Garden of Death (27 page)

“No argument there,” Simon agreed. “This guy is a mess.”

“He might be a lot worse than that,” Jackson said, his voice grim.

“You think he took Merrily?” I'd had the same thought, of course, but hadn't wanted to verbalize it, to make it real.

Jackson nodded. “He seemed like an okay guy, even if he had an attitude. But what if he's turned into a kidnapper?”

chapter thirty-one

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

ROSEMARY

Botanical name:
Rosmarinus officinalis

Medicinal uses: Ancient Greek scholars would wear laurels of rosemary on their heads to help them stay sharp and to keep their memories clear when taking examinations. I used it when I took my final exams at my naturopathic college.

An evergreen member of the mint family, with pale blue flowers, rosemary is also helpful for anxiety, fatigue, tension, and to improve energy levels and uplift spirits. In addition, rosemary is full of important nutrients including calcium, magnesium, potassium, phosphorus, and iron, and contains more than a dozen antioxidants. Because it improves digestion, circulation, and memory, it is an excellent herb for the elderly. In the bath or footbath, it rejuvenates
the body and mind and also helps relieve pain and sore muscles.

I've recommended rosemary flower essence to many of my customers as it encourages users to be less forgetful and more aware, more present in their body, and more conscious. It strengthens the heart and mind. In aromatherapy, rosemary essential oil eases stress and anxiety, whether you inhale eight to ten whiffs from the bottle or put oil in a diffuser and let it fill the room with this lovely scent.

It was well after six on Saturday night when we returned to Nature's Way. We'd checked out all the places that Merrily might be, including friends' houses and places she liked to hang out, shop, and eat, but didn't find her. By this time, Nature's Way was closed. Lily had brought in all of the unsold items from the booth, but there wasn't much left. She'd sold most of what we had, which was the only good news of late.

I called to check in with Detective Coyle and he confirmed that they had issued a BOLO. He also said that if Merrily didn't show up within the next day, they would contact the FBI and enlist their help.

He had also updated Merrily's mother and father, Andrew, who had just arrived from New York City, and assured them that everything was being done to help find their daughter.

Afterward, we sat at a table in the café and had a dinner of fresh tomato soup and Caesar salad while we tried to decide what to do next. We'd worked hard, yes,
but we were no closer to finding Merrily or Dr. White's killer.

After I finished eating, I got up and went back into the office to continue going through the box of Frank Fox's stuff. Jackson and Simon followed me in.

“Willow,” Jackson said, “what are you hoping to find?”

“I don't know, but I have to try to find something to help her.”

At that moment, the fax machine began making noises. I got up and watched with dread as a new fax came in. I pulled it out and read it as my hands began to shake.

“Willow,” Jackson said. “What does it say?”

I walked over to them and turned the sheet so they could read it:
You Have 24 Hours or Merrily is Dead!

Jackson stood and pulled me into a hug, but I couldn't be comforted. I couldn't wrap my mind around any of this.

“Why is this happening? Merrily is such a sweet person. I know I've been a little aggravated with her lately, but I never could have made it through the first few months of taking over the store if she hadn't been with me.” I began to sob. “We have to save her!”

“We will, we will,” Jackson said, trying to soothe me. “But you need to call Detective Coyle and send him the fax. He needs to know about this. The police might want to set up camp here or at her mother's house.”

He turned to Simon. “In the meantime, I think we need to start digging in the garden. We've got a little
more daylight, and we can set up lamps after that. We could start in the places where we found the earring, the goblet, and the sword. I think we have to try.”

“I agree,” Simon said, handing me some tissues. “Let's go.”

•   •   •

While Jackson and Simon went
outside, I called Detective Coyle, who said he was assembling a task force to work on Merrily's disappearance and possible abduction. He said they would be setting up at Merrily's house. He would update me.

After that, I decided to finish going through the box of Frank Fox's stuff before heading outside to help. I just had a feeling that there might be something there—something that could cut through all of this confusion and lead us to what we needed to find.

But after going through the rest of the items—a watch, an old bottle of aftershave, a scarf, an Ace bandage, an alarm clock, a photo of his wife, and a small DVD player—I had come to yet another dead end.

In desperation, I returned to the beginning, to the books that Frank seemed to have treasured so much. This time I didn't look for notes but I examined the books themselves. The spines of the books appeared normal, so I opened each one and checked out the front and back.

When I came to the last book, a large coffee table book about the life of Captain Kidd, I found it. There, under the photo of Captain Kidd's ship on the inside back cover, was a raised area, one that prevented the
book from closing properly. I ran my fingers over it but couldn't figure out what it was.

I went to my desk and got my scissors. Carefully, I used them to pierce the inside back cover right next to the object. It took several tries, but I finally managed to make an indentation right next to the object. Next, I drew the blade down to create an opening. Finally, I reached inside to pull out whatever was there.

It was a key, and not just any key. It looked very much like the skeleton key that Joe Larson had on his key chain.

The key had the number forty-nine on it—the same number that appeared in Roman numerals on the curb in Fred Monsell's painting of the old cigar shop. Then I remembered that it had been Frank Fox, a member of that same men's club, who had asked Monsell to put that number in the painting. Suddenly, I knew where we would find the information we needed to save Merrily.

•   •   •

“You do understand that this
is breaking and entering?” Jackson asked as he used a set of lock picks to open the side door that led to the men's club.

“I know,” I said. “But I think we've got the key to Frank Fox's locker—and maybe there's something inside that will tell us where the treasure is. If we can find it, we can save Merrily's life. We have to try.”

Jackson jiggled the picks. “Let's just hope Koren and Coyle don't find out about this. It's all they'd need to put me away.”

“It won't come to that,” I said, praying I was right. Seconds later, the lock clicked open, and the two of us and Simon climbed the stairs to the club's main room. Simon flipped a light switch, turning on the overhead chandelier. The décor was dated, with dingy old-fashioned wallpaper, dusty lamps, and a threadbare rug.

Immediately, I went over to the painting of the men's club that Joe Larson had purchased and that now hung over the fireplace. “There it is,” I said, pointing to the Roman numerals for forty-nine. “The exact same number that's on the key that Frank Fox hid in the book. And he's the one who had Fred Monsell put the Roman numerals in the painting. He must have been leaving some sort of message.”

“Yeah, but he's been dead nearly a year,” Simon pointed out. “Wouldn't the other club members have cleaned out his locker by now? Or one of the treasure hunters like Dr. White or Harold, since they're members?”

“Maybe not if this is the only key. Unless they broke in,” I said. “Where are the lockers, Simon?”

“Up front.” Simon led us into the next room, which overlooked the street and contained a small kitchen, a seating area, and a wall of antique lockers. “We'd better close these curtains.”

“You two do that while I find locker forty-nine.” I began looking; it didn't take long to find it. “I've got it.” I pointed to a locker in the middle of the wall.

“Open it,” Jackson said.

“This should be good,” Simon added.

“Let's hope so.” I inserted the key into the lock and tried to turn it. At first, it wouldn't budge. I tried again.
On the third try, there was a click and the door creaked opened. But there was nothing inside.

“Someone obviously got here first,” Simon said, sounding disappointed.

“Someone with a key, since it doesn't look forced,” Jackson said.

“Maybe one of the head honchos of the club, like Harold,” Simon said.

“They'd have a key,” Jackson said.

“Now what do we do?” Simon said, looking at me.

“Let me think.” Instead of panicking, I forced myself to remain calm, then, moments later, I got an idea. “I need to look at the painting again.” I left the room with Jackson and Simon following me.

“What are you doing?” Jackson said.

When I got to the fireplace, I said, “Look for another number. Maybe together with forty-nine it will add up to the right number and the right locker.”

The three of us stood there in silence, reviewing every brushstroke. After five minutes, Simon said, “I don't see anything.”

“Me either,” Jackson said.

“Wait,” I said, leaning in for a closer look. There, in the upstairs window of the building, a tiny book leaned against the sash. On the spine was the number VI. “Look, right here, another book, and another number.”

“It's the number six,” Simon said. “I don't need to look that one up.”

“Forty-nine and six is fifty-five,” I said.

“Right,” Jackson said. “But what does it mean?”

“Let's check locker fifty-five and find out,” I said.

The three of us ran back into the locker room and
searched for number fifty-five. After a few moments, we found it, on the very bottom shelf, three lockers from the end. I inserted the key and turned. This time it moved easily, like a knife through butter—Frank had probably visited this box in secret often before he died—and the door opened. I reached inside and pulled out an old metal box, which was embossed with strange symbols.

“Good job, McQuade,” Jackson said, squeezing my arm.

“You're a genius Willow!” Simon said.

“Wow,” I said, pretty amazed myself. “Let's see what's inside.”

“Why don't you bring it over to the table and we can examine it?” Jackson suggested.

I carried the box over, put it down, and used a napkin that had been left on the table to wipe it off.

“It looks old,” Simon said. “Maybe not pirate-­treasure-old, but I'm guessing at least a hundred years.”

“Luckily, it doesn't seem to have a lock,” Jackson said.

I took a deep breath. “This has been a long road,” I said. “So let's open it together. For Merrily.”

“For Merrily,” Jackson and Simon repeated.

Together, we pulled back the lid and looked inside. There was only one object in the box. “It's a piece of parchment paper,” I said, carefully lifting it out.

“Maybe it's a map,” Simon said. “Unfold it.”

I did so, and put the oversized piece of paper on the table and smoothed it out. “It
is
a map.”

“It's a map of the lot,” Jackson said. “See, there's the boundary between your store and Frank Fox's lot.”

“And there's Fox's old home,” Simon added. “But where's the X to mark the spot?”

“Good question.” I leaned over and carefully examined the map, which was old and tattered and had obviously been handled many times. After a few moments, I spotted it. “Right here. See?”

There was a tiny X in the middle of the lot, next to a drawing of a hedge. “The X is at the midpoint of his lot.”

“Let's hope it marks the spot,” Jackson said. “Let get back to Nature's Way and see what we find.”

But when we headed back downstairs and peered through the window in the door, we saw a cop was patrolling the alley. “Can't go that way, at least not right now,” Jackson said. “Is there another way out, Simon? “

“Yeah, you can go out the front, but we'd better check it first.”

The three of us went back upstairs and into the front room. Jackson pulled back a section of the curtain and looked out. “We've got a problem here, too. There's a patrolman right in front of the store.”

“What's with all the police?” Simon asked.

“There are a lot of people in town this weekend,” Jackson said.

“There's a lot going on,” I said. “There's the electric boat ride around the harbor, and another performance of
The Tempest
in Mitchell Park. Plus, there's the seafood restaurant crawl and a wine tasting from all the local vineyards at the Vine.”

“No wonder it's so crowded,” Simon said.

“The police need to keep an eye on things,” Jackson said. “We'll just have to wait until they leave.”

•   •   •

Unfortunately, the cop continued to
patrol the alley and the other cop stayed out front. I wondered if there had been a tip about some possible crime in the area, or maybe they were looking all over town for Merrily. While we waited, I called Detective Coyle to get an update on the investigation into Merrily's disappearance. The police were searching all over the village, which might explain the cops in the area, but there was no word yet, and no more faxes. So, hopefully, whoever it was was honoring the deadline.

“The cop in front is walking away,” Jackson finally said from the window. “But I can't tell who else is down there. Simon, go check things out okay?”

“On it.” Moments later, Simon returned from his check of the street, the alley, and the boatyard. “No cops.”

I looked at Simon, and then at Jackson. “Let's go find that pirate treasure and save Merrily.”