Liam was thinking the same thing.
“Actually,” Mr. Mast said, pacing again, eyes cast down and shaking his head as if trying not to smile, “it’s true. In typical Calvin Durk fashion, you uncovered the one bizarre fact that I thought was safe. Sculpted into the terra cotta is a tiny replica of Manneken Pis, a statue in Brussels, Belgium. Kudos, Mr. Durk. You did what I asked. You educated the group on something they didn’t know.”
Patty patted the beaming Calvin Durk on the back.
“Ms. Deeth, you’re up.”
“I’m sure you’ve all seen the statue of Henry Flagler on King Street. Henry’s third wife, Mary Lily Kenan, commissioned the statue of her husband in 1902. Because Flagler refused to allow it to be displayed while he was still alive, it wasn’t put into place until 1916, three years after his death. It spent a short time in front of the railroad station and the Hotel Alcazar before finding its permanent home in front of Flagler College.”
“Nicely done. Henry Flagler was a very private man. He seldom submitted to interviews and never penned his memoirs. As a matter of fact, he only released information on his personal life for publication a couple times.
“The same couldn’t be said of his buildings. As reserved as Henry Flagler was about personal matters, he loved showing off his construction projects. I’m sure he’d be happy to know his statue welcomes Flagler College students each year.”
“Your turn, Mr. Mast,” Bailey prompted.
“I have two things to share with you. First, have you ever heard of the painting, Ponce de León in Florida?”
He was met with blank stares.
“It was painted by American landscape artist, Thomas Moran, in 1878. He intended for the painting to hang on the walls of the U.S. House of Representatives, but this was the post-Civil War era. The south wasn’t viewed favorably, so the House refused to purchase the painting. It did hang on their walls free of charge for a short period of time. It was exhibited on loan in several New York galleries until it was put up for auction in 1886. The painting was purchased by Flagler and found a home in the Grand Parlor in the Hotel Ponce de León.
Mr. Mast looked around the room at the students, and then continued, “That’s not the end of the story, though. After his death, his niece sold the painting to one of Flagler’s friends. The painting made its way to different owners around the country until it made its final journey in 1996, when it was purchased by the Schultz Family Foundation and what is now Bank of America for the Cummer Museum of Art & Gardens in Jacksonville.”
The room remained silent.
“Okay, maybe I’m the only one who found that interesting,” he conceded. “I’ve got another one for you.” Mr. Mast returned to the desk and picked up a folder. He faced the others. “Hundreds of pictures of Henry Flagler have survived to this day. I’m sure you’ve seen many of them. Every so often, a new photograph of the man will surface, usually one that a local had taken which was passed down to relatives. I recently came into possession of such a photograph.” He opened the folder, removed the photograph, and held it out for them to see. “This is a copy of a photograph that was taken in late 1905 or early 1906. I feel certain it was taken in St. Augustine.” He handed it to Liam.
Liam studied the image of the gray-haired man sitting comfortably in a chair with a box on his lap. “What’s that he’s holding?”
“A camera.”
“You mean this is a selfie?”
“Yes, he took the picture in a mirror.”
He inspected the photograph a few seconds longer then handed it to Bailey.
Bailey spoke as she examined the image, “Where did you get this, Mr. Mast?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say, although I’m pretty sure it’s authentic.”
“It’s a parlor room; possibly the one in the Hotel Ponce de León?”
“I don’t think so. See the painting on the wall in the background? It’s hard to tell from the photograph, but I made copies and expanded that part of the picture. It lost some definition, but as far as I can tell, it’s not a painting that was known to have been in any of his hotels, or his home.”
“What’s in the painting?” Patty asked.
Mr. Mast hesitated with an awkward smile. “It appears to be a picture of a naked woman intertwined with a large white bird.”
“You mean they’re doin’ it?” Calvin sat up. He motioned to Bailey, “That’s so dope. Let me see that.”
Patty punched him in the arm.
Cal seemed undeterred as Bailey handed him the photograph. “Hey, it’s all in the interest of history,” he said to Patty as she leaned in to see. “An egret and a homely chick doin’ the nasty.”
Mr. Mast continued, “It’s a painting that conflicts with Henry Flagler’s strong religious upbringing. The artwork in his hotels and at Kirkside were nothing like this, which is why I find it baffling.”
The photograph continued to cycle around the room, passing from Calvin to Random to One.
“Flagler seems amused,” One said, “as if someone just told him an awesome joke.” He handed the picture back to Mr. Mast.
“I’d go as far as saying he appears bubbly. So while we know it’s Henry Flagler, and we know when the picture was taken, the mysteries are: Where was it taken, why would a man so affluent take a selfie, and what is he so happy about?”
****
After the club meeting, Liam was to report to the assistant principal’s office for his hour of clean-up duty. As the six students and the teacher left the classroom, Bailey pulled Liam aside. “Hey, my offer still stands.”
“Excuse me?” Liam had no idea what she was talking about.
“To show you around the Flagler Model Land Company neighborhood?”
“Oh, right. You know, I walk Pilot there every morning, so I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, hoping she would still offer.
“Don’t be silly. Last time I checked, Pilot wasn’t up on local history like I am. I bet I could tell you a few interesting facts about places you pass by every day.”
I doubt the history would hold my interest, but spending time with you certainly would. “Sure, when?”
“How ‘bout Saturday morning; early, but after you’ve taken Pilot out? Does 7:30 work?”
“Yeah, thanks Bailey.”
She smiled. “Oh, I was sorry to hear about what happened to you in the cafeteria. I’m happy that jerk is being charged as a criminal. He creeped me out. I’m just glad Jason was in the cafeteria when you were attacked.”
“Jason?”
“Jason Benjamin. Didn’t you see him? He’s the soccer player who grabbed Chase and forced him to drop the knife. Jason’s always been a good guy like that. That’s one of the things that first attracted me to him. We’ve been dating since last winter.”
Liam felt like he’d just been kicked in the stomach.
15
Ron noticed Bailey walking out to the parking lot alone. “Hey, do you need a ride home?”
“It’s okay. Mom said she’ll be off work in a half-hour.”
“That’s ridiculous. You live in the Kirkside Apartments, right?”
“Yes,” Bailey responded hesitantly.
Ron chuckled. “Don’t worry, I only know because I once saw you walking there. Give your mom a call and let her know I’m taking you home. You’re on my way.”
“Okay,” Bailey said. She placed the call to her mother as they walked out to Ron’s car.
“Mom says she trusts you,” Bailey said with a laugh, ending the call.
“Good to know.”
The drive from Anderson High School to Kirkside Apartments was spent with small talk. When they arrived, Ron pulled into the driveway that squeezed between the front of the building and the rear of the house on the corner.
“How many apartments are there?”
“Six.”
“Cozy.”
“Have you seen it since the owners rebuilt the gable to resemble the original Kirkside mansion?” Bailey
pointed up to the front façade that was supported by the four original columns from Flagler’s mansion.
“Yes, and they did a nice job.” He placed the car in park. Bailey was about to exit when he spoke, “Ms. Deeth, I’d like to examine the columns. Call it historical curiosity, given that they were once part of Henry Flagler’s home.”
“You do know we only rent here. I can’t give you permission.”
Ron grinned. “I’m aware, but at least if I’m with someone who lives here, I’m not trespassing.”
Bailey nodded her understanding.
He pulled forward and around the side, stopping on a paved area before an adjacent structure with multiple garage bays that served as tenant parking. They walked over to the front of the tall columns.
Ron reached out and touched the first white column. “It’s nice that at least part of his mansion was preserved when it was torn down.”
“They say that locals may have taken pieces of the mansion.”
“I’ve heard the same thing, but no one kept track of which items or where they went, if, in fact, that was the case. As far as I know, these columns are all that’s left of Kirkside. They truly are a part of history.” Ron roved his eyes up the column on the far left and slowly stepped around it, completing a circle.
“Mr. Mast, what exactly are you hoping to find?”
He couldn’t disclose his true intention because that would mean mentioning the source of the photograph and staining Mortie Crewson’s name. Although, perhaps a partial truth was in order. “I’ve uncovered information that suggests pieces of Kirkside were branded with a code.”
“A code? Branded?” Bailey reacted with surprise and instant interest.
Ron nodded. “I wouldn’t get too excited. The notion appears to have no foundation in fact.”
“A code to what?”
“That’s a bit cloudy.” Aunt Arlene had told him that his Great-Grandfather Lucius thought it was treasure; something of value that Flagler’s second wife, Ida Alice, left for some man. Although Ron had a theory about the mystery man’s identity, it was all too outlandish to share with Bailey. Until he could flesh out the facts about the list of items Lucius Mast had scrawled in the Bible and what his aunt had told him, he needed to keep the information a secret.
Bailey spoke with a sidelong gaze. “So you’re searching for a code on these columns, but you have no idea as to the purpose of this code?”
“That sums it up quite nicely, Ms. Deeth.”
Ron continued to walk around the column, examining it thoroughly as high up as he could see. He did the same with the second column, but no irregularities jumped out at him.
Bailey stood patiently nearby.
“You’re welcome to look, too, if you like,” Ron said.
Bailey shrugged off her backpack and placed it on the cement. She began at the column where he had started.
When Ron finished searching the third and fourth columns, he said, “You don’t have a ladder, do you?”
“We have a stepladder in our apartment, but I assume you mean something taller.”
“Much.”
“We have one of the garage bays over there,” she pointed to the long, one-story structure nearby. “There’s a tool area inside on the left. I have a key to our garage door, which will get you in. I’ve seen a tall ladder in there.” She led him toward the garage. “If you get in trouble, please don’t tell on me. My mom would kill me if we got thrown out of the apartment.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Deeth. I’m not stealing the ladder, just borrowing it. They wouldn’t put a history teacher in jail for exploring history.” He hoped.
Bailey unlocked the garage. Just as she had said, there was a rusty, aluminum extension ladder in a tool storage area. At full length, it would reach 16 feet. Ron grabbed it and carefully worked it out through the garage door, lugging it over to the first column closest to the street. He planted the base beyond a strip of garden and braced the top end of the now-eight-foot ladder above on the column. “Can you give me a hand?” Ron tilted the ladder straight up, away from the column. “Help me hold it here.”
Bailey did as she was instructed. Ron pulled on the rope to extend the second eight-foot section.
“Let’s gently lean it against the column,” Ron said.
They allowed the top end of the ladder to slowly settle against the column. At 16 feet, it reached just below the underside of the portico. Ron pulled the base out several feet to give it more stability. Even so, the rusty ladder appeared tenuous at best.
“You sure you want to do this?” Bailey asked.
“No. Can you steady the ladder?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Tentatively, Ron climbed the ladder. Not a fan of heights, he thought it might be less frightening if he began at the top of each column and worked his way down. The fluted columns had 20 grooves that ran from the base to the simple convex capital that supported the gable. It was time-consuming, but he studied the grooves at each level, then backed down one step, and repeated. Ten minutes later when he reached the ground, he and Bailey moved the ladder to the backside of the column, where he scaled it and started over again.
Once the first had been inspected, he moved to the next.
Several people came and went into the apartment building as he worked. Bailey acknowledged them, and talked to a few she knew. When asked what they were doing, she made up the excuse that the man on the ladder was with the city engineers doing a routine check of column structural support and that he was paying her a few dollars to steady the ladder.
Ron finished examining the second column and moved on to the third. Below, he heard Bailey greet her mother. They talked in a low, quick whisper. Ron assumed it was her way of disclosing to her mother what he was really doing.
He finished the third, then the fourth. He found nothing: No symbols, no numbers or letters. He felt silly.
“Thanks, Ms. Deeth. As farfetched as the idea was, as a historian, I had to check it out.”
“No problem, Mr. Mast. I’ve got to get inside. I have studying to do.”
“I understand, and thank you for your help.”
“Hey, any time. If there’s a chance to uncover a historical mystery, I’m all in.”
16
“I don’t think Pilot’s happy with us,” Bailey commented as Liam locked the door to the shop.
Pilot gave them a forlorn look through the glass as they walked away.
“Don’t let him fool you. I’ve already taken him for his walk. Do you work today?”
“Not until the afternoon. This town thrives on weekend tourism. Plus, it’s move-in day for Flagler College students, so there’ll be extra people in town.”
It was another muggy August morning as they set off under hazy skies. Bailey was clad in a white designer tank top, blue shorts, and white tennis shoes. She had her hair in a tight ponytail, leaving playful bangs dangling down to her eyebrows. She was beautiful as always, yet he knew they could be nothing more than friends. She was dating Jason Benjamin, a senior soccer player. The guy was Mr. Perfect: a bundle of muscles with a firm, chiseled chin. He had even saved Liam’s life. It was hard to dislike the guy even if Liam wanted to, but he could still be jealous.
“How was your first week picking up trash after school?”
“About as fun as you would imagine. I still need to thank Jason for what he did. Where is he? I thought he might be with you this morning.” Although Liam secretly hoped he wouldn’t.
“He’s busy with soccer. It consumes nearly all his free time in the fall.”
“He doesn’t mind you walking around with another guy?”
“Don’t be silly. He’s not the jealous type. He knows the relationship I have with your aunt. We’re almost family.”
Great, now I’ve got a sister, Liam thought. “So where are you taking me?”
“Have you been on St. George Street where all the restaurants and shops are?”
He shook his head no.
“Like I told you before, I’ve seen it.”
She held a finger up in the air as if struck by an epiphany. “Ah, yes, but you’ve never had a tour guide to tell you about some of the more interesting history it holds.”
Interesting history. That was an oxymoron.
They crossed to the other side of King Street, just as Liam had done the first time he walked Pilot. Several streets down, Bailey led them onto Sevilla Street. The narrow one-way road was sandwiched between consecutive buildings on the left, and lush, green grounds abutting an enormous building on the right. “This,” she pointed to the large structure, “is the former Hotel Ponce de León. Now, it’s Flagler College. Well, the left side of it, anyway.”
Liam studied it for a moment. The half-barrel, terra cotta roofs and red-and-white pattern left no doubt Flagler had designed the hotel in Spanish Renaissance style. Massive towers rose near the middle, proclaiming the grandeur and magnitude of the structure that consumed an entire city block. The sheer size certainly drew Liam’s attention, but the antique building held no special appeal for him.
“It opened in January 1888 as a 450-room resort and was considered one of the most magnificent hotels in the United States. Famous people of the day stayed there. It was a thing back then.”
“So it was a Hilton?”
“On steroids,” she added. “The area with the gazebo over there is the west lawn.”
“It’s beautiful,” Liam said, with as much sincerity as he could fake.
“For as long as I can remember, it’s been my dream to go here, but it’s a private school, and I don’t think my mom will be able to afford it now.”
He noticed that she only mentioned her mom. He wanted to ask about her father, but something warned him against it.
As they walked, Liam saw the crisscrossing of sidewalks and wide boulevards on the open grounds of the college. They were laid out in such a fashion that it didn’t interrupt the flow of the well-manicured area. He also saw throngs of people coming and going across the lawn, and others buzzing at the back of the campus where there were more college buildings. “Busy place.”
Collecting Shadows Page 7