Grace and Disgrace (13 page)

“I am in your debt,” Tuohay agreed.

“And don’t think I won’t collect.” Eliza was walking barefoot, her shoes dangling from one hand, her notepad in the other. There was no indication of any injury from the gait of her step. “He is going to be around more rather than less, isn’t he?”

“I believe we have not seen the last of Inspector Frost,” Tuohay confirmed. “In fact, I expect the man will
formerly
be wrangling his way into our investigation any day now.”

Eliza shook her head. “For the love of Pete.”

“In any case,” Tuohay resumed, “we were speaking of wrinkles.”

“Right. The first wrinkle is the silverware.”

“How so?”

“The position the knife and fork were to the right of the plate, indicating use by someone that was right-handed.”

“So it appeared.”

“But the pen and stationary on the desk indicated otherwise,” Eliza continued. “Did you notice any particulars about Father Donnelly when you met with him?”

“He wrote left-handed,” Tuohay confirmed. “When I arrived last night there was a work in progress on his desk, and all indications supported that supposition.”

Eliza nodded. “That is something.”

“Perhaps.”

“And then there is the cigar and the tea.”

Tuohay pursed his lips with interest. “Go on.”

“There are no indications of the remnants of the cigar that I could see, and yet Mr. Dunbar specifically told Frost that he saw Father Donnelly—or someone—smoking a cigar on the balcony.”

“Perhaps the water room or the fireplace,” Tuohay responded. “The cigar stub could have easily been disposed of in either of those locations. Recall that there was a period of time between when Mr. Dunbar witnessed the shadow behind the curtain smoking the cigar and when he found the body. Ample time for it to be disposed of in a perfectly reasonable manner by Father Donnelly, which would be impossible for us to verify.”

“True,” Eliza admitted reluctantly. “So I suppose that theory is for naught. Though the fireplace was bare.” Her last statement was softly spoken, and had trouble contending with the wind.

“However,” Tuohay raised a finger, “there is the fact that I spotted a recently spent cigar stub on the cobblestones under the balcony, near Father Donnelly’s garden.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he pulled the stub from his pocket.

Eliza gasped. “That is evidence, Jack! I thought you would have learned better at the RIC.”

“So I did,” he shrugged, slipping it back into his pocket. “But I am in America at the moment.”

“Well then,” she continued, “let us suppose, for a tickle, that the stub you found represents the cigar that Father Donnelly—or someone—was smoking on the balcony this morning. Do you believe Father Donnelly was the sort of man that would litter his own garden by flicking the stub off the balcony?”

“How am I to know? He very well could have been.”

“Come on, Jack.”

“Go on,” he allowed. But before she could continue, his gaze narrowed at the dunes behind them.

“What is it?” Eliza turned to follow his line of sight. On a distant dune a figure stood, his olive green trench coat flapping in the wind. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and a gray fedora with a pinched brim was adjusted forward over his brow. He seemed to be staring straight at them, unmoving.

Eliza took a step in the man’s direction “It’s the same fellow that’s been trailing me.”

“I believe it is a newspaperman named Mountain,” said Tuohay, “or a man who
claims
to be.”

“He’s not acting like any newspaperman I’ve met,” said Eliza. Even as she spoke the words, the man pulled gloved hand free from one of his pockets and offered a faint salute before disappearing back into the dunes. “What does he want?”

“Something tells me we will find out soon enough,” said Tuohay, a note of urgency in his voice. “Come on.”

They hiked the last fifty feet to the gravel road, and Eliza stopped to put her shoes on. She spent only a few moments rubbing the sand off with her hands before recommencing her walk.

“I lost my train of thought,” Eliza complained as the train station came into view.

“Shall I surmise your thoughts for you?” Tuohay offered.

“I will surmise for myself, thank you,” said Eliza. “Just give me a minute.” She cast a sidelong glance at Tuohay. “Even though it has been ten years, I remember all too well your long-winded sum-ups.”

“Pleased to hear I made a lasting impression.”

“The bottom line is that the cigar was smoked by someone other than Father Donnelly. That individual carelessly flicked it over the balcony edge into the garden, which does not seem like something a priest with a responsibility to the rectory grounds would do. The broken tea cup on the ground is supposed to indicate that Father Donnelly fell with it in his hand, but that would mean he would have had the cigar in his hand as well as the tea cup, which is unlikely.”

“Conjuncture, I am afraid. A merging of circumstances. And perhaps the tea cup was holding alcohol, which goes splendidly with a morning cigar.”

Eliza continued unabated. “Put that together with the fact that the silverware indicates a right-handed individual ate breakfast on the balcony, whereas Father Donnelly is left-handed, and we have ourselves a collection of clues demonstrating that something is different than it is meant to appear.”

“Unfortunately we cannot ask Eldredge to run statistics on your theory,” Tuohay remarked, dry humor in his voice. “At least then we could quantify the probability.”

“I do not need statistics to know my hypothesis is conceivable. One must allow for imaginative explanations.”

“This is not creating a plot for a play, Eliza,” Tuohay admonished. “Granted, creative thought is a component of the puzzle-solving recipe. But it is the
trail of facts
that leads one to the solution, like breadcrumbs through the forest.”

“Facts tend to disappear in a case like this, just like breadcrumbs,” responded Eliza. “Besides, I
am
using facts.”

“Observations,” Tuohay argued, but there was a smile on his lips, “though I will admit, they are astute observations.”

“Astute?” Eliza laughed. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment. And what about you? Did you notice anything in particular?”

“The painting of the nephew, Abrams. I swear I have seen his likeness before. But I cannot account for it.” He shrugged. “A nagging in my brain for now.”

“Well, I’ve never laid eyes on him. Can’t help you there. Anything else?”

“The Adoration of the Magi. There were
eight
paintings of the scene in his study, all from various artists and cultures.”

“Sure,” Eliza nodded. “They were wonderful, and at least a few are quite valuable. Guess he has a thing for the Nativity.” She shrugged.

“That was not the only evident theme.”

“Shakespeare.” Eliza affirmed. “Yeah, that was abundantly clear. The man has bookcases full of plays and sonnets by the bard, as well as a host of paintings and other knickknacks, even a replica of Yorick’s skull from Hamlet. Quite the collection—I’m jealous, to be sure. But I am asking about something of relevance to the case.”

“There were numerous architectural journals devoted to the study of religious art. One in particular had pages dedicated to the engineering dimensions of famous pieces, apparently for preservation purposes.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tuohay smiled softly. “I understand not everything can be of relevance to the case, but it is healthy to discuss them to ensure nothing is overlooked.”

“Right. So what else was there?”

“Puzzles.”

“Puzzles.
Really
?”

“You of course must have noticed the shelves dedicated to books about secret societies, mechanical wonders, strategies of chess, techniques of illusionists and other mystical behaviors, and even famous crimes dating back to the medieval era.”

“Sure I did.” She shrugged. “And?”

“And…nothing, at this point. But it is good to keep in mind.” Tuohay’s cane thudded against the wood flooring as they reached the platform of the train station. “Admittedly, part of my concentration was still absorbed with our visit to Kneeland Street. However, it did not distract me completely. I too noticed the details that you have already shared, such as the silverware and such.”

Eliza snorted. “Ah, right. So in addition to everything you just listed, you also observed the details that I originally shared with you.”

“That is correct, though I am not claiming to have come to the same conclusion that you have.”

Eliza smirked. “You’re a wonder, Jack.”

“There is another detail, of course. The medical diaries.”

Eliza rolled her eyes. “Gads. You mean the burgundy collection on the upper shelves to the left of the fireplace?” She brushed a strand of wind-blown hair from her eyes as she recounted her observations. “Thirty four leather-bound journals of various thicknesses. Spines were numbered in black ink and were not in sequential order on the shelves. They were Father Donnelly’s collection of medical notes as a practicing physician. Journal number one was dated 1869-1870 on the interior cover, and journal thirty-four was dated 1902 with no closure date.”

“Correct,” Tuohay said. “But did you notice that journal twenty-eight was missing?”

Eliza arched an eyebrow. “You sure? It wasn’t easy to tell the way the books were organized. Or
disorganized
, I should say.”

“Yes, I am certain. Based on the dates of the bracketing diaries, the missing book was likely for 1896.” Tuohay’s cane sank into a sand depression, causing him to pause as he plucked it out. “And there was something else. The ecclesiastical ring.”

“The one Frost mentioned?”

“No, the one he did not mention.”

Eliza stopped short. “Sorry?”

“When I visited Father Donnelly last night, he had a ring on each hand. I remember how they caught the firelight. A ruby ring, and an emerald ring.”

“He could have taken the emerald ring off at any point after your interview last night,” said Eliza. “The fact that it was not on his person does not mean it is not on the premises.”

“Where it most likely will be found,” Tuohay granted, but the tone in his voice held a shadow of doubt.

“By the by, you do remember we are bound for Medfield to meet with Sara Conall and Mary Hart?”

“Yes, of course.” Tuohay looked at the platform with a frown. “Where is everyone?”

Eliza responded to Tuohay’s look of bewilderment with a sidelong glance. “I
told
you we would miss the train. I assumed we came to the to purchase new tickets. The next train is not for hours.”

Tuohay pulled his pocket watch out and clicked it open, murmuring in surprise as he viewed the time. “It took us over thirty minutes to walk here from the rectory? That is nearly twice as long as it took us to get there from here.”

“Look—it was 2:45 when we left Father Donnelly’s study. At that point, we had just enough time to walk to the station and catch our train, but your ten minute diversion to the courtyard ensured we would miss it. I warned you.” Eliza shook her head. “Did you not see the time on the clock in the study?”

“Yes, I saw it,” said Tuohay. “But that clock is fifteen minutes fast. It was therefore only 2:30.”

“No, it had the right time.”

Tuohay turned his gaze to his watch as if the answer resided in its inner workings. His head snapped up. “It was a chain-wound grandfather clock, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Where were the weights?”

Eliza stared at Tuohay. “Sorry?”

“The weights. On the chains. That you can see through the glass.” He waved his hand as if it would help in the explanation.

“Right. The little gold cylinders, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Eliza opened her sketch book and offered Tuohay a glance.

“They are
up
.” Tuohay stabbed Eliza’s rough sketch of the grandfather clock with a gloved finger. “The clock has been recently wound! Very recently.”

“But you said it was fifteen minutes fast? I’m not following.”

“The gold cylinders were much lower last night, indicating a winding was due. The clock must have been rewound last night, but whoever wound it also adjusted the minute-hand to the
correct
time.”

“Which is why we are fifteen minutes later than you expected.”

“Precisely,” said Tuohay. “Either Father Donnelly decided to change his clock to the correct time the very morning that he accidently fell off the balcony, or…”

“Or someone noticed the clock had stopped, rewound it, and unknowingly turned it to the
correct
time, because it had stopped ticking for a long enough duration that it was far from the correct time at that point. There was no knowledge that it had been previously set fifteen minutes fast.”

“There could be a simple explanation, even for the latter case. The cook, or even Inspector Frost or the constable could have adjusted it,” said Tuohay.