Read Wrapped Up in Crosswords for Free Online Page B

two extremely spoiled and lazy pooches worry about anything?”
    â€œGabby’s always concerned that Kit may be getting more puppy biscuits than she is.”
    â€œMy point exactly.” Belle raised a wry eyebrow, then studied the dogs. “Maybe they need a little more solo time. Why don’t I take Kit with me this morning?” At the sound of her name, Kit sprang forward while Gabby commenced another round of short and bossy yips. “Quiet, Gab,” Belle said.
    But the words fell on deaf ears, leaving Rosco to shush Gabby—which he succeeded in doing. Then he looked at his wife. “Belle,” he said slowly, as she grabbed her purse, “lock your doors before you head downtown.”
    She cocked her head. “Expecting a serious crossword heist, are we?”
    â€œNo. It’s just that …” Rosco paused. There was no point in frightening her, he thought. The three escaped inmates were more than likely a hundred miles away by now—if not many, many more. “The season brings out the best as well as the worst in people. I just want you to be careful, that’s all.”
    â€œMy middle name.”
    This time it was Rosco who gave her a meaningful glance. “Precisely what I mean. Caution has never been your strong suit.”
    â€œI’ll make that my first New Year’s resolution.”
    â€œI’m serious.”
    â€œSo am I … sort of. Don’t worry, Rosco, I’ll lock my doors. No one but good-looking Greek guys dressed as Santas will be allowed a ride.”
    Then Belle blew him a kiss, and Gabby gave one more sharp woof. Finally, Rosco walked back to Belle’s office with the vigilant dog at his heels. There, his eyes seemed to survey the room and the black and white crossword-themed decor run amok: the floor painted like a giant puzzle grid, the curtains hand-blocked with letters and numbers, the lampshades emblazoned with copies of Belle’s cleverest cryptics. But, in fact, his glance didn’t register any of it; instead, Rosco stood still, listening as if he expecting Belle to dart back through the front door of any moment.
    When he was certain he was alone, he pulled a well-folded piece of graph paper from the rear pocket of his jeans, then he walked over to the reference books and began intently perusing the titles. “One pair of love …” he muttered anxiously under his breath. “I should make this rhyme somehow … Brings … Sings … Wings.”
    Gabby, however, understood each and every ominous word Rosco said. Her dark eyes had turned as hard as coal. What rhymes with bird? her expression said. How about absurd? And wings? How about wrings?
    B ELLE was fortunate to snag a parking space only three blocks from the venerable granite structure that housed The Evening Crier. As she parallel-parked—a task slightly hindered by Kit’s bobbing head—she reflected on how un-Christmasy the city looked. True, the holiday decorations were all in place; beribboned wreaths and evergreen swags hung in every shop front; each streetlight was festooned with a multi-faceted metal snowflake or a jolly snowman, but what was missing was actual snow. Somehow the streets didn’t feel festive without the white stuff crunching underfoot or icing the tops of shrubs or encircling the trunks of trees.
    Maybe that’s why I’m so tardy with my shopping this year, she thought as she and Kit climbed out of the car and began walking to the Crier ’s offices. I’m not in the spirit yet. But then she reminded herself that today was December 21; it was high time she get herself in gear.
    It was then that she drew to a sudden halt in front of a shop window. There, surrounded by twinkling mini-lights and giant gold bows, was the perfect gift for her husband. Chancy, yes, and definitely a splurge, but what was life for if not for taking risks? She’d already forgotten that she’d insisted