"Can you please tell me what's going on?" Mortimer asked as Sheila rushed him across the street and toward the next block.

"Didn't you hear my conversation with Rosie?" she replied, a bit out of breath.

"No ... you two were whispering and that guy Ike was so loud ... "

"Okay, hold on a moment." Sheila came to an abrupt halt. "She mentioned that there was a gambling den--- a checkers gambling den--- somewhere inside the Sweet Corn Cafe. That's where we're going. She said we could find out more about Bob Pace there. Said he was a gambler and that might have something to do with his ... uh ... demise. She told me what to say so that they'll let us in."

"You sure this is such a good idea?" Mortimer gave an involuntary shiver.

"What can happen? You play some checkers and lose a few dollars? We'll be careful."

Marvin didn't look too convinced but followed along as Sheila started walking again. In the next block they came to a dingy looking storefront that bore a neon sign proclaiming "Sweet Corn Cafe." Some of the elements in the sign lights were burned out and a few others were flickering. Through the storefront window Sheila and Mortimer could see a few people sitting at formica covered tables. The place didn't look especially clean.

"Come on," Sheila said, pushing open the door.

Mortimer followed her up to the service counter where a older woman with gray hair pulled back in a bun, and wearing horn-rimmed glasses with obviously smudged lenses, said in an unenthusiastic voice, "Help you?"

"Yes," Sheila said, "we're looking for Colonel Checkers."

The woman looked up suspiciously. "Is that right? Well then who says he's here?"

"Rosie Double Rye."

During this exchange Mortimer looked on, appearing somewhat baffled.

The older woman gave both of them stares, in turn. "Well," she said finally, if Rosie sent ya, I 'spose it's okay. Through there." She pointed a bony finger at a red and white checked curtain at the side of the counter. "I'll buzz you in."

Pushing aside the curtain revealed what looked to be a very strong oaken door. The woman pressed a button underneath her counter and Sheila heard an electronic lock slip back. She pulled open the door and she and Marvin entered.

They were at the head of a dimly lit staircase that had a landing and a half turn part way down. As they descended they heard the oaken door swing shut behind them and the electric lock engage.

"That doesn't sound very good," Mortimer said, but by then they had turned the corner on the staircase and could see the basement room before them.

It was pretty large, evidently having been expanded and dug out beyond the original foundations of the cafe. There were a couple of doors towards the back which might lead to offices or smaller rooms. But the main part of the room was furnished with numerous ensembles of tables and chairs, each furnished with one or more checkerboards. Off to one side, along the far wall, there was a desk and a man sitting behind it, a big ledger book open in front of him. There was a heavy looking iron safe on the floor behind him. Sitting next to him was another guy, this one needing a shave and wearing a wrinkled suit and stained bowtie. There was a noticeable bulge under his left arm.

"Did you see ... " Mortimer whispered but Sheila squeezed his arm, a clear signal that it would be best for him to keep quiet.

The man behind the counter and the other man, obviously a guard, were staring directly at the couple. Sheila hesitated and then walked up to the counter. "Hi, my fiance ... he's, um, looking for a little checker action, you know, kind of off the books."

"Is he now? Well, boy, step up. What's your level?"

Mortimer moved up even with Sheila. "My ... level? Oh yeah class A amateur. In Denver. I mean we're from Denver. Colorado."

"I know where Denver is, kid. Show me your card. I ain't got all night."

Mortimer showed his US Amateur Checker Association membership card, which had his category printed on it.

"Okay, looks good. We don't want no sandbaggers here, get it? We don't like no funny business at all, ain't that right Slug?" The latter words were addressed to the guard with the shoulder holster, who in turn laughed and opened his jacket just far enough to show the butt of his automatic.

"Uh, yeah, well maybe this isn't quite the place for us, right honey?" Mortimer said to Sheila, a hopeful look in his eyes.

If Sheila was upset or worried, it didn't show, but before she could reply the man at the desk slammed a fist down and said, "You show up, you play. Them's the rules. Hunnert dollar bet, three game minimum. We ain't runnin' this place for no spectators. Who told you to come here anyhow?"

"I already told the lady upstairs," Sheila said.

"Well now you're tellin' me."

"Rosie Double Rye," Sheila replied.

"Rosie, huh? Well, okay, but your boyfriend still gotta play. Class A amateur is he? Hey!" The counter man shouted at someone sitting alone at one of the tables. "Cliff! Game for ya. Hunnert minimum. Says he's class A amateur. You up for it?"

Cliff turned out to be another big guy with another crushing handshake.

"Actually," Mort said after they had sat down, "I was really just looking to learn about the local checkers scene around here. I'm not much of a money player."

"You are now, squirt," Cliff said, laying a $100 bill at the side of the board. "Okay, show me yours. Your money."

Mortimer luckily had brought along enough cash on the trip and laid down a $100 bill of his own. Sheila took a seat off to the side, hoping to make conversation with some of the other players.

Mortimer and Cliff started their game. Sheila looked around the room trying to decide who might be a talker, when a medium sized older man with a sleazy look pulled up a chair next to her.

"Wanna play?" he asked.

"Oh, no, sorry, I'm not a rated player," Sheila replied, and then looked away as quickly as possible.

The man grinned. "I didn't mean checkers," he said.

"Forget it," Sheila snapped, "I'm engaged and not available."

"To that little punk? Aw, some guys have all the luck. Well if you ever get tired of him, Larry Burgess is the name and always ready for a game."

Sheila muttered something about not coming back but then decided to try to get a little information.

Mortimer, on hearing this exchange, looked angry, but decided not to pursue it further, as his game with Cliff was getting interesting.

Meanwhile Sheila pursued her conversation with Larry Burgess. "So, who would have known about this little place down below Sweet Corn Cafe?"

"Well, you musta!" Larry said with a loud laugh, "anyhow, heard you talkin' about Rosie Double Rye. Ain't she somethin'? She sure can put 'em down, them double ryes. Not too many fellas can keep up with the likes a her. Hey, speakin' of which, you want a little drink?"

"No, thanks, I had a few with Rosie over at Checkers on the Cob. But hey, even though I'm not really a player, all of that got me interested in the local scene. Looks like the real action is here."

"Some a the best action in Des Moines, if you got the bucks. And the skill. This ain't no place for fraidy-cat bee-ginners."

Then Sheila circled in on the main subject. "We read about that Bob Pace guy. A real shame getting shot like that. Who would shoot a checker player?"

"Yeah, yeah," Larry said, but his expression had changed. "Hey, don't you worry none about him. I'd worry about your boyfriend losing his hunnert bucks against Cliff over here. Cliff don't lose much."

Actually Mortimer was doing pretty well and Cliff wasn't at all happy about it. But, when Sheila had mentioned Bob Pace, Cliff glared in her direction.

In fact there was a little more tension in the room, and both the guard and the desk man had stopped talking and were listening to Sheila and Larry.

But Sheila, not noticing this, went on, "Did that Pace fellow play here much? There were some rumors about him being, well, something of a high-roller and this sure would be a place that would attract that kind of guy."

Before she knew it, the desk man, whose nametag said "Dale," was standing next to her. "What's with all the questions?" he said gruffly. "Around here people mind their business and don't ask nobody about nothing."

"Oh, I was just curious ... you know ... with the murder and all ... "

"You some kind a reporter?" Larry paused a moment. "Or ... some kind a cop? You look like you could be one. Comin' in here with that wimpy boyfriend for cover ... "

"Fiance," Sheila said.

"A cop for sure. How'd you ever fool Rosie? I gotta talk to that gal ... but I think we better check you out a little closer. Gimme your purse. I wanna see what you got in there, like your cop ID or somethin'."

"My purse ... no, I won't give you my purse. Mort! It's time to leave. Right now."

Mortimer looked up and turned in Sheila's direction. "Now? Aw, gee honey I'm winning this game ... "

"You ain't goin' nowhere!" Dale reached out to grab Sheila's arm but Sheila countered with a swift akeido move and in an instant he was sprawled out on the floor. Larry looked at Sheila and thinking better of trying anything, backed away quickly.

Now, Mortimer!" Sheila shouted. Mort, now definitely getting the message, joined her as they ran across the room to the stairway.

Dale, slowly picking himself up, said, "Slug! Take care of those two!"

"Yeah boss," Slug replied, but being both slow of wit and actual speed, lumbered after the couple while awkwardly drawing his automatic from its holster.

By then Sheila and Mort were around the bend in the stairs and almost to the big door. Mort yanked on it. They heard a yell of "just a minute" from the other side and then heard the lock click. Under Mort's pull the door opened almost quickly enough to knock him back down the stairs.

Sheila and Mort dove quickly through the door and, from the other side, shoved it closed. No sooner than they had done so they heard the sound of a gunshot and a buller ripping into the back of the door.

"Hey you two!" the waitress shouted, but Mort and Sheila were already out into the street.

"This way!" Sheila called out and led Mort down an alley that opened on a side street. Just as they were exiting the alley they heard two more gunshots and bullets zinging by.

"Quick!" Sheila and Mort ran down the sidewalk to the left and at the next corner, miraculously, there was a waiting cab. They jumped in just as they saw Slug exit the alley and look all around.

"Duck down!" Sheila said. She and Mortimer crouched down on the back seat, trying to stay out of sight.

The cabbie, not knowing what to think, simply said, "Uh ... where to, folks? Or are we just playing hide and seek?"

To be continued.

---

Mortimer might have missed the chance to win some money but it seems as if he and Sheila escaping with their lives took a higher priority. We can't really blame them. However, unless something is going on that we don't know about, no one named Slug is chasing after you, so you can take your time with today's problem. You won't win any money (at least, not from us) but you will have an enjoyable challenge. Take a shot at it and then slug your mouse onto Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

"Dinner, Marvin," Priscilla said in something of a sharp tone. "Put down that magazine."

She was in Marvin's study, where Marvin was looking over some checker problems in the latest issue of the magazine All Checkers Digest.

"Gimme a minute Prissy, this is a real good one."

"I won't give you a minute and don't call me 'Prissy,'" Priscilla said. "I feed and house you and the least you can do is be grateful."

Marvin sheepishly set the magazine aside and followed Priscilla into the smaller of her two dining rooms.

So why the tension? Weren't Marvin and Priscilla happily married?

Recall from our previous story that our hero, Marvin J. Mavin, after suffering some pretty serious abuse and humilation during August training camp, quit his position as captain of the Detroit Doublejumpers, and walked out on his $5 million per year contract.

A month had passed and Marvin had spent all of that time at home playing Solitaire on his laptop, reading checker magazines, and listening to 1940s big band music.

His wife, Priscilla, the CEO of the vast conglomerate Rust Belt Holdings, had become very unhappy with him. Of course she earned easily ten times more than $5 million per year in her own job (not counting her annual bonus and stock options), but she still thought Marvin should be contributing by bringing in income of his own. She didn't like the idea of Marvin sitting around her luxurious 5,000 square foot condo doing nothing productive. Naturally, domestic staff did all the housework, cooking, and so on, but Priscilla still thought Marvin should be working.

It was complicated, however. No other professional checker club could make an offer to Marvin, as technically the Doublejumpers hadn't released him from his multi-year contract, instead invoking a "no pay for no play" clause. That left Marvin with no income and no prospects, at least not in the world of checkers. And it was up to the Doublejumpers to recall Marvin to the team, something they had publicly said they weren't going to do unless Marvin met their conditions, one of which was that Marvin would spend one season with their single-A minor league affiliate without pay.

It seemed to all be coming to a head one evening as the couple sat down for dinner. Priscilla's chef had prepared Pacific salmon with truffled foie gras, accompanied by fresh boiled red potatoes in their jackets and steamed asparagus with olive oil and lemon dressing, which was relatively ordinary fare by Priscilla's standards.

Dinner began in an uncomfortable silence, and about midway through, Priscilla said, "It's been a month, Marvin. You either go to work or move out."

Marvin's asparagus spear fell off his fork as surprise overtook him. "Huh?" he said.

"You heard me. Go to work or leave. Go get a crummy apartment in a bad neighborhood, like you had before we got married. Live off your savings; they should last you quite a long while if you live modestly."

Marvin, still in shock, said, "But honey ... there ain't nobody going to hire me. You know what the contract says. And I won't take the team's offer for me to work for free for a year."

"Yes, you can take it and in fact I insist upon it, and it won't be working for free. By law they have to pay you Federal minimum wage so you'll earn $7.25 an hour. Before taxes, anyhow. It's a bit of a pay cut but you need to work."

"Gee, I don't know, and I'd have to move out of Detroit for a year too."

"You can visit here on your off days. I'll even offer to pay half the bus fare. Well, once a month at least."

"Bus fare?" Marvin recalled being made to ride the city bus when he returned home after quitting August training camp.

"Or you could get a different job. You could maybe be a bartender. You like beer and you know all about bars. Or if you don't like that idea you could drive for a rideshare company. I'd even rent you one of my cars--- at the going market rate. You'd better not get into any accidents, though."

"What I oughta do is get a lawyer ... "

"You quit, Marvin; a lawyer won't be able to help you. Oh, I know, you can say you were forced off the team due to harassment and all that, but let's face it, the Doublejumpers have lawyers too, lots of them. You'd spend a lot of money for nothing, and don't expect me to help you. You made this mess yourself, you get out of it yourself."

Marvin stood up suddenly, surprising Priscilla with an uncharacteristic serious look on his face. "I married you for better or worse, Prissy, and you did the same with me. Well, this is worse if there ever was worse. I thought you'd stand behind me. But what happened? You made me ride the bus home instead of sending your car that day last month when I got back to Detroit. You won't take my side even though I was treated badly. You want me to take some minimum wage job and suffer another year of humiliation. Is this what marriage is all about? I thought we were supposed to take care of each other. Maybe I was wrong. If I was, just say so and I'll do exactly what you said earlier ... move out and get my own apartment. Maybe it will tiny and dingy and in a bad part of town. But I'll keep my dignity and my self-respect, something you're determined not to let me do here."

So saying, Marvin left the room and retreated to his study, leaving Priscilla at the table, wondering what would happen next and what she should do about it.

To be continued.

---

Is Marvin and Priscilla's marriage on the rocks after only a year? What do you think? Are the Doublejumpers being too hard on Marvin? Is Priscilla? Should Marvin take that minimum wage posting and do a year of penance? We'd love to hear your views.

But first, see if you can solve the checker problem Marvin was working on before that "ordinary" dinner (which sounds pretty extraordinary to us). Feast on the problem and then let your mouse take a bite on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

It was the first Saturday after Labor Day Weekend, 1955, and for Sal Westerman, that meant his Coffee and Cake Checker Club would resume its weekly meetings.

The Club met at the Beacon Cafe, in the Provident Life Building in Bismarck, North Dakota, at 1 PM each Saturday from just after Labor Day until just before Memorial Day, with only short breaks for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years.

Now, summers in North Dakota were fine times, but Sal sorely missed his checker friends, and he was happy to see fall roll around. It was a fine day in early autumn and Sal made sure he arrived at the Cafe at a couple of minutes before one o'clock, so he could greet the returning members.

Of course he first said hello to Deana, the proprietess and one of the best bakers anywhere. "How did the championships go?" Sal asked her, referring to a very big baking contest in North Dakota's easternmost city, Fargo.

"I won three blue ribbons and two red," Deana said with a big smile, "so I scored in all of the categories I entered."

"Not surprised to hear it," Sal said, but just then in came Larry and Delmer, closely followed by Wayne, Tom, Kevin (a.k.a. "Spooler"), Ron, Dan, and young Blaine. Bill also arrived; he was seen only a few times a year but made it on this opening day.

Coffee cups were filled and the "boys" as Sal called them, even though Blaine was the only one under age 50 and most were well beyond that, took seats in the large booths at the back of the cafe.

Talk started with summer activities. A few members had gone to the family farms to help out during the busy summer months. Others had just enjoyed time at home with occasional fishing and camping trips. Young Blaine had to work, of course, but he and his fiancee did take a week off to go climbing in Wyoming. Spooler had played in a tournament in the Minneapolis area, although he would only say that he didn't do all that well.

Of course everyone knew about Sal's checker booth at the fair, and Sal talked a little about his adventures in Jamestown.

But soon it was time to get down to business. Checker business.

"It's been a long summer without Deana's treats," Tom said, "so show us what you have for us today, Sal; we're all anxious for you to buy!"

"We shall see," replied Sal. The tradition was that Sal would always bring along a checker problem and buy treats for the boys if they solved it; otherwise the boys would buy for Sal and his wife Sylvia as well as themselves.

"I've got chocolate chip brownies today!" Deana called out from behind her counter. "Not to be missed!"

Meanwhile, Sal laid out the following position on a couple of the waiting checkerboards. "There you go," he said, "and I'll give you 45 minutes, seeing as how we've spent a lot of time already in chatting."

There were a couple of brief groans but it didn't take long for the boys to get down to that aforementioned checker business.

---

We don't know if you did or didn't do much in the way of checkers over the summer, or if you missed going to your favorite club, cafe, or coffee shop, but whatever the case, join the boys in opening the new season at the Beacon by trying out this problem, and then clicking on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

Sheila and Mortimer took a moment to regroup after the surprise visit from the police detective.

"So," Mortimer began, "we know someone shot from the outside with, presumably, a gun--- likely a pistol or something relatively small--- pushed up against the tent wall. That sounds kind of random."

"Let me see that photo again," Sheila said, and then laughed. "It would really frost that detective if he knew we had made copies. Well, he probably figured we did, I suppose."

Mortimer opened his laptop and brought up the photo of the small hole in the tent with burn marks.

"Enlarge it," Sheila said, "and enhance the focus if you can."

Mortimer did as Sheila asked, and then said, "Well, I'll be ... "

"Yes," Sheila said, "there's the hole marked by burns, such as from the muzzle of a gun, but the burns are more on the sides than the top and bottom, and there's a longer slit running up and down from the hole."

"So not random," Mortimer said. "Someone cut a slit to have a look, probably to take aim, and then inserted the pistol and fired."

"You know my next question," Sheila said, placing a hand on Mortimer's shoulder.

"Yup," Mortimer replied. "Was Bob Pace the target, or just a target of opportunity."

"In other words," continued Sheila, "did someone just want to shoot someone ... "

" ... or did that someone want to specifically shoot Mr. Pace," Mortimer finished. "This calls for some research. I can probably do a lot of it online."

"Good," said Sheila. "Meanwhile, I'll look over my own photos a little more closely. I took quite a few of the body and the floor and so on. Maybe that will give me some ideas."

"This is all kind of straightforward so far," Mortimer said. "Don't you think the police will be a few steps ahead of us?"

"They might be," Sheila replied, "but if they were very far ahead they wouldn't have come here asking for our photos, I don't believe. They're looking for leads, but they're too proud, or stubborn, to ask directly for help, despite this being a high profile crime."

But Mortimer hardly heard Sheila; he was already deep into his research.

About an hour went by. "Interesting," Mortimer finally said.

"What did you find, dear?" Sheila replied. Then she hesitated. "Oh, I hope it's not some checker problem ... "

Mortimer had this on his screen ...

... but he quickly switched views. "Uh, yeah, sweetheart, I found out some stuff about ... about Bob Pace."

"Like?" Sheila had her hands on her hips, and Mortimer knew that could go one of two ways. Sheila did have a temper at times, even though it wasn't very often.

"He's a well known player. But not the best in Iowa. Not the best in Des Moines either."

"I see," Sheila said, "and yet he was playing for first prize. Makes me wonder ... and combine that with what I found out, too."

"What?"

"Well, obviously I couldn't do an autopsy, and for sure the police aren't going to share those results with me, but Mr. Pace was hit squarely in the forehead with a single shot. That's not something your average random shooter does."

"You mean ... "

"Yes. A random shooter, shooting at just any target, would be in a hurry and wouldn't be so precise. That's not impossible, of course, but it's not the typical profile. No, I'll bet Mr. Pace was deliberately targeted, and by a professional. I'd say I'm certain, except for one thing."

"Which is?"

"It's too complicated and risky," Sheila went on. "If someone wanted to do a hit on Bob Pace, why would they do it in such a public setting? Why take the risk when they can corner him somewhere when he's alone and out of sight and just do him in then? No, something doesn't fit, or else we're missing something."

"Look," Mortimer said, "there's a lot here on the internet from the Des Moines Checker Club and Bob Pace's page on MyFace and so on. But we need to get more of the inside scoop."

"How do we do that?"

Mortimer smiled. "That's easy," he said. "We go to a checkers sports bar! There are a couple of them in Des Moines, and maybe we should start at the biggest one and do a little asking around from the local fans. We can do that tonight. The place is called Checkers on the Cob Sports Bar."

"Checkers on the Cob? You're making it up, right?"

"Dear, no one could make up a name like that."

Sheila insisted on Chinese for dinner saying she had enough of midwestern food, so she and Mortimer took a ride-share to Iowa Woks, which was just a block away from Checkers on the Cob.

Although the waiter insisted that the Sweet and Sour Corn Fritters were not to be missed, Sheila and Marvin both passed and they ordered Beef and Broccoli Stir Fry and Chicken Lo Mein.

"Pretty Americanized," was all that Mortimer would say, and Sheila didn't disagree. Mortimer said there would be stale fortune cookies along with the check, and it turned out he was right.

But then it was time to go to the sports bar. "Bet they serve corn on the cob," Mortimer said.

"No bet," Sheila replied.

They arrived a few minutes later. The place was large, with modern tables, wall murals, and a long bar that ran nearly the length of the main room. The lighting was surprisingly warm and bright, and it wasn't especially noisy inside, let alone rowdy.

A number of patrons were at the bar.

"Let's sit up there instead of at a table," Sheila suggested. "It'll be easier to talk to people."

"Uh, yeah," Mortimer said.

"You getting cold feet?" Sheila asked. She knew that Mortimer was on the shy side and not so great at talking to strangers.

"N..no," he replied, "this was my idea in the first place."

They took a couple of stools nearby but not adjacent to a couple of people who looked like regulars. On Sheila's left was a lady about 45 years old, with dyed blonde hair, plenty of makeup, and unexpectedly expensive looking clothes. On Mortimer's right was a burly guy in a muscle shirt and wearing sunglasses.

"What's popular?" Mort asked the bartender.

"Corn on the cob, what else!" the bartender replied. He was a chubby young fellow with a black bow tie that didn't match his brown apron and blue button-down shirt. "But look, if you're not hungry, a couple of Blue Ribbons ought to do ya."

"Okay," Mort said, "a couple of Blue Ribbons, then."

"You're joking," Sheila whispered. "Blue Ribbon beer? That's like drinking ... "

"Don't say it, honey," Mortimer whispered back, "they'll be offended."

The beers arrived and Mort took a sip. He grimaced, and the fellow next to him noticed.

"You from outta town?" he asked. "Don't like our beer?"

"Uh ... yeah ... I mean no ... I mean ... well yeah I'm from Denver. Here for the State Fair. And the beer ... just not used to it."

"State Fair, huh? Well that didn't work out, did it now, what with that guy Pace gettin' killed. Hey, you weren't in that tournament, were ya?"

"I was, actually," Mortimer said. "Kind of had an abrupt ending."

The big guy laughed. "Yeah, sure did! Hey, you ain't bad for an out of town doofus. What's yer name? I'm Ike, but my friends just call me Ike." He let out a loud laugh and offered his hand. Mortimer put out his own right hand and it was at once enveloped in a bone crushing grip.

"Ow," Mortimer said, but Ike just laughed again as he let go.

"Holy cow ... anyhow, my name's Mort," said Mortimer.

"Mort, huh? Well you're kinda short so I guess you're Short Mort!" Another laugh. "Hey, you any good? At checkers I mean, 'cause you ain't no good at handshakes!"

"Not great," Mortimer said, "but I was doing okay and maybe could have won some prize money. Guess I'll never know now. It's all closed down." He took another sip of beer and this time tried not to grimmace. "So you know anything about this guy that got shot?"

"Bob Pace?" Ike replied. "Yeah, kinda sorta good player but he ain't no pro, or I oughta say he wadn't no pro. Plays around town a lot. The type a guy what finishes third or fourth most a the time. Don't never win first place much. Maybe second once in a while."

"He was doing pretty well," Mort said. "He was in line to win."

"Yeah, that was a big soo-prise to a lotta people," Ike said.

Meanwhile, Sheila had struck up a conversation with the lady next to her, who, as it happened, called herself Rosie. "Like my complexion, you know," she had said with a titter. "I'm from New York, actually, but it's kind of fun to hang out in these little towns and I sorta struck up a--- well--- a thing with Ike over there."

Sheila didn't think Des Moines was all that little, but maybe compared to New York, it would seem that way. She also didn't know what Rosie might see in Ike, but appearances can be deceiving.

"Those two are talking about that Bob Pace fellow," Rosie went on. "Bet Ike doesn't give your boyfriend the real inside scoop, though."

"Oh," said Sheila, "you mean there's deeper story?" She gave Rosie a conspiratorial wink. "Buy you a drink if you spill," she said.

"Honey, you got a deal," Rosie replied. "Hey Larry," she said, calling for the barkeep, "double shot of rye straight up."

Sheila wasn't surprised when Rosie took the shot in one gulp. "Ah, love that rotgut," Rosie said. "Well, here's the deal. That Bob Pace, he was an okay player like Ike said but he wasn't nothing great. Thing is, he liked to bet a few dollars on the side. Like quite a few. Liked to bet on himself, too. Lost a lot of the time. Heard he was in hock to some people that ... well let's say they ain't too nice, and ain't too forgiving, if you get me."

Sheila knew there was organized crime in Des Moines, but didn't know a lot about it. "Hmm," she said, "no kidding."

"Well," Rosie said, putting her head close to Sheila's and whispering, "I think there was somethin' goin' on."

"Really? We were right there when it happened. Kind of scary. What do you think it was all about?"

"Don't know. Just know that Pace played at this illegal gamblin' joint that kinda specializes in checkers. Better not say more, though." Rosie leaned back toward her own seat.

"Where's this place?" Sheila asked. "My boyfriend here ... he likes to place a bet or two on his games and we haven't seen any action around here."

"I shouldn't tell ... it ain't safe ... but if you buy me another drink ... "

This time Sheila was surprised when Rosie put down another double rye without so much as taking a deep breath.

"It's not far ... you go over to the next block ... there's the Sweet Corn Cafe. Go in and ask for Colonel Checkers ... "kernel" checkers, get it?" Rosie laughed. "They'll take care of you from there. They'll ask who sent you and you say, "Rosie Double Rye." Then they'll know you're legit. But keep this to yourselves, okay?"

"Thanks Rosie ... well, uh, we have to go." Sheila turned to Mortimer. "Honey, we have to go. Pay the tab and come on."

"But ... okay," Mort said. "Nice to meet you Ike but I'll skip another handshake, okay?"

On the way out Mort asked, "What's the rush?"

Sheila replied, "You won't believe what I found out. We have one more stop to make."

"Where?" Mortimer asked.

"The Sweet Corn Cafe."

"The Sweet Corn ... "

Mortimer wore a puzzled look as Sheila pulled him through the door and out onto the street.

To be continued.

---

Do you, like Mortimer, take little breaks from your work to look at checker problems? We can't blame you if you do; just don't let the boss find out. In any case, try out the problem that was distracting our hero and see how you do. Clicking on Read More will show you the run-up and the solution.

[Read More]

It was August, which was usually the hottest month of the year in Bismarck, North Dakota, and 1955 was no exception. Although North Dakota is often rightly thought of as a very cold place, summers, though brief, could be scorching hot, with temperatures above a hundred degrees on some days.

Sal Westerman, the unofficial leader of the Coffee and Cake Checker Club, usually stayed in town during August. His wife Sylvia always went to Dickinson to spend two or three weeks with her sister Phoebe, and while she was away Sal would retreat to the relative coolness of his basement to read his checker magazines and do some study from his large checkers library. The Club didn't meet during the summer, and in fact their usual venue, the Beacon Cafe, closed down in August so the proprietress, Deana, could go to Gackle to visit with family and help with the wheat harvest.

But this year Sal decided to do a little travel as well. His nephew, Maurice Kamsky, ran a plumbing business in Jamestown, and was himself a decent amateur checker player. Maurice was always trying to get Sal to visit, and when he pointed out that Jamestown was having a first ever checker festival, Sal finally agreed to go.

So, on a Friday morning in early August, Sal gassed up the family sedan and rode east on Highway 10 toward Jamestown. The ride took around three hours and Sal finally parked in front of Maurice's modest house at about noon. Maurice saw Sal's arrival and rushed out to help Sal with his suitcase, getting him settled in the guest room before his wife Kate put out a lunch of pastrami sandwiches.

The three chit-chatted over lunch making mostly small talk. Sal wanted to talk about the checker festival, which would take place the following day, with lessons, casual play, and a rapid-play tournament in the afternoon. But before Sal could say much, Maurice said, "It's boy's night out tonight, Sal ... Friday night." Maurice looked over at his wife. "Right, honey?" he said.

"I suppose," Kate said with a bit of a sigh. "As long as you keep it to once a month. Anyhow, I'll go out for ladies night. That will be a lot more fun, I'm sure."

Maurice looked over at Sal and winked. "We'll have fun, too," he said. "Best you get a little rest after lunch as sometimes we have, well, a lot of fun."

Kate raised her voice ever so slightly. "Now, Maurice, watch the drinking, okay? There's that tournament tomorrow, you know."

"Oh honey, I'm not worried about the tournament." He turned and winked again at Sal.

"Well, yes," Sal said, "you have to remember I'm older and shouldn't make a late night of it."

"Aw, get in a nap this afternoon and you'll be good to go, you won't even notice the time," said Maurice. "Look, I need to get back to the shop. Dinner is usually around five-thirty and we'll take off after dinner at seven." Maurice got up, said good-bye, and headed out the back door. In a few minutes Kate and Sal heard his old pick-up truck pull out of the driveway.

"I think I will take that rest," Sal said to Kate. "Thank you for a nice lunch."

Dinner was pot roast with vegetables, mashed potatoes and gravy, and lime Jello for dessert. Kate served coffee but it was obvious that Maurice really wanted to get going.

"Ready for a big night?" he asked Sal.

"Well, I don't know," Sal replied, "I know you'd like me to go with you on your boy's night out, but I really wanted to study a little checkers before the tournament tomorrow."

"Ah, no worries Uncle Sal, you'll win in a breeze. Let's go!"

Reluctantly, Sal put on his jacket and Fedora and followed Maurice out to his pickup.

Within moments they were on a seedy part of Jamestown's Main Street. Maurice pulled up in front of a wide storefront with a sign over it that only said "Island Bar."

"Island Bar?" Sal asked. "Seems kind of odd."

"You'll see. This ... uh ... this kind of bar is sort of ... its own thing, if you know what I mean."

Maurice held the door open for his uncle to enter, and the scene that greeted Sal was like something from a movie shot during the Roaring Twenties. The large bar room was crowded and filled with smoke. Nearly all of the patrons were men, and then Sal saw why. At the front of the room was a sort of raised stage, and on the stage were a dozen or so young girls dressed in, shall we say, a provocative fashion. A piano player was playing just below the stage and the girls were all dancing in an approximation of a Folies Bergere manner.

Sal stopped and turned to Maurice. "I don't think this is quite appropriate for me," he said, "and probably not for you either."

"Hey, come on Uncle, it's just good fun. Anyhow I have a surprise for you a little later. Let's have a couple of drinks first and enjoy the show. Something a bit different is good for a guy sometimes ... "

"But I don't ... "

Maurice had already found a vacant table and had pulled out a chair for Sal.

A waitress, dressed in approximately the same way as the girls on stage, arrived almost at once.

"Beer," Maurice said.

The waitress nodded and looked at Sal. "What'll you have, hon?" she asked.

"Hon?" Sal muttered under his breath but then continued, "Coca Cola, please. Just a small glass."

The waitress, whose name tag read "Candy," replied "If you say so, hon, but a shot of whiskey would do you good and loosen you up some." She bustled off before Sal could say anything further.

Maurice had his beer, and several more, while Sal nursed his Coca Cola and got increasingly irritated by the smoke and the noise. He didn't pay any attention to the stage show, but Maurice watched it eagerly and let out cheers and yells from time to time. Finally, he looked at his watch and said to Sal, "Nine o'clock. Time for your surprise."

"More like time to go home," Sal said but Maurice got up from the table and motioned for Sal to follow. He led his uncle to a door in a corridor at the very end of the bar room.

Sal entered and to his surprise saw about half a dozen checker boards and an equal number of games going on. The players all had glasses of beer or liquor at hand and were evidently drinking steadily.

"What's this?" Sal asked.

"Checkers, what else?" Maurice replied. "This is the big time, way bigger than the tournament tomorrow. There you just get a ribbon or something. Here you can win ... big ... if you're good enough and have the courage to play."

"You mean play for stakes?" Sal said.

"Big stakes. Serious play, serious money."

"And serious drinking? That doesn't go with good play ... "

"Tell these boys that. Or better, don't tell them as they might not take too kindly to it."

"I'm leaving," Sal said. "You can drive me or I can call for a taxi, but one way or the other, I"m leaving."

However just at that moment, one of the games finished. The winner looked up and saw Sal. "Well lookie here," said the man, who had a gruff look, a lined face, and some of the attributes of a heavy drinker. "New blood. Kind of an old codger but if Maurice brought him here, maybe he'll have what it takes to play me."

"That's Mike Laury," Maurice said in a low voice. "He's pretty good."

Laury stood up. "Ain't you going to answer me, old timer? You in or are you chicken? A hundred bucks says I can take you."

"Sorry, I don't play for money," Sal said, "but thank you for the offer."

"Scared are ya? Now listen up and listen good. Maurice brought you here and anyone who comes here plays. Thems the rules and a hundred is our usual stake."

"I said I don't play for money," Sal replied, "and I don't have a hundred dollars on me in any event. So I'll be going now."

"You ain't goin' nowhere!" Laury said. "Maurice'll give me a marker for your hundred, won't you, Maurice?"

Maurice said, "Yeah sure, why not. But I'm warning you, my Uncle Sal is darn good. In fact he's the ... "

"Good is he? Well I'm better. Now get over here and sit down, old man, before I make you."

Sal's temper started to rise, something that was quite rare. "Now look here, you, I don't have to ... okay, you know what? You want to play so badly, we'll play. My nephew tried to warn you."

"Ha ha ha! Warn me did he? About what? That you'll have a heart attack while you're drinking soda pop? Let's go!"

Sal sat down and the game began. Laury was surprisingly good, especially for someone who had half a dozen empty shot glasses at this side. After a while, the game reached the following position with Sal to play.

Sal thought for a little bit and the said, "You were warned, Mr. Laury, so fair is fair." Sal then made his move.

---

We'll guess that none of our readers has ever been to a 1955 dive bar in Jamestown, North Dakota, where checkers was played in a back room for high stakes; after all, our story is fictitious. But could you have defeated an ornery old cuss like Mike Laury, who despite everything else had talent? We suggest you don't drink six shots of rotgut before trying this problem (none would be the right amount). See how you do and then click on Read More to see the solution and the rest of the story.

[Read More]

It seemed to Marvin J. Mavin that August rolled around quickly this year, quicker, in fact, than in previous years. Of course that was all pretty subjective, but for Marvin, August had become a harbinger of fear and dread.

We all know by now that Marvin J. Mavin is the Captain of the Detroit Doublejumpers in the National Checker League. The Doublejumpers last season had recovered from their poor showing two seasons ago, and had made it to the semi-finals of the World Series of Checkers. However the popular view was that they didn't make it to the finals because of bad behavior on the part of Marvin.

Whether or not that is the case, gentle reader, is something for you to decide for yourself by reading or re-reading the previous stories in this series. Suffice it to say, however, that Marvin was fined a lot of money, sent on a grueling and punitive publicity tour, and only barely retained his team captaincy.

But that wouldn't be all. August was pre-season training month. The Doublejumpers always gathered for training camp at the appropriately named resort town of Au Train, Michigan. Training was a combination of physical and mental effort meant to prepare the players for a tough season ahead.

Marvin always suffered during training, being made to run laps around the lake, do calisthenics, and being denied even a single beer the entire month. This year, though, all of the Doublejumper coaches had promised him "special treatment" in light of his perceived transgressions.

Everything was fine on the bus trip from Detroit, where all the players gathered for the several hour long ride to Au Train. Nothing was said and Marvin wasn't singled out, not even at the lunch stop.

It was on arrival that the fun began.

Training took place at a nice, if rustic resort camp. Each player had an individual room in a series of cabins with several rooms per cabin. However, Coach Anderson signaled to Marvin to come over to where he stood in front of the lodging area. When Marvin approached, Coach handed him a large duffel bag.

"There's a tent in here," Coach said, "and I suggest you set it up in a sheltered area, but be sure it isn't somewhere that has much runoff when it rains."

Marvin looked perplexed. "I don't get it," he said, "why should I set up a tent? I'm usually in Room One, Cabin One, you know, the Captain's room."

Coach smiled and it wasn't an agreeable smile. "Not this year," he said, "You get Tent Number One in Space Number wherever you set it up. Like I told you, find a dry, sheltered spot. And oh, yeah, there's some mosquito spray in the bag. You're going to need it."

Marvin sputtered incoherently but it was all no use.

The next morning Marvin crawled out of his tent tired and stiff. Well, at least there was breakfast, as he saw the other players entering the Mess Hall. But when Marvin reached the door, Coach was waiting for him.

"Done your laps yet?" he asked.

"Laps? What laps?" Marvin replied.

"Your five laps around the lake before breakfast."

"Is everyone doing that?"

"Just you. You're special, remember? Now off you go and make it fast. We're not keeping the Mess Hall open just to wait for you. And no cheating. I'll be watching and counting."

Marvin started jogging and got back only five minutes before the Mess Hall was closing. He had to eat fast and didn't even get to finish his tomato juice.

The players gathered in the main Training Room for their first session. Training was set up with group sessions, individual study, game play, physical training and so on.

When the players were seated, the new tactics coach, Jiggy Jigson, took the floor. Jiggy had recently been hired to replace the previous coach, who had retired.

"Okay, team, " Jiggy began, "this year we're starting with something different. Our boy Marvin is going to do an exhibition. We'll be showing checker problems on the projector and Marvin will be solving them. He has one minute per problem and for each one he fails to solve correctly within that time, he'll have to run a lap around the lake before lunch. That's in addition to the five laps he's already accountable for ahead of each meal. You love running laps, right Marv?"

Everyone laughed--- except Marvin.

The session began. Marvin didn't do too badly but pretty soon he accumulated five more laps.

At that point Jiggy said, "Okay, Marv old boy, tell you what. How about double or nothing. You do one more problem and the rest of the team does it along with you. If you get it right before anyone on the team solves it, we'll cancel your extra laps. If not you run double --- ten laps, plus five, making fifteen. Won't leave you any time for lunch but ain't that a shame!"

There was more laughter from the other team members, who didn't seem at all sad to see Marvin being given a hard time.

"Come on, Jiggy," Marvin said, "can't I catch a break?"

"That's 'Coach Jiggy'," Jiggy replied, "and I should give you extra laps for disrespect. But I'll let it go one time only, okay? Now, are you in or are you out?"

"I'm in," Marvin said, thinking that no matter what he'd be running laps until he fell on his face with exhaustion.

"Great," Jiggy said, "here we go."

The following problem appeared on the screen, with a timer on the bottom.

Marvin set to work, knowing he might not even have sixty seconds, as a teammate might solve it at any moment.

---

Do you think you can beat Marvin and the other Doublejumpers by solving this one quickly? Fortunately, there's no need to rush and you won't have to run laps unless you wish to. Be forewarned, in this problem there are some move order transpositions that may give the appearance of dual solutions, but there is really only one winning line. When you've given this your best, race over to Read More to see the solution and the rest of our story.

[Read More]

Sheila and Mortimer walked over to a cafe down the street from their motel and had what Sheila called "The Iowa Special": pork chops with baked potatoes and corn on the cob. When Mortimer suggested apple crunch bars for dessert, Sheila declined and said that tomorrow they'd have to find whatever might pass for Chinese in Des Moines.

Back at the motel, they started to discuss the day's events.

"The big question," Mortimer put forth, is why would anyone murder a checker player?"

"It's happened before," Sheila replied. "But this is hardly the same, and a different question is why commit the crime right out in the open when there's such a high chance of getting caught? Why not pick a better time and place?"

"Unless it's a complete psycho. But that type would charge in with some kind of automatic weapon and just shoot up the place, right?" Mortimer said.

Sheila shivered at the thought. "Well, maybe. I think there's more to this. But you heard the Chief of Police. He doesn't want us involved in any way. Besides it's not an FBI matter ... and I'm not a Special Agent either."

Mortimer half grinned. "C'mon, Sheila, you know you want to figure this one out."

"I know you do, Mort!"

"Hey, I was in the line of fire, kinda. I mean, I was up there in the play area ... "

"Quite a few rows back as I recall," Sheila said. "Hey, look, I'm grateful, if you were winning the tournament you would have been up front and it might have been you ... "

"Wait a minute, Sheila! You just gave me an idea!"

Sheila shook her head and groaned. "Heaven spare us from your ideas," she said. "Okay, what?"

"What if it wasn't just a random shooting?"

"It might have been, it might not have been. What does that tell us?"

"It gives us a place to start."

"How?"

"Well," Mortimer continued, "we can look into this Bob Pace guy and see if we find anything interesting. The other thing we can do is go over all those photos we took before we got kicked out."

"If we find anything, we aren't going to be able to get back in there without probably getting arrested ourselves," Sheila said. "But ... oh, okay. We can have a look. Let's upload our photos into our laptops and we'll start going through them. In the morning, with some coffee? It's already 9 o'clock and I think everyone around here goes to sleep at this hour."

"Can't we just ... okay, in the morning then."

They went to Pancake House and had another "Iowa Special": pancakes with sausage patties. Then they filled up a large thermos with fresh coffee and went back to the motel room.

Sheila and Mortimer each started up their laptops. A couple of hours passed as they paged through dozens and dozens of photos. Every time a photo contained a checkerboard, Mortimer would stop to examine the position.

"Hey, here's something," he said to Sheila. They were sitting on opposite sides of one of those small motel room tables that you always seem to find between the bed and the heating and cooling unit.

"What, honey?" Sheila asked, getting out of her chair and coming around to the other side of the table. Instead of looking at the crime scene photos, Mortimer was on an internet checker site looking at The Checker Fan's Problem of the Week.

"See, now if the next move is this ... "

"Oh, Mort! Stay on task, will you?" Sheila gave him a tap on the top of his head. "You're supposed to be examining photos, not cruising the web for checker problems!"

Sheila waited until Mortimer switched back to the photo directory, and then resumed her seat. They kept working for another hour, after which Mortimer said, "Look! There really is something here!"

Sheila gave him a wry expression. "It better not be another checker problem!"

"No, no, really! Look!"

When Sheila reached the other side of the table Mortimer was pointing excitedly at a the photo that was on his screen. "Right here, honey, see?"

"Just the wall of the tent," Sheila said, and then peered closer. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yup. Looks like a small hole maybe six feet up, and the edges are a bit charred."

"Like someone ... "

" ... put a gun against the tent wall and fired a shot!" Mortimer concluded. "I didn't notice it at the time because the tent walls weren't really all that clean and I was kind of in a rush what with the police showing up and all."

"Likely the police lab will have found it as well, and they'll be able to do some measurements and so on."

"We can make some estimates from the photo," Mortimer replied, "and ... I'm not so confident that the local police will have noticed, either."

"So we really need to tell them. Otherwise we're withholding evidence," Sheila pointed out.

"You think they'll listen to us?" Mortimer asked.

"No. The Chief made that pretty clear. And me being with the FBI and all, he's even less likely to listen," said Sheila.

A moment passed. "Speak of the devil," said Sheila, looking out the window. A Des Moines police car had just pulled up in front of their motel unit. A burly uniformed officer, accompanied by a shorter man in a suit, got out of the cruiser and went straight up to their door.

The uniformed officer knocked on the door, quite hard. "Police!" he said in a gruff, loud voice.

"Close the laptops," Sheila said to Mortimer, "quick!" Mortimer did as instructed as Sheila opened the door.

"Yes?" she said.

"Des Moines police. I'm Officer Tumah and this is Detective Roger. The detective has questions for you two."

Without being invited, the two men pushed past Sheila and into the motel room.

"You two Sheila Larkspur and Mortimer Holmes?" the detective asked, not bothering with introductions. He sat down on the bed while the uniformed office stood at the now-closed door, his arms crossed and legs spread as if he were on guard.

"Yes," Sheila replied. "How did you know ... "

"Chief remembered your name from your FBI badge," Roger said. "Called FBI in Denver. Got all the dope on you including about this here boyfriend of yours. Found out where you were staying, too. FBI ain't the only ones good at detecting. Turns out you ain't no Special Agent and neither is this boyfriend of yours."

"We never claimed to be. So how can we help you, Detective Rogers."

"Roger," the detective said loudly. "Roger, get it, not Rogers. Only one of me and you sure better be glad of that."

"Well then, Detective Roger, I'll ask again, how can we help you?"

"You two was takin' all sorts of pictures yesterday. I come here to get 'em, so hand 'em over."

"Why would you need our photos?" Sheila asked. "You're good at detecting, you said, surely you'll have no use for anything we could give you."

"Don't go gettin' smart with me, lady, I don't care if you're some FBI hot shot, that don't mean nothing to me. Now, the pictures, I ain't got all day. And hey don't this here wimpy lookin' boyfriend of yours ever say nothing?"

Mortimer, who didn't at all like the way Roger was talking to Sheila, finally spoke up. "Yes, I've got something to say, Detective. Show me your warrant."

"Mort, don't ... " Sheila said, but Mortimer kept on talking.

"No warrant no pictures, get it?"

Roger stood up. "Don't you wise off too, peanut," he said. "Gimme the pictures and shut your trap or I'm takin' you both downtown. Got half a mind to do that anyhow."

"All right," Sheila said. "Let me get the cameras and you can take the memory cards."

"That's more like it," Roger said.

Sheila took the cameras out of a dresser drawer, withdrew the memory cards and handed them to the Detective. "You'll return these, right?"

"Don't count on nothin'," Roger said. "Anyhow you got a fancy FBI salary, you can go out and buy a couple more cards no problem." He laughed. "Well, be seein' ya."

Without saying anything more, he and Officer Tumah left the room, got back in their police cruiser, and drove off.

"What was that all about?" Mortimer asked.

"It was interesting," Sheila said. "They figured out how to find us. Sure, that wasn't too difficult. But don't you see? They wanted our pictures because they know I'm from a major FBI crime lab and probably found some things they missed."

"Why didn't they just ask you what you saw?"

"Because they don't want to look like they're asking for help. So they did this big intimidation thing to get their hands on the photos. As if I couldn't see through it. I also think it was a kind of warning for us to keep our hands off the case."

"And?"

"And," Sheila went on, "now I'm with you, Mort. We're going to figure this one out before they do, aren't we?"

Mortimer smiled. "Yes, dear, we most certainly are."

To Be Continued

---

Sheila insisted that Mortimer stick with the program and not solve checker problems in-between. But certainly you can enjoy today's problem; after all you don't have a murder mystery to solve (at least we hope not). Give it a go, and there's no need for a search warrant for you to click on Read More to view the solution, notes, and run-up.

[Read More]

"We're going on vacation," Priscilla announced one evening at dinner. Priscilla and Marvin were dining at home in Priscilla's enormous upscale condo, in the family dining room (as opposed to the much larger formal dining room). Dinner was rack of lamb with a mint sprig garnish, as prepared by Prisilla's personal chef.

Priscilla, as Chief Executive Officer of the Detroit based multinational, Rust Belt Holdings, and the daughter of very wealthy parents, appreciated--- and could afford--- an elegant lifestyle. Her husband, Marvin J. Mavin, a superstar professional checker player who was Captain of the National Checker League team the Detroit Doublejumpers, was much more of a simple guy, but since his marriage to Priscilla his lifestyle had changed quite a lot.

"Vacation? You're really gonna take time off?" Marvin said, knowing that Priscilla rarely took more than a day or so off work except on very special occasions.

"Yes, I am," Prisiclla said, "but the point here is that you are going to take time off. And by that I mean time away from checkers. This is going to be a one hundred percent no-checkers vacation. No tournaments. No exhibitions. No games in coffee shops. No internet play. No checker magazines. No checkers, period, in any form whatsoever."

Marvin put down his knife and fork and rested his hands on the edge of the table. "I don't get it, honey, what's the idea?"

"The idea, husband of mine, is that you've had enough checker stress. You've had all that trouble with the league and you just got back from that long, punitive tour they made you do. Besides, next month is training camp and they're going to be very hard on you."

"Aw, it ain't no big deal or nothing ... "

"Then what would you consider a 'big deal'?"

Recall in our previous stories that Marvin had gotten into a dispute during the National Checker League Championship Playoffs. He had been in trouble with the League as well as his team, and there was some doubt if he would remain as team Captain. But an agreement was worked out. Marvin paid a large fine to the League and another to the team. He then spent a month touring and doing exhibitions, starting in Canada and ending up in Texas, traveling only by bus or train and staying only in 2-star or 1-star motels. The tour was indeed as much a punishment as it was a public relations event.

"I dunno."

"Well, it doesn't matter. We're going to spend seven days on a private island. I've rented one off the coast of Belize."

"Bel--- what? I ain't never heard of that one."

"It's a country on the northern part of South America. Everyone knows that ... well almost everyone. The island has a nice villa and a staff that lives on a nearby island and comes over every day. Except for a couple of guards, at night we'll have the island to ourselves, and it's only $30,000 a night so it's very affordable. The whole trip won't even cost one percent of my annual bonus, and that includes the use of my private jet."

"Sounds kinda rich to me and anyhoo what's there to do?"

"Swim, snorkel, paddle a canoe around the island, lots of things, and you know, spend time together for a change. And NO checkers. Read a good book. Read Shakespeare or Chaucer and take in something cultural. Try your hand at cooking. Or play tennis ... there is a nice clay court on the island."

"Yeah, I 'spose ... sure, we can spend some time together and stuff, but can't I at least take a few issues of All Checkers Digest?"

"No, you may not, and there will be no further discussion. We leave day after tomorrow. I'll have the butler pack for you and he'll make sure you don't sneak any of those magazines into your luggage."

The next evening Priscilla's personal attendant, Rebecca, packed for Priscilla while the butler, Randolph, packed for Marvin. When the bag was packed, Priscilla personally inspected it for "contraband" as she called it, and told Randolph to immediately lock it in the trunk of Priscilla's Rolls Royce limo. So in the morning they were off for the airport--- after Priscilla also inspected Marvin's carry-on backpack.

The flight was uneventful, if a bit long, but Priscilla's Gulfstream jet was very comfortable. Marvin, who was additionally forbidden to take along a laptop, tablet, or even a smartphone for fear it might contain a checker app, watched a couple of superhero movies. Later he picked up a newspaper. He turned to the sports section and what did he see but this.

But Priscilla, ever alert, snatched away the newspaper, saying, "Oh, no you don't." She ripped out the checker column, tore it to shreds, and then handed back the paper. "Okay, you can read it now, and no more funny business," she proclaimed. "Or would you like to borrow my Riverside Chaucer instead, and improve your checker obsessed mind a little?"

A taxi took them from the airport in Belize to the harbor, where a chartered boat was waiting to take them to the private resort on Happiness Island. They were greeted on arrival by a small staff who promised them the best in service and announced that a late dinner of Belizian specialties was prepared and waiting.

The first couple of days went well. It was almost like a second honeymoon. Marvin and Priscilla swam, paddled, and relaxed together. There was no television reception in the villa although there was a selection of English language movies and a radio that could pick up the news on the AM band. The food, of course, was top quality with fresh fruit at all meals, the best of everthing as prepared by a top chef, and a well stocked bar that even had Marvin's favorite brands of beer.

The staff came and went every morning and evening with only a security guard on the island at night.

However after the third day Marvin, well, started to get a little antsy. Oh, he was having a great time and all, but the total ban on checkers was just a little too much. He didn't dare bring it up to Priscilla as he knew any attempt at negotiation would be quickly cut short.

But then Marvin came up with a plan.

The staff were very accomodating and helpful, and if the couple needed anything, like extra toiletries or the like, they had it sent over at once, even if it had to be gotten by helicopter from the mainland (for an extra charge, of course). So one afternoon while Priscilla was sunning in a lounger out on the grounds, Marvin went up to one of the housekeepers, Celia, and said, "Celia, I need your help."

"Yes senor, I am happy to help. What may I do for you?"

"Uh, well, it's like this ... lemme just cut to the chase ... can you get me a copy of All Checkers Digest? Any copy will do. Any edition."

Celia smiled, "Oh, yes, Senor Marvin, we have many of All Checkers Digest in our staff residence on the neighbor island. I will radio Danilo to send over several of them when he comes here tonight for his security watch."

Marvin smiled and patted Celia on the shoulder, then slipped her a hundred dollar American banknote. "Thank you, thank you!" he said, "but there's one more thing."

"Yes, Mr. Marvin?"

"Can you like ... you know ... make sure Priscilla doesn't know anything about it?"

"Oh, it is a big secret, eh?" Celia said. "Do not worry, Mr. Marvin, we will keep your secret. Especially if you are also generous with Danilo."

Marvin cheerfully gave Celia another hundred and then walked away whistling a happy little tune.

That evening after dinner while Priscilla was looking for a nice romantic Hallmark movie to watch with Marvin, Danilo arrived. Marvin met him outside of the villa and Dnailo slipped him an envelope. "It is what you wanted, senor," he said, "but please be careful with it." Marvin thanked him and quietly took the envelope into the guest bedroom, where he put it between the mattress and box spring of the king-sized bed. Tomorrow, when Priscilla was again sunning herself outside, Marvin would finally get to read All Checkers Digest and spend at least an hour or so on his beloved checkers.

They watched "Roses, Romance, and Red Sunsets" and Priscilla pronounced it a wonderful movie while Marvin simply said, "Yes dear, wonderful."

The next afternoon came around and as had become her regular practice, Priscilla went out to sun herself while Marvin said he would take a short rest inside in the air-conditioning. A few minutes later he was in the guest bedroom eagerly opening the envelope Danilo had given him the previous evening.

He pulled out the contents and in the envelope was ...

... an edition of Chaucer's Book of the Duchess.

"What the ... " he exclaimed, and then, carrying the book, went looking for Celia.

He found her in the kitchen cleaning up from lunch.

"Celia, why did I get this instead of All Checkers Digest like you promised me? I gave you and Danilo a nice tip and everything ... "

Celia blushed a little but still smiled. "Oh, Senor Marvin, I am so sorry to have deceived you but it is what Senora Priscilla wanted."

"What do you mean?"

"Senora Priscilla said to me that you may try to 'pull a trick' as she called it, and that this was what I was supposed to do. She gave me that book and said that if you asked for your checker magazines I was to give you the book instead. And tell her that you asked, too. So I did as Senora commanded."

"But you told me ... I mean ... "

"Oh Senor, yes, you did, and you were very generous too, but Senora Priscilla gave us each one thousand American dollars and said we could also keep anything you gave us. And she told us you would give us much less than she did so we must listen to her, and that is what we did. Please do not be angry with me or Danilo."

"Angry? No ... aw, forget it. I shoulda known."

Marvin left the kitchen. When Priscilla came in from sunbathing, she gave Marvin an odd smile but didn't say a single word.

---

It seems to happen often in these stories; Marvin finds an interesting checker problem but doesn't get to solve it. Would you enjoy a checker-free vacation? Marvin seems to have had no choice. But you do, of course, and we hope you'll choose to solve today's problem. After you're done you can choose to click on Read More to see the solution.

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"Gosh Josh" Gordon had played out a full season with the Double-A Erie Eliminators, a minor league farm club owned by Marvin J. Mavin's major league team, the Detroit Doublejumpers. (See our previous story in which Marvin visited Ganonoque, Ontario, and recruited Josh for professional play.)

Gosh Josh had had a good year. He started out as a substitute, as might be expected for a newcomer to high-level professional play, but he quickly got a fifth-board starting position and by the end of the season he had made it to third board. There was talk that he would be moved up to a AAA farm club in the fall. The Erie Eliminators made it to the playoffs in its league but lost in the finals even though Josh won all but one of his games.

So during the summer Gosh Josh was sent out with a few other team members to play in a summer league. In Josh's case, he was placed with a group of players in Orlando, Florida, on a summer team known as the Orlando Outcasts. They were to play other teams around the state of Florida, and they would also do teaching and exhibitions.

One of the big events Gosh Josh was scheduled for was a very big simultaneous exhibition. The simul was to take place inside one of Orlando's big theme parks, Ditzy World. There was a $100 entry fee for each challenger, and Ditzy World further insisted that all the players pay a day's admission to the theme park, a rather expensive proposition which garnered criticism from the media that the Ditzy Company was being overly greedy. At approximately $200 a person that made the cost of playing in the simul come to around $300.

Gosh Josh was a bit nervous. It was true that all of his opponents--- 40 of them--- would be amateurs, but the level of amateur play in Central Florida was very high. Josh might be an accomplished up and coming pro, but trying to win forty games at the same time would be a true challenge.

The day of the simul arrived. Gosh Josh arrived at Ditzy World and to his great surprise he too was required to buy an entry ticket. Josh reluctantly pulled out his credit card and paid, hoping the team's stingy accountants would reimburse him.

Josh arrived at the site of the simul, a relatively large room with long tables set up at the front of the room in a square arrangement open at the corners, with ten checkerboards per table. There were rows of seats in the rest of the room.

The organizer of the simul turned out to be high level a Ditzy Company employee, Cathy Kenney. She explained the setup to Josh. "We made an arrangement with your team management," she said. "We'd provide the room for only $1,000 if we could sell tickets to spectators. Naturally there's a lot of interest in an exhibition such as this. We can get $100 per ticket and that's in addition to the park admission fee."

"Why did I have to pay the park fee?" Josh asked.

"Business, my boy, business. No one gets into Ditzy World without paying. Just how it is. Ditzy World isn't a charity, you know."

"I thought it was a family oriented ..."

"Oh yes, that too, sure it is. Well look, the audience and players are starting to arrive, you ready to put on a good exhibition?"

Josh thought for a long moment, and then replied, "Sure, I can do that. Under one condition."

"What's that, my boy, what are you talking about, hurry up now, we need to get going here ... "

"It will cost you a thousand dollars," Josh said. "A thousand bucks and I'll put on a good show."

"Now look here son ... "

"A thousand bucks or I walk straight out the door," Josh said, and then added, "and I also get a refund of my park admission."

"You can't walk out! It's a breach of contract!" Ms. Kenney replied. "We'll sue!"

"I never signed a contract. I never even spoke with anyone at Ditzy World."

"We'll still sue! You better play, boy, and you better play well, or else we'll ... "

Josh smiled. "Business, my girl, business. I'm not running a charity here."

Josh headed for the door. But by now all the audience seats were filled and so were all the players' seats. Josh figured there were a hundred spectators and forty players. At $100 each, that was $4,000 just for the simul and around $28,000 in park admission fees. With the room fee Ditzy World was pulling in $33,000. And Josh knew Ms. Kenney had those figures well in mind.

"Okay, okay!" Ms. Kenney said. "We'll pay you $1,000! Just don't walk out on us!"

Josh turned back to Ms. Kenney. "In advance," he said, "and in cash. And don't forget the park admission fee."

"But we never refund ... oh, whatever."

Ms. Kenney was furious but she took her wallet from her handbag and counted out twelve $100 bills and gave them to Josh. It appeared to be just a small amount of the money in the woman's wallet. "Okay, you little punk, now play," she said.

Josh grinned and walked into the middle of the array of tables, ready to play.

The games began. As the participants all had to be amateurs, the competition generally wasn't too near Josh's professional level. But the Orlando area boasted some very talented playerss. So while Josh was able to win the first 37 out of 40 games without undue difficulty, he had to fight for a win on the 38th and concede a draw on the 39th.

The 40th board was another matter. The player was none other than Bob Fernastus, who could have easily turned pro in his day but decided to continue his career an insurance salesman instead. (We met Bob quite a few years ago in a Checker Maven story, when he played our young friend Tommy Wagner in the Uncle Ben's Porch series.)

Mr. Fernastus had a very strong position, and Josh, now on his last game, knew it. He also saw Ms. Kenney watching from a corner of the room with a scowl on her face. What was that all about? Josh wondered.

But no matter. He had to focus on his game or it could end up being a loss. Josh was on move with Black and he faced the position shown below.

Josh knew he couldn't hope for a win. The question was, could he pull off a draw? He'd sure hate to lose his last game.

Then Josh had an idea. It might work or it might not but it seemed to be the only chance.

Josh made his move.

---

How would you do against a player as good as Bob Fernastus? Can you find the draw in the postition above? Of course you don't have the pressure of playing at Ditzy World against a large group of players, and you didn't have to pay a hefty admission and participation fee. Give it a try and then, most appropriately, mouse onto Read More to see the solution and the conclusion of our story.

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Sal Westerman of Bismarck, North Dakota, loved the 4th of July and July 4th, 1955 would be no exception. Sal was a true patriot; he had served in the Army in the Pacific Theater in World War Two and had always believed in what America stood for.

Sal was also the unofficial leader of the Coffee and Cake Checker Club, which met weekly except in the summer. So Sal was really missing his Saturday afternoons with his checker friends. But fortunately, the big 4th of July picnic was coming up. There was a rotating July 4th checker tournament, but this year it would be in Fargo rather than in Bismarck.

Instead, the picnic organizers had asked Sal to man a checker booth. Sal was the reigning state champion, and the idea would be to pay fifty cents to play Sal with the money all going to charity. A draw would win a small prize and a win against Sal would win a larger prize. Sal readily agreed and committed to three one hour sessions, the first one when the picnic opened at noon, another at 2 PM, and a final one at 4 PM.

There would be a parade through downtown in the morning, but Sal opted to skip the parade and go and get set up at the site of the festivities. His wife Sylvia would take in the parade with a couple of her girlfriends and then meet up with Sal during his breaks between sessions.

The picnic was set up in an open field just north of the town. Workers had come before daylight to get everything set up. There was a main tent, cook tents and booths, a performance stage, and even a first-aid tent. Sal was directed to a small tent with a couple of chairs, a table with a checkerboard, and a field cot so Sal could rest during his breaks if he so desired.

Arriving at the Checker Tent, Sal noticed a big sign with a yellow background and bright red letters that announced:

Sal chuckled. He never thought of himself as anything special, even though he was now a titled Master. For him, checkers was fun and he wanted it to be fun for everyone else, too.

Sal got himself a hot dog and a soft drink and settled in. Just before noon, Sylvia dropped by and said, "I'll be going to the quilting bee, but I just wanted to wish your opponents luck. They'll be the ones needing it, not you!" They both laughed and Sylvia left the tent just as the first player arrived.

There was a steady stream and at times a long waiting line. Challengers were men and women and boys and girls of all ages, but in the first hour Sal managed to win every game. The cash box was filling up with money for charity and Sal was feeling good about it. The players were all good sports and didn't mind losing to someone of Sal's caliber.

Sal rested for a little while but by two o'clock there was another long line. In the second hour Sal won all but one game. One of the top Hughes Middle School players, Boris Goonan, got a draw and received a hearty handshake and a $1 gift card donated by the A. W. Lucas Department Store.

Sal was pretty tired after the second hour and did lie down on the cot for a while. Sylvia brought him some corn on the cob and a lemonade. The quilting bee had concluded and she was going to have an iced tea with her friends and maybe play a few rounds in the canasta tent.

At four o'clock another line greeted Sal, at least as long as earlier in the day. Sal was again able to win all of his games, until the organizer dropped by at five minutes to five and said, "Next game is the last game. Sorry folks." There were still a half dozen people in line and a few groans of disappointment, a couple of them saying they wished they had lined up earlier in the day.

The organizer ushered in the last player. To Sal's surprise it was what appeared to be a girl aged six or so, accompanied by her mother. "Right in there," the mother said, pointing to the cash box. The girl reached out and dropped two quarters into the box, giggling as they clinked.

"I'm Rene," the mother said, "and this is my daughter, Natasha. She loves checkers and plays all the time with her brother Boris and his friends."

"Boris, isn't he the fellow who got a draw with me this afternoon?"

Rene smiled proudly. "Yes, he is. It really made his day, too."

Sal smiled back. "Well, then," he said, addressing Natasha directly, "are you ready?"

Natasha giggled again and shook her head in a 'yes' gesture. She sat down on the chair on the side of the checkerboard opposite Sal.

"You need a pillow to sit on," Sal said. "Grab one from the cot."

Rene took a pillow in one hand, lifted Natasha with the other, placed the pillow on the chair, and set Natasha back down.

"Much better," Sal said. "Now young lady, good luck to you." He reached out a hand.

"Shake hands with Mr. Westerman," Rene gently prodded.

Natasha shook hands shyly and then the game began.

Sal thought it would be a fairly quick game, but he still played carefully as underestimating an opponent is always a mistake, and appearances can be deceiving.

In this case, appearances certainly were deceiving. Natasha matched Sal move for move, hewing to the best lines of play and not making any sort of slip that Sal might take advantage of.

Now Sal, at over 70 years of age and after hours of play with dozens and dozens of opponents, was quite tired, although you would never catch him using that as an excuse. But was Sal perhaps not at the top of his form? In any event the following position was reached. Natasha had the Black pieces and it was her move.

Suddenly Natasha stood up from her chair, clapped her hands together gleefully, and exclaimed, "Mommy, Mommy, look!" With another giggle she made her move.

---

What's going on here? What move do you think Natasha made, and how do you think things are going to turn out? What move would you have made? Work things out and then click on Read More to see what happens as we present the rest of the story.

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