Dying for Mercy with Bonus Material (25 page)

E
liza, Annabelle, and B.J. made a stop at Good Samaritan Hospital. Paige Tintle, who had volunteered to cover the early-morning vigil in the waiting room, reported that Mack still had not wakened. After going in to see him, Eliza spoke to the duty nurse, who assured her that Mack’s vital signs were stable.

“I have to leave again, but I’ll be back later this afternoon,” Eliza told the nurse. “Please call me if he wakes up.”

From the hospital they went to Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church. B.J. took pictures of the building and the police tape that was festooned across the front door.

Parishioners and others arriving to pray for Father Gehry were told by the police that the church was closed until the crime-scene investigation was concluded.

A group of those turned away had gathered around the fountain in front of the rectory. B.J. shot video while Annabelle and Eliza talked to some of the devastated congregants.

“I just can’t believe this has happened,” said one woman tearfully. “Father Gehry was such a good and holy man. Everybody loved him.”

“Not everybody,” said Annabelle as she and Eliza walked closer to the fountain. While B.J. finished getting his video, Eliza gazed at the gushing and falling water. Her thoughts shifted to the conversation with Innis at the Pentimento fountain on the night he killed himself. He’d been so insistent, so certain that she wouldn’t let him down.

I’m doing my best, Innis. But I still don’t understand what you wanted. Where is your puzzle leading? What did you mean as we sat and talked by the fountain that night?

The fountain at Pentimento.

The
turtle
fountain.

Suddenly Eliza thought she knew the meaning of the carvings on the backs of the wooden letter blocks they’d found at Nine Chimneys.

S
usannah couldn’t be happier about the way things had gone the day before. So many people had come up and congratulated her, thanking her for running the event. One woman had even asked her if she played paddle tennis and talked about the need for additional players on her team. Susannah interpreted it as a signal that the woman wanted her to be a Black Tie Club member.

Susannah showered and dressed. She wanted to take some flowers to Valentina to thank her for making the club’s tennis facilities available.

Susannah wanted to keep the good feelings alive. Sending Bonnie to fill in for Eunice had been a help. Further ingratiating herself with Valentina couldn’t hurt.

G
ood morning, Bonnie,” said Eliza as she stood at the front door of Pentimento. “Is Mrs. Wheelock available?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Blake, but Mrs. Wheelock left just a little while ago.”

“Will she be back soon?”

“I’m not sure,” said Bonnie, adjusting her apron. “She said she had several stops to make.”

Eliza looked at her watch. “As usual, my colleagues and I are pressed for time. I was going to ask Mrs. Wheelock if we could take a look at the fountain in the garden.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Wheelock would mind if you did that,” said Bonnie. “Tell them to come in.”

“Thanks, Bonnie,” said Eliza. “But we can just go around to the side of the house.”

Eliza walked over to the continually present security car and asked the guard if he would mind going to the carriage house and seeing if everything was secure there.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m not alone here.”

Eliza signaled for Annabelle and B.J. to get out of the car and led them to the garden. The replica of Bernini’s well-known fountain was the focal point of the space.

“How delightful is that?” asked Annabelle, smiling at the bronze turtles caught climbing into the fountain’s bowl. “I remember reading that the one in Rome was recently restored. I’d defy anyone to tell the difference between this one and the original.”

“Let’s dispense with the art-appreciation class,” said B.J., “and get to the point.” He walked around the fountain, studying it, looking for a clue of some sort.

“I hope you see something,” said Eliza, “because I don’t.”

“Me neither,” said Annabelle.

“Hold on,” said B.J. “Hold on. Did you expect Innis Wheelock to leave a clue out in the open where it would be easily found?”

They continued to examine the fountain, inspecting the base, the spout where the water sprayed out, and the basin that caught it. They looked about the garden immediately surrounding the fountain, but they found nothing that could be interpreted as a clue.

“A turtle was carved into each of the letter blocks,” said B.J. “Not a fountain. Maybe we should concentrate on the turtles.”

He reached out and touched one of the bronze turtles. The shell on the turtle’s back moved.

“Look at this!” he called excitedly.

I
t was a glorious Indian-summer day, clear and warm.

Susannah’s arms were filled with the flowers she’d brought for Valentina. She had to put them down so she could use the heavy door knocker. Then she picked them up again, imagining the impression she would make when the door was opened. Lady Bountiful with her beautiful bouquet.

When Bonnie told her that Mrs. Wheelock was out, Susannah was disappointed as she handed the flowers to her maid. Susannah hadn’t really expected Valentina to answer the door, but she was hoping that Valentina would at least be home. She wanted to talk more with Valentina about her impressions of Sunday afternoon’s event, but she also just wanted to have the opportunity to talk to her. Period.

Walking away, Susannah heard voices coming from the side of the house, and a horrible thought crossed her mind. Bonnie wouldn’t lie, would she? What if Valentina really
was
home?
What if she’s home but avoiding me?

Susannah didn’t recognize the dark sedan parked in the driveway. It was not one of the Wheelocks’ cars. She was sure of that. Was Valentina entertaining some of her club friends and didn’t want Susannah bothering them?

Feeling compelled, Susannah walked toward the voices.

E
liza and Annabelle gathered around B.J. as he manipulated the bronze shell hinged to the body of the turtle. With minimal effort, B.J. lifted it. On the underside of the shell, there were markings.

“What are those?” asked Eliza.

“Dots and dashes,” said B.J.

“Like Morse code?” asked Annabelle.

“Exactly,” said B.J. He went to the next turtle and the next and the next. Each of the four opened, and each one had a different series of dots and dashes etched into the underside of its shell.

“I recognize this one,” said B.J. “Three dots, then three dashes, then three more dots. S-O-S.”

Eliza looked at the other turtles. “Then the markings in these could spell out something as well.”

“Too bad I don’t remember more of my Morse code from Boy Scouts,” said B.J.

“Somehow I can’t imagine you starting a fire by rubbing two sticks together,” said Annabelle. She held up her BlackBerry. “Lucky for us, we’ve got the Internet at our disposal.”

They worked as a team. Eliza called out the series of dots and dashes from the undersides of the turtle shells. Annabelle, straining to see the Web site with the directory of Morse code that she’d pulled up on the tiny screen of her handheld, called out the corresponding letter. And B.J. transcribed the code, letter by letter, in his reporter’s notebook.

“It’s absolutely amazing that assigning dots and dashes to letters and numbers can create an entire language,” said Annabelle.

Together they worked until they’d figured out the clue hiding inside each turtle.

The first shell contained the message S-O-S.

The dots and dashes under the second shell spelled out G-U-V.

The third set gave up the word D-O-C-K.

The last one, P-I-X.

As they called out each discovery, they were unaware that someone else was listening to everything they said.

F
rom Pentimento, Eliza, Annabelle, and B.J. drove to the rented carriage house to eat something, talk about the clues on the turtle shells, and decide how to proceed. Eliza opened the refrigerator, took out cold cuts, and started heating up some tomato soup on the stove.

“‘SOS,’ ‘guv,’ ‘dock,’ and ‘pix,’” said B.J. “What did Innis mean by these?”

“Well, ‘SOS’ is obviously the code for help,” said Annabelle. “‘Guv’ could refer to Valentina, couldn’t it? Because she was governor of New York.”

“All right. That makes sense,” said Eliza as she stirred the soup. “And ‘pix’ is short for pictures.”

“Do you think ‘dock’ refers to the dock on Tuxedo Lake?” asked Annabelle.

“That’s as good a place as any to start,” said Eliza.

“‘SOS,’ ‘guv,’ ‘dock,’ and ‘pix,’” B.J. repeated. “We don’t know if there’s any particular order for these, a way in which Innis wanted them to be read.”

Eliza carried over the mugs of soup and placed them on the table. “True,” she said, “but ‘SOS’ tells me that Innis either wanted help or was signaling that someone else needed help. And of all the clues, the only one that actually indicates a place where we can go to investigate anything is ‘dock.’ I say we should start with that.”

They hastily finished eating. Annabelle and Eliza cleared the table while B.J. sat still.

“Hey, chauvinist,” said Annabelle. “We’re not your slaves. It would be nice if you helped.”

“What the hell?” B.J. said as he looked up.

The others followed his gaze. B.J. held his index finger to his mouth and gestured with his other hand toward the beamed ceiling. He rose to get a closer look, his jaw dropping at what he saw. A thin black wire protruded from the side of the wrought-iron chandelier. He motioned silently to Eliza and Annabelle to keep talking naturally. “Well, I guess we’d better get going,” he said. “C’mon. We’ve got work to do.”

Once outside, B.J. said, “Somebody could hear everything we were talking about.”

“I wonder how long it’s been there,” said Eliza. She thought back. “If the bug was there when Mack and I discussed the ‘crematory’ clue, that could help explain why we were run off the road on Saturday night.”

“Yeah,” said Annabelle. “And it means that whoever is listening knows we’re on our way to the dock right now.”

“We should have the entire place swept for bugs,” said B.J.

“All right,” said Eliza. “But let’s leave whatever is there in place. We don’t want whoever is listening to know we’re onto him.”

C
olumbus Day was a big campaigning day. There were parades to attend, crowds to greet, hands to shake. Peter Nordstrut followed the candidate he was being paid to guide through his first congressional race.

A high school band played “Born in the U.S.A.” as the would-be congressman marched behind, waving and smiling. The guy was a natural, thought Peter. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself, and the spectators were responding to his energy. He had performed well in the town-hall meetings and nursing-home events and diner stops that Peter had insisted he make to court voters. Only three weeks remained until election day, and Peter was feeling confident that his man would be going to Washington, D.C., in January.

Halfway down the parade route, Peter felt his phone vibrate. He broke off from the marchers and answered.

“Hello!” he shouted over the din.

“It’s Clay, Peter.”

“What’s up?”

“Eliza Blake and her friends are on their way to the dock. Innis, damn him, left another clue. It’s going to lead them to your part in all this.”

“They’d have to dredge Tuxedo Lake, Clay. Even then, it’s been so long that I don’t think they could prove anything.”

“Don’t be so cavalier, Peter. We all played our part. We’re all in this together. If one of us goes down, we all go down.”

T
here were several boats floating in the water at the dock maintained by the Black Tie Club. B.J. steered the KEY News car into the parking area, and Eliza’s ever-present security pulled in to a nearby spot. Annabelle and Eliza walked toward the water’s edge while B.J. took his camera out of the trunk.

“Try to be inconspicuous with that thing, will you?” suggested Annabelle.

“Look around,” answered B.J. “We have the place to ourselves.” He began recording video of the area.

Eliza was studying the scene. There were three sailboats and four pontoons, flat-bottomed and tethered by electrical cords to charging stations on the shore.

“I remember Valentina telling me that no gas motors are allowed on the lake,” said Eliza. “Too noisy.”

“And look at this,” said Annabelle as she leaned in to look inside one of the pontoons. “They left the keys in the ignition.”

They walked to the wooden boathouse, which was long, low, and painted a dark green. Inside, single sculls and rowboats were stored on racks. Stuffed wildlife specimens—caught, shot, or trapped by club members—hung on the walls, and beneath the carefully preserved animals and fish were pictures of the hunters and fishermen who had snagged them.

“I abhor taxidermy.” Annabelle shuddered. “Look at the poor, beautiful red fox. I hope he never knew what hit him.”

“Hey, get a load of this,” said B.J., stopping in front of one of the photographs.

“Bingo!” Annabelle yelled as she studied the photograph and read the brass plaque affixed to the wall just beneath it. A young Innis and Valentina Wheelock were standing on the deck of a large sailboat. Innis was smiling and holding up a fish he’d caught. The name inscribed on the stern of the boat was
GUV
.

“Guv,” whispered Eliza. “They named their boat for their dream of Valentina’s becoming governor.” She squinted to read the shiny plaque beneath the photograph.

“‘Sunken Dreams,’” she said. “But why would the caption for this picture be ‘sunken’ dreams? Their dream came true.”

B.J. looked more closely. “This is a new plaque,” he said. “It’s replaced an older one. See? You can tell it’s slightly smaller than the one that was originally there.”

“You’re right,” said Annabelle.

Eliza moved to look at the fish mounted on the wall above the photograph of the Wheelocks. It was on the small side, with spiny fins. The brass plaque beneath it was also shiny and new. It was inscribed
FEATHERED PERCH.

“I’ve heard of freshwater perch,” said B.J., “not feathered perch. That makes no sense.”

“Let’s look at our clues from the turtle fountain again,” said Eliza. “‘SOS.’”

“Help,” answered Annabelle.

“‘Guv,’” said Eliza.

“The name of the Wheelocks’ boat,” answered B.J.

“‘Pix,’” said Eliza.

“That would be the pictures on the wall here,” said Annabelle. “Innis wanted us to see this particular photo and notice the perch he caught, too, because he replaced that plaque as well.”

“And ‘dock,’” said Eliza, “is the clue that brought us here in the first place.”

“But where is it all taking us?” asked B.J.

“‘Sunken dreams,’ ‘feathered perch,’” mused Eliza. “We’ve got to figure out what Innis meant by that.”

“What’s our next step?” asked Annabelle.

Eliza considered their options for a moment. “In all the craziness of the weekend,” she remembered, “I never did get a chance to go over and talk to Bill O’Shaughnessy. Since he’s the brother of the man who seems to be at the center of Innis’s puzzle, maybe he can help us figure it out.”