand dollars in them. Mortimer didn't think he had a lot more than twenty or thirty dollars in the house, but he thought he'd best take everything he could.

Cell phone charger, laptop, laptop charger, a toothbrush, a change of underwear, a fresh shirt ... what else? Maybe he'd need that checker book he'd been using as his main reference in this case. He threw it in the little gym bag he was packing. Wasn't a 'go' bag supposed to contain all sorts of weapons? He decided his Swiss Army knife would have to do; that was about the closest thing he owned that approximated a weapon and he wasn't really comfortable with the idea in any case.

He was out the door at just about two. Allowing five minutes to get to the Seven Eleven and another five for a taxi to show up, plus travel time, would get him to Sheila's place by about two-thirty, which allowed a safe margin for her to get home before he arrived.

Mortimer didn't exactly live in the best neighborhood, and going out walking at two AM was something that he never did. But he had no choice. He hustled down the sidewalk as fast as he could, hoping no one would see him.

He did pretty well until he got to the Seven Eleven on First Street. A few teens were hanging out in front, smoking and trying to look tough. Mortimer thought he would be safe enough in front of the store, but then he realized that if there was any trouble, calling the police might not be the right option at this particular moment.

Just his luck that the pay phone was outside the store, not inside. He fumbled with a few coins and dialed the number of Denver's largest taxi company.

"Hey bro, you got some coins for me?" One of the kids had started to approach him.

"Uh, sorry." Come on, pick up the phone, he thought.

"Central Taxi."

"Please send a cab right away to First and Federal."

"Name?"

"Mortimer."

"Five minutes." The cab dispatcher hung up.

The kids were all laughing. "What kind a name is that bro?" one of them said. "Mor-tee-mur?" They all continued laughing, one of them shoving the other slightly.

"Hey, who you pushin' bro?" one kid said to the other.

Oh, no. They're high and now there's going to be a fight. One of them will shoot the other and the cops will come and I'll be a witness ... Mortimer's mind was racing and he practically started to shake with fear.

Luckily the taxi pulled up in just three minutes, and the kids were too busy arguing with each other to pay him any more attention. Mortimer quickly got in the cab and gave Sheila's address. He realized that the driver, if he should be asked later, would easily remember this pickup and the destination, and would probably be able to describe Mortimer. Nothing to be done about it, though.

He was at Sheila's apartment building just about when he expected. He paid the taxi driver and rang the bell at the entry. The door buzzed, letting him in. Good. She was home.

He went up the front stairs to the second floor. The apartment building was old but relatively clean and well maintained. This wasn't the greatest neighborhood, either.

The door to Sheila's apartment was open and she was standing in it. "Inside, quick, before anyone notices," she whispered. She looked like she had just gotten home from work, still dressed in her practical clothes.

"I see you brought a few things," she said, nodding at his gym bag. "Good." She motioned him to a sofa, then sat down in a chair opposite him. Mortimer noticed that she didn't sit beside him. Despite all that was going on, he felt a little disappointed.

"So how did you know the address of tonight's murder? And why did you give everyone a different address? Do you know how that makes things look?" She shot the questions at him, rapid-fire.

"Like I said on the phone ... it's out of order. He's doing the last murders out of order."

"What do you mean?"

"The 11-16 murder should have been next, but he did the 12-16 murder instead. What was the murder method? Something to do with a skunk or a minotaur?"

"The victim suffered a fatal blow to the head with a heavy statue of some kind of mythical beast."

"Yes, yes, a minotaur. The Minotaur variation of the 12-16 Dundee opening. 1216 Dundee Place."

"Mortimer, this is so weird. But somehow I believe you." She paused. "Purdy believed you last night, too, I know he did, but he won't easily buy this stuff about the murders being 'out of order.' He'll think you tried to pull one over on him and he'll come up with all sorts of reasons to back up that idea."

"But for sure the next murder will be at Glasgow Circle. It's the only one of the seven openings left. They can go back there this coming evening."

"They won't listen to you. With one false alarm already, I'm sorry, Mortimer, you don't have any credibility with anyone any longer. Except me. I think."

Mortimer looked as dejected as could be. He actually felt as if he wanted to cry, but he held it back. It wasn't the thing to do in front of Sheila.

All of a sudden Sheila was next to him, her arms around him. Mortimer felt a few tears break loose despite everything.

"You're such a sweet guy," she said, "even if you're as nerdy as they come. I know you're really smart and you're just trying to help. But in the world of law enforcement, well, let's just say that your personality clashes a little."

Mortimer realized his arms were around Sheila too. "Purdy, he likes to be such a tough guy," he said. "It's just not my style."

"Not mine either," Sheila said, and then kissed him full on the lips.

They disengaged after a few minutes. Mortimer was again in a dazzled state. It was just too much at once. "I thought you told me not to get any ideas," he said.

"I did," Sheila replied. "But that doesn't mean that I can't get a few."

---

Possibly this is a familiar position to the experienced three-move ballot player; can you solve it? For the less experienced checkerist, it's one worth learning, so don't pass it by. When you've worked it out, or gotten as far as you can, click on Read More to see the run-up, the solution, and full analysis.

[Read More]

At this point in our Checker School series, we're going to present a series of quizzes on famous shots in the game of checkers. We'll show you a diagram of the shot position, and ask you to "name that shot" as well as solve it.

This month we'll start out with a shot that an experienced player will recognize at once, and with which a newer player should become familiar. The run-up is as follows.

11-16 23-18 16-20 24-19 8-11?

Black's last move looks so natural, but it loses; 10-14 or 7-11 would have been fine. Can you demonstrate the White win and give the shot's well-known name?

Take your best shot and then shoot your mouse over to Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

Take a look at the cake above; the famous old adage "haste makes waste" is as true now as it ever was. How many times have we rushed to finish something, only to have to do it over? It calls to mind a common question in the business world, "You don't have time to do it right, but you have time to do it over?"

Today's featured problem, composed by our old friend Ben Boland, when originally published carried the admonition "You will solve it if you are not hasty." So, we encourage you to take your time and enjoy the process of finding the solution. Pour yourself a cup of coffee and try to work it out from the diagram.

When you've found the answer, probably right about when you've finished your cup of coffee, click on Read More to see the solution. Then reward yourself, perhaps with a slice of cake and a second cup of coffee.

[Read More]

The Checker Murders is a 16,000 word novelette published in seven monthly installments. It is perhaps the most extensive work of checker fiction ever published. We hope you enjoy it, but if you wish you can skip to the end to see this week's checker problem. Be forewarned that the problems in this series are for the most part very difficult.

---

Over steak and baked potato dinners in the dimly-light restaurant, Mortimer told Sheila all about his research and how his theory had been confirmed by the latest murder.

"It's pretty predictable," he told her. "I haven't completely figured out the checkerboard part yet, but I'm working on that and I'm sure it will fit somehow with the rest of my ideas. "This next one--- I mean, when the murderer strikes again--- was a little harder to figure because there were a few possibilities, but it should be at 1115 Montrose Street, Evans, Colorado."

"What makes you think so?"

"Look at the numbers and street names. They match up with checker opening names. And the method of murder--- that corresponds to the name of a variation of the checker opening."

"That's crazy. But if you're right..."

Sheila's phone rang.

"Sheila Larkspur." She listened for a few moments. "OK, yes. I'll come."

Her look had changed to one of dead seriousness. Dessert was forgotten. "Mortimer. There's been another murder. Exactly where you predicted. I'm going to the crime scene, and I think you better come with me. There are going to be questions and you need to be on hand. You can drive me there. Right now."

Needless to say, Mortimer had never been at the scene of a murder before. In his fantasy life, he had dreamed of coming on to the scene and dazzling everyone with his brilliant analysis, bringing the criminal swiftly to justice.

Reality was a lot different, and a lot less attractive. In fact, Mortimer found it more than a little frightening.

Police were everywhere, yellow tape cordoning off the scene of the crime.
Special Agent Purdy was already on site when Mortimer and Sheila arrived and got out of Mortimer's car. Purdy, standing outside the house, saw Sheila and went over to her.

"What's he doing here?" Purdy asked, jerking his thumb at Mortimer.

"Give us a minute, will you?" Sheila said to Mortimer. When he nodded his head but didn't move, Sheila added, "Mortimer, that means I want to speak privately with the Special Agent. Can you please go wait by your car?"

Mortimer looked a little dejected but did as he was asked. He watched while Sheila and Purdy talked for what seemed like quite a little while, but was probably just a few minutes. Toward the end of their discussion, Mortimer noticed Purdy looking repeatedly in his direction.

The conversation ended with Purdy making gestures with his arms and then stomping away in Mortimer's direction. Sheila rushed to follow.

"All right, Sherlock, either you explain how you knew about this," Purdy growled, "or I'm taking you in."

"Special Agent! That really isn't necessary! You're getting me very upset!" Sheila objected.

Purdy hesitated a moment. "You going to cooperate?" he said to Mortimer.

"Uh, yes, sir," Mortimer said in a frightened squeak.

"All right, but it's only because of her that I don't haul you right off," Purdy said. "I don't wanna upset the young lady too much. But you got a lot of questions to answer. For instance, where were you...."

"Special Agent," Sheila cut in, "obviously he was with me. How else could he have driven me here?"

Purdy seemed to ponder this. "Yeah, I guess you got a pretty good alibi from the little lady here." When he saw Sheila glare he added, "Oh, I don't mean nothin'--- whaddaya callit--- sexist."

Purdy turned back to Mortimer. "All right then, but how did you know where the next murder would take place? You might be some sort of smart kid, but nobody could know that unless they know the killer too. So who done it? You better come clean with me..."

Mortimer said in a weak voice, "Uh ... could you please tell me the method of murder, Agent Purdy? It makes a difference ..."

Purdy grunted but grudgingly gave a brief rundown on the current crime. The victim, a young waitress, had been beaten to death in her living room. The murder weapon, found next to the body, was a heavy iron cross that had been reported stolen a week ago by a local church. There was the usual checkerboard, set up on the living room's coffee table.

"Your turn now, college boy," Purdy said.

Sheila glared again. "Tell him your theory, Mortimer."

Mortimer went through his ideas. Purdy's expression very quickly glazed over. When Mortimer was done, Sheila said to Purdy, "It's brilliant, isn't it?"

"Well, I don't understand none of it," Purdy said. "And it don't tell me nothing about who the killer is."

"Yes it does!" Mortimer piped up. "I mean, well, sort of."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'sort of'?" Purdy asked, obviously impatient and annoyed.

"The murderer is a checker expert or at least someone who knows a lot about checkers," Mortimer said.

"Oh, that helps a lot, don't it," Purdy said. "There's what, five million people in the Denver area and only about, say, five million of them know how to play checkers. Yeah, that narrows it down for me. Great job."

"No, no, it's someone who knows a lot about checkers. Really a lot; I have to finish my analysis but I'm sure it has to be someone who is a high level player, and there aren't a lot of them around."

"Can you give me names?"

"Maybe... after I do some more checking. But I can tell you for sure where the killer will strike again."

"He's been killing one every night."

"I know. But I think you can catch him tomorrow night."

They did all eventually wind up at FBI headquarters, although Purdy and Sheila would have gone there anyway, and Mortimer was happy enough to stay with Sheila. When they got there Mortimer repeated his ideas, not just to Purdy but to the whole team working on the case. Sheila sat near him and smiled at him from time to time, evidently very pleased with her new friend.

Most of the team seemed as lost as Special Agent Purdy, but Mortimer could see that at least a couple of them caught on. When Mortimer gave his prediction as to where the next murder would be--- 1116 Glasgow Circle, Aurora, Colorado--- the ones who got it nodded agreement. "You were right about the one tonight," Purdy told him, "so I guess we gotta listen about this one. We'll set up some kinda stakeout and try and catch this guy."

He got up as if to end the meeting and leave, but then added, "And don't you get any ideas, Sherlock. You're staying right here and doing nothing except keep quiet. I don't want you saying nothing to the press and you ain't going on the stakeout, so don't even ask. In fact don't even think about asking."

Purdy left the room and the others started to trickle out. Two of the team members did come over to introduce themselves and shake Mortimer's hand.

After everyone had left and Mortimer was still sitting at the front of the room, Sheila came over to him and put her arms around his neck. "Very well done," she whispered in his ear. "I'm proud of you, I really am." She squeezed his shoulders with both hands. "But it's getting late. I'll be here all night again. You better drive home. You have class tomorrow, don't you?"

Mortimer, now more dazed than ever, simply nodded.

"I do too, and I won't have any sleep, so I'll have to just go straight through and sleep later. That means I won't see you tomorrow."

"Can't we just meet at dinner, then we can ... I mean you can go to bed."

Sheila laughed at his little slip. "Naughty boy," she said in a teasing tone. "Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren't we?" But she said it with such a smile that Mortimer wasn't embarrassed. In fact, it took him several moments to figure out just what he had said that was so amusing. When he finally did, he turned all red.

"Oh... oh no, I didn't mean...."

"You know, Mortimer, the nice thing about you is that you really didn't."

---

Again as is typical in this series, the problem is world-class tough unless you've seen the position before. Definitely try it out but don't be afraid to click on Read More to see the solution and discussion.

[Read More]

"Little strokes fell big oaks" is a common adage with the obvious meaning that a big effort can be tackled with many little steps, all of which add up to get the job done.

Today's stroke problem is a major effort solved one move at a time. In this case, little strokes add up to a big stroke.

You'll need to keep your mental "eye" wide open to visualize the solution, but it can be done just as our theme suggests: picture it in your mind one move at a time. When you've finished, click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

While we're not at all sure that old-time checkerist Mr. Charles Hefter was an eponymous weight lifter, we do know that he was a famed and skilled player, analyst, and problemist. His specialty seemed to be in making corrections to published play and problems. One such example is shown in the diagram below.

This is not an especially weighty problem, though it has some interesting twists. Can you lift yourself up and find the answer? Don't let the challenge press you; curl up and find the solution. When you're ready, raise your mouse over Read More to see winning way.

[Read More]

The Checker Murders is a 16,000 word novelette published in seven monthly installments. It is perhaps the most extensive work of checker fiction ever published. We hope you enjoy it, but if you wish you can skip to the end to see this week's checker problem. Be forewarned that the problems in this series are for the most part very difficult.

---

It was a good thing that Mortimer also had classes the next morning, and even better that Mortimer wouldn't skip class no matter what. Otherwise, he probably would have lain in bed all morning with the memory of Sheila's hug. It was just a casual thing, but still, it had set Mortimer on fire and he remained in a dazzled, dreamy state all through the morning. It must be said that even though he did make it to all of his classes, he was somewhat less attentive than usual. One of his professors even remarked on it, saying in so many words that it looked like he was in love or something. It embarrassed Mortimer no end and turned his face beet red.

But classes ended, and just as he did on the previous day, Mortimer rushed to the bus and braved the weirdos with as much patience as he could muster. That was precious little, but it at least could be said that he tried.

He ran up Perry Street as quickly as he could and into his little rented house. It was about 12:30 and sure enough, there was an email from Sheila. He read it eagerly.

"Here are the pictures you wanted of the checkerboards from the second and third murders. I set up a meeting with Special Agent Purdy for four o'clock this afternoon. Just go to the FBI office and ask for him. You'll be directed to the meeting room. I'll join you there. Please don't be late and by all means don't miss the meeting. I think I can get you on the case if you make a good showing."

The checkerboard photos were attached to the email. Mortimer took a quick look. What he saw was about what he expected. Yes, he was definitely on to something.

Mortimer didn't know the neighborhood around the FBI office very well; it was in the Stapleton area, a place he didn't go often, so he left early even by his standards. As it turned out, it was a good thing; traffic was terrible and he made it to the office complex with just five minutes to spare.

Despite Mortimer's interest in solving interesting crimes, going into the FBI office was something that he found more than a little intimidating. He went to the big front desk and looked up at the security officer on duty.

He had a little trouble finding his voice, but managed to say, "Mortimer Holmes, I'm here to see Special Agent Purdy."

The burly guard gave him what can only be called a disdainful look. "Is that right, kid," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "And just why would a busy man like Special Agent Purdy want to see the likes of you?"

Mortimer watched movies sometimes, so he thought that Federal officers were supposed to be polite, but he wisely refrained from stating this aloud.

"I'm meeting with him about the checker murders." Mortimer tried to say it with some semblance of confidence.

"Oh yeah, kid, now tell me, you've got it all figured out and you're going to tell the Special Agent how to solve the case, am I right?"

"Well, yes, you see I have a theory.."

"Beat it, punk, before I lock you up."

"No, no, I really have a meeting with Special Agent Purdy. Sheila ... I mean, Ms. Larkspur, in the Crime Lab, she set it up for me... she said to come here at four o'clock."

The officer still looked skeptical, but he picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Sheila?" His voice had changed to a tone that he probably thought was sweet. "Did you set up a meeting between Special Agent Purdy and some skinny kid?"

The officer paused. His facial expression changed at once. "Oh, you did, I see, it's all on the level. I thought .... no, no, there's no problem, I'll send him right up ... yes, yes, I won't keep the Special Agent waiting any longer."

The growling voice returned as the officer said to Mortimer. "You're lucky, kid." He pointed a thumb at a bank of elevators in the back of the entry hall. "Third floor, room 310, and be quick about it, Special Agent Purdy's getting impatient waiting for you to show up."

Mortimer didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed the visitor's badge grudgingly proffered by the officer and tore across the floor to the elevator, narrowly missing a collision with a pair of men in suits.

"In a hurry, kid?" one of them said, obviously annoyed.

Mortimer tried to look invisible, though without much success. He stood meekly in the back of the elevator and simply waited until he reached the third floor.

It was a typical government office. The floors and walls were a kind of sterile looking off-white, and the lighting came from harsh and overly bright overhead fluorescent panels.

At least he didn't have any trouble finding room 310.

There was no window in the door to room 310, not even a tiny peephole, so Mortimer had to go in cold. He pushed open the door just a crack and squeezed his way through. A bellowing voice greeted him.

"Whassamatter, door too heavy for you?"

Standing on the right side of the long, narrow room was a stocky man in a rumpled suit.

Mortimer shuddered involuntarily, drawing yet another scornful look from the man, who could only be Special Agent Purdy. Were all male cops like this? Mortimer wondered.

On the left side, toward the back, Sheila sat in one of the plastic chairs that surrounded a big composite table which dominated the room and left little space for walking. Sheila was keeping a studious silence, barely nodding at Mortimer as he came in. She must be intimidated by Purdy as well. But she looked great in her lab coat and her brown hair in its usual ponytail. Mortimer was amazed that he noticed, given the reception he was getting.

"Now, I been waiting long enough, so sit in that chair--- no, that one, the one I pointed to--- and tell me what you got. I'm only talking to you cause of Sheila." He stopped to throw what he thought passed for a smile in her direction. "Her, I trust. You, I don't know nothing about, and from the looks of you I don't think I wanna, either."

Mortimer quickly sat down in the indicated chair. "Did Sheila tell you about my ideas?" he asked quickly.

"Never mind about what Sheila told me or didn't tell me," Purdy snapped. "Let's hear it from you. And quick, cause I got better things to do than hang around here.

Mortimer started to explain his idea that the arrangement of the checker boards must have something to do with the crimes. Purdy did little more than grunt while Mortimer was talking. After a couple of minutes, Purdy's cell phone rang loudly, interrupting Mortimer's recital.

"Purdy. Yeah, I'm in 310 with... really? No kidding... that doesn't sound good. I'm on my way."

He closed the phone and turned to Sheila. "There's been another checkers murder. I gotta run. Give this kid whatever he wants. I worked with worse nuts before, maybe he'll actually come up with something."

"You mean ... I'm on the case?" Mortimer said in an incredulous tone just as Purdy was about to open the door to the hallway.

"Yeah, Sherlock, sure, you're on the case, whatever." With that Purdy hurried through the door. It closed slowly behind him.

"Wow," said Mortimer, sitting with what had to be a goofy grin on his face. He looked over at Sheila, and somewhat to his surprise, she was beaming at him.

"I told Special Agent Purdy you might have something to offer," she said in a calm voice that didn't hide its warmth. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"Uh, yeah," was all Mortimer could say.

"Now, let's go down to the Lab," Sheila said. I'll get you the addresses that you asked for. You're officially on the case, so I can do that."

"Hey, he even called me Sherlock."

Sheila gave him a little of a pitying look--- not very much, but a little. "Yes, well, Mortimer, I wouldn't carry that one too far. Let's just go look at the evidence, shall we?"

Mortimer spent an hour in the Crime Lab with Sheila, taking careful notes.

"Hmm, 914 Double D Road, Fountain, Colorado. 1014 Denny Court, Montrose, Colorado. It's all making sense in its own way, except that last one could have gone two different ways..."

"What are you getting at, Mortimer?"

"Uh... let me study this just a little more first..."

Sheila hesitated a moment before saying, "Look, Mortimer, if there's been another murder evidence will be coming in tonight and I'll have to stay here until it does. It's going to be a long night for me."

"You mean you can't go to dinner?" Mortimer just blurted the words out, amazing himself in the process, not knowing he would have the courage to ask her out again.

"Oh, Mortimer, I can't." Seeing the look on his face, she put a hand on his forearm. He seemed to relax almost at once. "Don't be hurt; I just can't get away when there's something important going on. Hey, I'm off tomorrow, why don't you call me in the afternoon--- not too early, because I'll probably be up all night working--- but maybe, after three? Then we can get together and I can bring you up to date. Will that work, Sherlock?"

Now Mortimer was all smiles. "Sure thing," he said.

"OK, now home with you," Sheila said, releasing his arm and giving him a quick kiss on his cheek.

That evening Mortimer didn't even pay any attention to the rude drivers on I-25. He floated on cloud nine all the way back to Perry Street.

The crime was all over the late news that evening and again on the morning shows. Mortimer soaked up every detail he could, even knowing that he'd get more information from Sheila later on.

A computer executive who lived in Boulder had had his skull cracked open with a heavy object. The usual checkerboard had been found at the scene. Mortimer couldn't figure out the board arrangement from the brief few frames the television news provided, but fortunately there was a legible photo in the morning newspaper. The address of the crime scene wasn't mentioned, but Mortimer did a little checking on the internet maps, and in a few minutes was certain he had deduced the address. A check with phone directories verified this; the address of the murdered man was an exact match with Mortimer's supposition: 1015 Kelso Road.

A little more research, and he was just about certain where the next murder would take place, for his theory also predicted that the killer would strike again.

He couldn't wait to tell Sheila. For the third day in a row, the hours passed slowly as he waited for three o'clock to come. Then he realized that Sheila had never given him her phone number.

His worst fears were realized when, as he expected, she didn't have a listed phone number. Hardly anyone under the age of about fifty had a land line any more, he thought. Everyone just had a cell phone.

Well, he knew how to get her number. The way he could do that was most definitely not on the level, and probably downright illegal. But what she doesn't know won't hurt her, he thought; anyhow, this was police business, wasn't it? He was officially on the case. That ought to give him some license.

He wasn't quite sure if he believed his own argument, but neither would he put too fine a point on it. So he went ahead and did a little creative hacking, being careful as always to use anonymous proxies and other tactics to conceal his identity and location. It only took him a few minutes to come up with Sheila's number, and by then it was three o'clock, or at least close enough not to make much of a difference.

A sleepy voice answered his call. "Hello?" It was defintely her, and picturing her in pajamas just waking up was almost more than Mortimer could handle.

"Hi, Sheila?"

"Oh, Mortimer, you know, I realized that I hadn't given you my phone number .. hey how did .... never mind, I probably don't want to know."

Mortimer could just about hear her smiling as she said it.

"Listen, it was a long night," she continued, "and I'm just waking up. But I can be at Broken Book by five if you want to meet me there again."

Mortimer would have rather gone somewhere else, but he wasn't about to argue.

"Sure," he said, "Broken Book it is, and when we get there I'll tell you where the next murder is going to take place. See you soon!"

Mortimer hung up before Sheila could ask any questions. He grinned. He'd sure gotten her attention now!

He drove his car again, more than willing to splurge on parking in return for the chance to keep his options open for later in the evening. Maybe he could talk her into going for a real dinner instead of just another sandwich.

To his surprise, Sheila was already there when he arrived, even though he was fifteen minutes early. And she didn't look very happy.

He sat across from her at the table she had taken up at the back of Broken Book. "Hi.., I didn't expect to see you so soon.."

"Mortimer." The single word cut him off at once. "You don't tell someone in law enforcement that you know the site of a potential murder and then hang up."

"But.."

"No, listen. This is serious. If I didn't like you I would have had a Special Agent bring you in for questioning. I know you don't know any better, and I know you were trying to make an impression, but don't ever do something like that again."

Mortimer sat in stunned silence. He thought he had been so clever. Women were just too hard to understand. But even he knew that an apology was in order. He offered one in a bit of a choking voice.

"Oh, Mortimer," Sheila said. "Don't take it so hard. I was just trying to keep you from getting into trouble. You're such a sweet guy in your own oblivious way... I think that's what I really like about you. There's no pretense. You really don't know any better sometimes."

She took his hand and didn't let it go. "Tell you what," she said. "Let's go someplace nicer than this. You have your car, right? Let's go to Plateau de Boeuf. I'm really hungry after last night and it's my treat. Let's have a nice splurge tonight, and you can tell me all about where you think the murderer might strike next."

"I really do know. In fact you don't need to give me the address of the scene of the last murder." Mortimer proceeded to recite the address he had researched, 1015 Kelso Road.

Sheila's eyes opened wide. "That's right!" she exclaimed. "How in the world... oh, wait a minute ... the victim's name was in the media, I bet, and you just checked some directories ..."

Mortimer looked unhappy, but he noticed Sheila was still holding his hand. "Sheila, the guy's name was Tony Garcia. There are a million Tony Garcias in the Denver area."

"You're right," she whispered, squeezing his hand even tighter, her expression changing to one of clear admiration. "You've earned the dinner I just promised. Let's go!"

---

While hardly easy, this problem may be slightly less difficult than the others in this series. Match wits with M. Sherlock Holmes and try to solve it, then click on Read More for the solution, notes, and full game.

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