Dying for Mercy

by Mary Jane Clark

  Fitzroy paused and gazed out at his audience, waiting until every person was looking his way. “Many of you know, of course, what gave Innis the most pleasure. On weekends he didn’t even look at the front page until he finished the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. He waited all week for that thing to arrive and tossed the rest of the paper aside, going straight to the back of the magazine. He didn’t even get dressed until he’d finished the puzzle.”

  Everyone smiled; some even chuckled.

  “Innis loved puzzles. Any kind would do. Acrostics and jumbles, Scrabble and sudoku, Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot, labyrinths and scavenger hunts—you name it and Innis would be all over it. When he and Valentina were in Italy, Innis even got special permission to visit the Vatican’s Secret Archives. Mysteries delighted him. In fact, he once told me that figuring out the puzzles in people’s personalities helped him with politics.”

  Fitzroy looked up again and noticed that some of the faces looking back at him wore expressions of concern and dismay. Did they think he would be insensitive enough to bring up the mystery of the stigmata? Of course he wasn’t that callous.

  “I was Innis’s closest friend, but clearly there were things he could not share with me. That puzzles me now as I try to make sense of what happened. But there was never any puzzle about my devotion to Innis. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him, and when Valentina asked me if I would say a few words today, I couldn’t refuse. It seemed somehow fitting, I think, that the person who knew him from the very beginning would be able to eulogize him at the very end. How fortunate I feel, how fortunate we all are, to have known a man like Innis Wheelock.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Leaving the dimness of the church, Eliza squinted as she came out into the bright sunshine. She could see B.J. and Annabelle across the parking lot, stationed with the other members of the media. She went over to talk with them.

  “How was it?” asked Annabelle.

  “It was a funeral,” said B.J. “How do you think it was?”

  Annabelle ignored him.

  “It was moving and sad,” said Eliza, “yet uplifting at the same time. The priest did a very nice job.”

  “What’s that in your hand?” asked B.J.

  Eliza held up a small holy card. On the front was an image of the Giotto fresco of St. Francis talking to the birds, and on the back were stanzas from the saint’s Canticle of the Sun. “I’m going to keep this,” Eliza said as she slipped the card into her purse.

  She looked around. “Where’s Bruce?”

  “He’s over there, talking to the guys from CBS,” said Annabelle. “I gotta go get him and see if we can snag some interviews.”

  Eliza watched her go. “I feel like Bruce got stuck with this assignment because I said no,” she said to B.J.

  “Are you kidding?” asked B.J. as he hoisted the camera to his shoulder. “Bruce Harley loves to get on television. He’ll cover a dog show, a car show, or a fashion show, just as long as he gets his mug on the screen and scores another piece for his ‘story count.’ He doesn’t resent you for refusing to cover this funeral—he loves you for it.”

  CHAPTER 45

  As Eliza was driven inside the gates of Tuxedo Park, she noticed that in just the few days since she’d been here last the trees had gotten more colorful.

  The car pulled into the cobblestone-lined courtyard in front of the Tudor-style clubhouse. The mansion’s stucco walls were painted a creamy yellow and were punctuated by leaded-glass windows. A slate roof crowned the stately structure.

  “I’ll be out in less than an hour, Charlie,” said Eliza as she exited the car.

  Valentina and Russell Wheelock stood in the gracious entry hall, shaking hands and accepting condolences. While she waited for her chance to speak with them, Eliza noted the antique English furnishings, tufted leather chairs and settees, and heavy draperies made of tapestry. A large silver loving cup was displayed on the mantel of a huge fireplace in the center of the room, and old, well-polished brass chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

  “Thank you for coming, Eliza,” said Valentina when Eliza’s turn came.

  “I’m just so, so sorry, Valentina,” said Eliza.

  “I know you are, dear. I know you are.” Valentina squeezed Eliza’s hand. “But Innis wouldn’t want us to wallow too long, would he?”

  “No, I doubt that he would,” said Eliza. She turned to the young man at Valentina’s side. “I’m so sorry about your father,” she said as she held out her hand.

  Russell Wheelock shook it firmly. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s very kind of you to come. I know my father thought very highly of you.”

  “Well, I was a big fan of his, too,” said Eliza.

  Eliza turned to Valentina again. “How are you holding up?” she asked, looking into Valentina’s eyes.

  “Our maid died yesterday,” Russell interjected.

  “Oh, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Eliza. “Eunice, right?”

  Valentina nodded. “Yes, poor, dear thing. She fell down the basement steps. A dreadful accident—and the timing is just unbelievable.”

  “Maybe it is unbelievable, Mother,” said Russell. “Maybe it had something to do with Father’s death.”

  “I can’t talk about that now, Rusty,” said Valentina. “Are you still taking the carriage house, dear?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” said Eliza.

  “Good. I want you to make sure you and Janie come over and visit this weekend. I could use the company, and it would be wonderful to have someone young in the house.”

  “Oh, no, Valentina,” Eliza protested. “I wouldn’t think of intruding at a time like this.”

  “You’d be doing me a favor,” said Valentina. “I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

  “You’d be doing both of us a big favor,” said Russell. “I have to get back to school, and I’d be very grateful if you’d be able to spend time with Mother.”

  “Well, all right,” said Eliza uncertainly. “Janie won’t be with me, though. She’s going away with her friend’s family this weekend. But Mack McBride is coming home.”

  “Please bring him along,” said Valentina. “It will be good to have a man around.”

  Silver chafing dishes of chicken Florentine, rice, and asparagus were arranged on a long table set up in the ballroom. The funeral service had left most people who’d attended with a hearty appetite and thirst. Seeing the line at the buffet, Eliza decided to get a drink first.

  “A Bloody Mary, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As the bartender dropped ice cubes into a glass, Eliza found his face familiar.

  “You were at the Wheelock party the other night, weren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, keeping his focus on mixing the drink.

  “I thought so,” she said. “Who’d have predicted that we’d be here just a few days later, huh?”

  “You never know,” said the bartender as he slid Eliza’s drink toward her.

  At that point Eliza could have turned and walked away, but it occurred to her that people talked freely and openly to bartenders, and this guy could be a potential source of information.

  “I’m Eliza Blake,” she said. She held out her hand.

  “Bill O’Shaughnessy,” he said as he wiped his hand dry and shook Eliza’s quickly. She noticed that he looked around furtively. He didn’t want anyone to see that, she thought.

  “Nice to meet you, Bill,” she said. “Have you worked here a long time?” she asked.

  “Thirty years, give or take.”

  “Wow, I bet you’ve seen a lot,” said Eliza.

  “I guess you could say that,” said Bill. “But Mr. Wheelock killing himself by stigmata pretty much takes the cake.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I suppose it does. I can’t begin to imagine why in the world Innis would do such a thing.”

  “Something had to be bothering him pretty deeply,” said Bill quietly. �
��I guess you never know what’s really going on in another guy’s head.”

  Eliza took a sip of her drink. “It’s just hot enough,” she observed. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Bill put the cap back on the bottle of Tabasco.

  “Since you’ve worked here in the park for such a long time, would you mind if I tapped your memory?” she asked.

  He looked at her warily. “I guess not,” he said.

  Eliza opened her purse and took out the map that B.J. had given her, illustrating the point on West Lake Road indicated by the latitude and longitude numbers. She handed the paper to the bartender.

  “Do you know where that spot is?” she asked.

  He squinted at the map. “Sure.” He nodded. “That’s the spot of one of the biggest mysteries Tuxedo Park has ever seen.”

  “Really? Why? What happened?” asked Eliza.

  “It was just over twenty years ago now,” said Bill as he handed the map back to her. “That was where the police found the totaled vehicle. It was smashed like an accordion, but there was no blood and there were no bodies inside.”

  “And there were no witnesses to the accident?” asked Eliza.

  “Nope, that’s a pretty isolated stretch of road there,” said Bill. He shook his head. “You know, it’s funny. You’re the second person to ask about that today.”

  “I am?” asked Eliza with real interest. “Who was the other one?”

  Bill nodded in the direction of the buffet table. “Zack Underwood, the big-shot architect, was just asking me about what happened on West Lake Road, too.”

  CHAPTER 46

  The gold walls, the rose-based Oriental rug, the drapes printed with a botanical pattern of orange, crimson, and green butterflies and hibiscus, and the gilded chairs in the ballroom of the Black Tie Club were a welcome relief from the darkness of the church and the sadness of the occasion. The men and women who had come to pay their respects to Innis Wheelock and his family were relieved that the funeral was over and they could rejoin the land of the living. They ate, drank, chatted, and joked, happy for their reprieve and proving to themselves that life goes on.

  Valentina traveled from table to table, accepting condolences and good wishes, expressing her gratitude to people for making the effort to come and pay tribute to her late husband. Between tables, Zack Underwood took her arm.

  “Could we talk for a few minutes?” he asked.

  “Of course, Zack,” said Valentina. “Why don’t we go into the bar?”

  They seated themselves on the tufted leather sofa against the wall just inside the entrance. At the side of the room, the bartender continued to serve the guests who came in with their requests for wine, beer, and soft drinks.

  “That’s an attention grabber,” said Zack as he observed the mounted bigmouth bass that hung on the persimmon grass-cloth-covered wall.

  “Something tells me you don’t want to talk about taxidermy, Zack,” said Valentina.

  “You’re right,” said Zack. He angled his body toward hers and leaned a bit closer. “First of all, I wanted to tell you, though I’m sure you’ve never had any doubt, that Innis loved you very much, Valentina. We worked quite closely together over the last year, and sometimes his eyes would fill with tears when he mentioned your name. It was touching.” Zack reached over and took her hand. “I know that this must be so hard for you, Valentina, and I’m hoping there’s something I can do to help.”

  Valentina smiled weakly. “Thank you, Zack. I just have to take it day by day.”

  “What if Innis was trying to tell us all something, Valentina?”

  She looked up at him, unaware of anyone standing at the bar or coming in or out of the room. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Innis had me sign a confidentiality agreement about the work I did on Pentimento, but I guess when someone dies, the pledge of secrecy dies with him.”

  “Meaning what?” Valentina asked apprehensively.

  “Meaning I think that Innis was constructing some sort of puzzle, and I think I know what the first clue might be.”

  She waited. He explained about the numbers on the greenhouse pot and how he’d discovered that they were the map coordinates for the spot where the crashed car had been found twenty years earlier.

  “But why would Innis point to that?” Valentina asked tensely.

  “I don’t know,” said Zack. “But I have a feeling that there are other things—other clues—that are going to tell us what he wants us to know.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Was that what the great Innis Wheelock meant when he said he was going to make sure that people found out? When he said that time was running out to confess and repent? Had he left behind one of his crazy puzzles that would lead to exposure?

  How dare he! A puzzle was a cowardly way to do it. Instead of standing up like a man and dealing with everything, Innis had chosen to remove himself but leave a posthumous trail behind for others to follow.

  That bastard wasn’t going to win.

  Innis sensationalized his death so that all eyes would be on Tuxedo Park. But if the stigmata was the way Innis chose to grab attention, he could certainly be one-upped.

  Suicide by stigmata was grotesque enough. What would Innis think about carrying the theme further? Murder by stigmata—not just using the five bodily wounds but incorporating some of the other physical and psychological injuries Jesus suffered? Even Innis wouldn’t have thought of something as perverse as that!

  Clearly Zack Underwood didn’t understand how stupid it was to talk where he could be so easily overheard. But that didn’t mean Zack was stupid. If he was onto West Lake Road and thought there were more clues built into Pentimento, he would surely follow through and try to figure things out.

  This had to be taken care of right away, before it went any further.

  The Internet made so much fascinating information available so easily.

  Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, had entries on stigmata and the Passion, the Christian theological term used for the physical, spiritual, and mental suffering Jesus Christ endured at the time of the crucifixion. The wounds he suffered while on the cross weren’t the half of it.

  How convenient it was to have a list of the Instruments of the Passion. Among them: the chains used to bind Jesus overnight in prison; the whip used for the thirty-nine lashes at his scourging; the reed that was mockingly placed in his hand as his royal scepter; the hammer used to drive the nails into his hands and feet; the robe of Jesus and the dice that the soldiers cast for it; thirty pieces of silver, the price of Judas’s betrayal; and the shroud used to wrap Jesus’s body before burial.

  There was more, much more. Each of the cruel and vicious acts that Jesus endured had the potential to be acted out in a different way, in a different time, on a different victim—if it came to that.

  CHAPTER 48

  At one of the round tables, there was an empty seat next to Zack Underwood. Eliza went over.

  “May I?” she asked.

  Zack looked up, his expression welcoming when he saw her. “Please join me,” he said, standing up and pulling out the chair.

  Eliza sat down, and they made small talk while they ate. When they had finished, she brought up their first meeting at the party.

  “I remember you saying that Innis told you he had something special planned for that night,” she said.

  Zack sat back in his chair and shook his head. “God, if I’d known what he meant, maybe I could have done something that would’ve stopped him. I feel terrible about this.”

  “Me, too,” said Eliza. She told Zack about her conversation with Innis at the fountain. “I could tell that something was bothering him, but I had no idea of the depth of his despair.”

  “I don’t think anyone did,” said Zack. “I keep asking myself why. Why would Innis do something like this? He’d been so happy when we finished the renovations. In fact, I recall him telling me that he had never been more satisfied.”

  �
�Zack,” began Eliza, “I want to talk to you about something. We have a picture taken in the greenhouse that shows a pot with numbers on it. Numbers that correspond to a spot where a mysterious accident occurred two decades ago.”

  Zack sighed deeply, a sigh Eliza interpreted as relief. “I’m so glad you know about it, too,” he said. “I just figured out what those numbers meant myself. And only this afternoon I spoke with Bill the bartender, who’s been around this place forever, and asked if that West Lake Road location meant anything special to him. When he told me about the accident that had taken place there, I got this horrible feeling. As if Innis were trying to tell me something. Tell us all something.”

  “Did you put those numbers on the pot?” asked Eliza.

  “No, Innis did,” said Zack. “Even though I told him that they were distracting, he insisted on keeping the numbers and the pot on display. But, you know, there were other things he asked me to do that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”

  “Like what?” asked Eliza.

  Zack looked around the room. “I don’t really feel comfortable talking about them here.”

  “Would you be willing to talk to me about it in private?” asked Eliza.

  “Yes, I think I would,” said Zack. “If Innis is leaving us some sort of message from the grave, that isn’t something I’d want to deal with alone.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Eliza finished her coffee and looked around the ballroom. She spotted Russell and went over to speak with him again.

  “I want to say good-bye to your mother, too,” she said. “But I can’t find her. Would you thank her for me and tell her I’ll call when I get back this weekend?”

  “I will,” said Russell. “I know she’s so happy that you’ll be spending time up here. I am, too. She needs her friends now. Bad enough she lost her husband, but now this Eunice thing. I don’t know what she’s going to do.”