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.

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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.

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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.

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We are delighted to have, over the years, corresponded with readers from all over the world. The only place we haven't heard from is the Antarctic ... but we hope to hear from there someday, too.

Recently, one of our "checker friends"--- this gentleman is in Spain--- sent us a PDN file for W. T. Call's Midget Problems. You can download this file from the PDN page as linked in the right-hand column.

Mr. Call produced a number of books, not just on checkers, but Midget Problems is one of the best for the aspiring student of the art and science of checkers. Featuring small 2x2 settings, the book is a virtual classroom on this type of endgame.

Here's an example taken from the book.

We know that miniatures are not everyone's cup of tea, but it's undeniable that a thorough knowledge of these positions is essential to checker mastery. So try this one out and then download the PDN file. It will serve you well.

When you're ready, click on Read More to see the solution.

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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.

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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.

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What's the reasoning behind the spelling "M'Millan"--- with an apostrophe? Why not spell out "McMillan" or "MacMillan"?

We found that question rather intriguing. We've seen the "M'Millan" variant before and never rightly understood it. But then again, we never really knew why some names are given as "MacMillan" and others as "McMillan."

The Clan MacMillan website set us straight.

It seems that the clan's name has two different spellings in the Scottish Gaelic language, both of them difficult to pronounce in English. There exists a variety of semi-phonetic transliterations. To avoid confusion, the "neutral" variant, "M'Millan," came into use. It's a clever and very clean solution..

Today's checker school problem, attributed to R. G. M'Millan, also offers a clever and clean solution. Can you find it?

There should be no confusion here; the position is anything but neutral. After you've worked through it, click your mouse on Read More to see the apostrophic solution, notes, and a sample game.

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"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.

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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.

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Someone who wishes to be known only as "A Checker Friend from Michigan" sent us a PDN file with all the positions from Derek E. Oldbury's 1947 book of problems, The Hand of D.E.O.. To say the least, this book is hard to find nowadays and if you haven't got a copy, go to the PDN link in the right column and download the file.

Mr. Oldbury's problems are interesting and practical. They aren't necessarily easy, of course, but we're sure you didn't expect a simple walk in the park. This is the man who famously said that he would "take the chances to make the chances" and never backed away from the challenge of pursuing of a win.

Here's an sample problem for you to try.

Take your chances and make your chances, then click on Read More to see the solution.

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