Dying for Mercy with Bonus Material (19 page)

A
fter thanking Valentina for lunch, Eliza and Mack headed to Nine Chimneys. The road that led to the house was rutted, and the long driveway was overgrown with weeds and twigs. Majestic oak trees lined the drive, their branches and leaves reaching over to create a golden canopy.

“It once must have been quite beautiful here,” said Eliza as she looked out the window.

Boulders and crumbling cement marked the circumference of the enormous foundation. The remains of several stone chimneys could be seen, their walls reduced to rubble scattered at the base. One intact chimney still stood erect.

“Just like the brass model that Innis left,” said Eliza.

“We
think
Innis left it,” corrected Mack.

Ivy and tall grasses had taken over, covering the ground. Eliza and Mack trudged through the growth. A brown rabbit appeared out of nowhere, startling Eliza as it hopped past.

“I don’t know why I’m so jumpy,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’ve got to admit, it feels kinda creepy up here,” said Mack.

Eliza nodded as she took his hand. “You can imagine the kind of life that must have been lived here, but now it’s all gone.”

They walked around the foundation, finding broken glass, animal droppings, beer cans, and faded magazine pages lying in the dirt.

Mack shrugged. “I don’t get it,” he said. “There really isn’t much to go on here. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” said Eliza, pacing across the ground of the foundation. “If Innis has left some clue to his puzzle, I don’t see it. Let’s try to put ourselves in his mind. If you were trying to hide something here, where would you do it?”

“He could have buried something anywhere,” said Mack.

“That’s right. And the area is just too big for Innis to think anyone would find it,” said Eliza. “He’d plant the clue somewhere unique, somewhere that would stand out yet not be easily seen.”

At the same time, both of their heads turned toward the only completely unbroken chimney.

Mack bent over and twisted his head around, trying to look up into the chimney stack. He put his arm inside and reached up.

Eliza cringed. “Be careful. There could be something alive and nesting in there.”

His fingers felt something smooth protruding from the rough inner wall of the chimney. Mack awkwardly grasped at the edge of the flat surface and tried to jiggle it free.

“Got it,” he said as he lowered his arm.

“What is it?”

“A box of some kind.” Mack slowly raised the lid. Inside, there were five wooden cubes. He held one up. The letter
C
was carved into one of the six faces of the cube. On the exact opposite face, a small raised turtle appeared.

“These look almost like children’s blocks,” said Mack as he took the others out of the box.

Eliza studied the cubes. There was something familiar about them, but she couldn’t tell what.

“C, E, R, T, Y.”
She recited each of the letters on the respective cubes. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing as far as I know,” said Mack.

Eliza tried other combinations, moving the blocks around. RETYC, TYCER, ERYCT. None of them meant anything.

“What about TRYCE?” asked Mack.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a card game,” said Mack. “You find runs and groups and spell out words.”

“Never heard of it,” said Eliza. “But it sounds like the kind of thing Innis would eat up.”

T
hey went back to the carriage house. Eliza spread the familiar-looking wooden cubes out on the pine table in the dining area. As she studied them, she realized where she had seen similar ones.

“Mack! The blocks we found in the chimney are just like the ones on the fireplace at Pentimento. The ones that spell out ‘ROMA.’”

“So Innis had these all made at the same time?” Mack wondered aloud. “And used some for his house and planted the others at Nine Chimneys?”

Eliza nodded. “It looks that way,” she said.

Finding scissors in the kitchen drawer, Eliza cut out four squares from a paper bag. She marked each one with a letter, then spread the squares alongside the wooden cubes.

ROMA TRYCE.

“Does that make any sense to you?” asked Eliza.

“Not really,” said Mack.

She began rearranging the letters.

MARTY CEO.

“Marty CEO?” asked Mack.

“Marty was the name of the man who owned the car left at the side of West Lake Road,” said Eliza.

“What about the CEO?” said Mack. “You said he was a landscaper. Was it his own business?”

“Even if he owned his business, I doubt that Innis Wheelock would call him a CEO.” Eliza shrugged, moving the letters around some more. “It’s got to be something else.”

For the better part of an hour, Eliza and Mack played their own version of Scrabble.

“Are you thirsty?” Eliza asked.

“I can’t believe I’ve been at this game all this time without a scotch in my hand. Do you have any?”

Eliza got up to check. She found the Dewar’s on a shelf in the pantry above the case of wine. She stepped out into the kitchen and held the bottle up in triumph. “How’s this for being prepared?”

“Perfect.”

Eliza found ice cubes in the freezer, poured the caramel elixir into two glasses, and, taking a sip of hers, handed Mack his favorite scotch.

“Come on,” said Eliza. “Let’s keep at it. Other than TRYCE, the five letters in the chimney don’t make much sense. Innis Wheelock could have carved any word into his fireplace, but he chose ‘ROMA.’ These extra four letters just
have
to fit.”

Mack savored his drink as he watched Eliza move the letters around on the table. After a few two-word phrases, like MY CREATOR and RACY METRO, were considered, he suggested, “What if it’s three words?”

Eliza found A MERRY COT and shot a glance at Mack, whose eyes were already twinkling.

“Ours has certainly been merry,” he said.

Ignoring him with a half-suppressed smile, Eliza considered and then rejected MY ART CORE, TO MY RACER, and many other combinations.

“I’m thinking it might be just one word,” she said. “There were nine numbers on the pot in the greenhouse, and now we’ve got nine letters.”

She tried putting them in alphabetical order. “How many nine-letter words do you know, Mack?”

They both stared at the letters, almost willing them to spell something. Eliza moved the
C
to the beginning and then separated the two
R
’s. And then it hit her.

“CREMATORY!” she cried with excitement. Eliza then brought her hand to her lips and said, “My God, how awful. The letters spell ‘crematory.’”

W
hen he heard Eliza Blake’s words transmitted via the listening device he had installed in her carriage house, Clay Vitalli’s face flushed and he could feel his pulse actually pounding in his ears. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the reality that Innis had been disloyal to the people who had risked everything to protect him and Valentina or the likelihood that Eliza Blake would figure out that Nine Chimneys had been used to dispose of Marty O’Shaughnessy’s body.

There would be time later to sort out his feelings about Innis’s treachery. The man was dead now. There was no reasoning with him, and there was nothing Clay could do to change the diabolical plan Innis had already set in motion.

But Eliza Blake was very much alive. She had the potential to uncover the layers of deception that had been set in place over twenty years ago. She had to be diverted from going any further.

Clay picked up the phone and called Fitzroy Heavener.

“The situation is getting worse, Fitzroy,” he said. “You’ll be very interested to hear what Eliza Blake is onto now.”

M
idnight stayed with his mistress all through the night. At times he snuggled beside her; at others he laid his snout and paws on her body to keep her warm. Occasionally he lifted his head and licked her face, urging her to awaken.

Every time he heard a car approaching, he would leave Aurelia’s side and climb to the road, barking as the vehicles rode by. But the drivers inside thought nothing of an unleashed dog and didn’t stop.

As the day wore on, the border collie heard human voices. He barked insistently as the voices got louder. It was a man and a woman, out for an afternoon walk.

“What is it, boy?” asked the man, seeing the dog’s excitement. “Whose dog are you?”

Midnight barked loudly.

“He’s trying to tell us something, Hank,” said the woman.

“Where’s your owner, boy?” asked the man. He reached out to pet the collie, but the dog darted away toward the bushes, where he continued barking frantically.

“Is there something in there you want us to see, boy?” asked the man. He began following the dog.

“Be careful, Hank,” called the woman.

The man made his way through the underbrush. “Where are you taking me, boy?” he asked. The dog answered with a mournful yelp as the man saw a woman’s body lying in the dead leaves.

“What’s in there, Hank?”

“Stay back, Colleen. Stay back. You don’t want to see this.”

The woman’s head was smashed in, and he doubted there was any chance she was still alive. He knelt down beside the body and put his cheek close to the women’s nose and mouth, trying to detect if she was breathing. Nothing.

He went to feel for a pulse, picking up her arm. As he took her wrist between his fingers, her hand opened and a pair of dice fell to the ground.

W
hat’s the matter?” asked Fitzroy. “What was so important that you needed to see us right away, Clay?”

“And why did you want to meet here, for God’s sake?” asked Peter.

The three men stood in the overgrown ruins of Nine Chimneys.

“I picked this place for two reasons,” said Clay. “First, because the tennis house is in full use on Saturday afternoon.”

“And second?” asked Peter.

Clay looked directly at Fitzroy. “Because Eliza Blake and her boyfriend have made a connection about this place and cremation.”

“How?” Peter asked urgently. “How did they figure that out?”

“It seems we have our old friend Innis to thank again,” Clay explained. “He hid some blocks or something in the chimney over there.” Clay gestured to the stone column. “Pentimento’s fireplace had similar blocks on it. Eliza took all the letters on the blocks, and they spelled out the word ‘crematory.’”

Fitzroy looked stricken. He sat on what was left of the foundation wall and held his head with his hands.

“I knew it would all come out someday,” he moaned. “I knew it.”

“Don’t be so damned pessimistic, Fitzroy,” said Peter. “We aren’t at the point where it’s ‘all’ come out. Not by a long shot.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Fitzroy. “
You
weren’t the one who torched Marty O’Shaughnessy’s body.
I
have that distinction.”

“No, I wasn’t,” agreed Peter. “But I played my part in this thing, too. And I have as much to lose as you do if all of this becomes public knowledge.”

“Peter is right,” said Clay. “Each one of us has too much to lose. I staged that car accident scene. You, Fitzroy, burned the body so that it couldn’t be identified, at least not by the scientific standards back then.” Clay turned and pointed to Peter Nordstrut. “And you took care of things at the lake. But all of us were in on the whole cover-up. If what happened back then comes to light now, we’re all going to pay for it.”

E
liza called the Cohens to see how the trip was going. Janie got on the phone and enthusiastically recounted the things she had seen and done.

“We went on the rides, and you know what, Mom? The lights on the street look like chocolate kisses!”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it when you get home, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Mom. I can’t wait either! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eliza felt pangs of pride and relief. Janie was fine, and well enough emotionally to enjoy herself away from her mother.

As they drove out of Tuxedo Park on their way to dinner, Eliza called Annabelle and told her what she and Mack had found at Nine Chimneys and what the letters spelled when combined with the ones on the fireplace at Pentimento.

“You think the place was used to burn bodies?” Annabelle asked skeptically.

“I don’t know what to think,” said Eliza. “But will you see what you can find out about the fire at Nine Chimneys? There was some suspicion that it was arson, that Fitzroy Heavener might have set it to get the insurance money.”

“All right,” said Annabelle. “I’ll see what I can dig up. But keep in mind it’s Saturday night. If I can’t find anything about it on the Internet, I might have to wait until Monday morning to make phone calls.”

The River Palm Terrace was a fifteen-minute drive down Route 17 into New Jersey. As they sat at a table draped in crisp white linen, Mack and Eliza made a conscious effort to avoid mentioning Tuxedo Park. Ordering a bottle of pinot noir, they perused the menu. Mack ordered a New York shell steak, rare, and cottage fries while Eliza chose grilled jumbo shrimp and steamed fresh asparagus.

For the next two hours, they sat, talked, and held hands across the table. The empty bottle of wine was replaced by two brandy snifters at the end of the meal.

“Will you be all right to drive?” asked Eliza as they stood to leave. She steadied herself by holding on to the back of her chair. “Because I’m sure not.”

“Don’t worry,” said Mack. “I’m fine.”