Dying for Mercy

by Mary Jane Clark

  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.”

  CHAPTER 127

  Directory assistance provided the number for William O’Shaughnessy. He answered on the second ring. Eliza identified herself and asked if she could talk with him in person.

  “About what?” he asked.

  “Your brother Marty,” said Eliza.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said Bill. “He’s been gone a long time, and there’s no sense dredging all that up again.”

  “Whether we like it or not, Bill, ‘all that’ is being dredged up again. And we suspect that the three murders in the last week are somehow related to what happened back then. Anyone who knows anything that could help has a responsibility to stand up before anyone else gets hurt.”

  There was a pause on the phone. “All right,” Bill said finally. “But let’s talk outside the park, at my house. I have to work later, so now’s a good time for you to come over.”

  The clapboard bungalow was just off Route 17, on a road with a dozen similar ones. Most of them had peeling paint and overgrown yards, but O’Shaughnessy’s was well maintained. A big green shamrock was painted on the mailbox.

  Bill was waiting at the door and welcomed them in. The living room was neat, with space for only a sofa, two chairs, and a coffee table. There was a small fireplace, a wedding picture hanging above it.

  “Is Mrs. O’Shaughnessy here, too?” asked Eliza, glancing toward the back of the house where she supposed the kitchen would be.

  “My wife is dead,” said Bill.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Eliza. “Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” said Bill. “She’s at peace now.”

  He gestured for everyone to take a seat. Once they were all settled, Eliza got right to the point.

  “When you and I talked on the day of Innis Wheelock’s funeral, you told me about the accident on West Lake Road all those years ago, but you didn’t mention that it was your brother’s car.”

  Eliza looked expectantly at Bill, waiting for him to explain.

  “I just don’t like to talk about what happened to Marty,” said Bill. “I never have.”

  “I can understand that,” said Eliza. “But what happened to your brother is influencing what’s happening today. We believe that Innis Wheelock devised a puzzle before he died, and the first clue led to West Lake Road—and therefore to your brother. But somebody doesn’t like the idea that the pieces of the puzzle are being put together.”

  “Have you figured out any more of the puzzle?” asked Bill.

  Eliza thought quickly. Perhaps she had to give some information to get some.

  “Well, we found something at West Lake Road that led us to the old Heavener place,” said Eliza.

  “Nine Chimneys,” added Annabelle.

  Bill nodded. “I remember the place,” he said. “It was beautiful before it burned down.”

  “It was at Nine Chimneys that we found another clue,” said Eliza.

  “Some lettered blocks that when put together with similar ones at Pentimento spelled out the word ‘crematory.’”

  Bill’s head fell forward. “Oh, dear God, no,” he said softly. “Don’t tell me that bastard burned my brother.”

  Annabelle went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. Bill’s hand trembled as he took it from her.

  “Can you continue, Bill?” asked Eliza.

  “Yes,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “That miserable, evil bastard.”

  “Who?” asked Eliza.

  “Clay Vitalli,” said Bill. “The great protector of the people, that son of a bitch. And I’m no better. In fact, I’m worse. I let him get away with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I didn’t raise a ruckus back then, didn’t scream bloody murder to find out what happened. I should have fought for my brother, but I didn’t. I just kept my mouth shut when Marty went missing, like Clay Vitalli told me to.”

  “There must have been a reason you did that,” said Eliza.

  “Clay told me if I didn’t drop the whole thing with Marty, something might just happen to Moira.” Bill looked beseechingly at Eliza. “You have to understand. Even then Clay was very connected. There was no telling what he could make happen. I really believed he might hurt my Moira—or worse.”

  “It must have been horrible for you,” said Eliza.

  “It was,” said Bill. “But you can rationalize a lot when you want to. I came to realize that Marty had no one but himself to blame.”

  “How so?” asked Eliza.

  Bill got up and walked out of the room. When he came back, he held a snapshot in his hand. He turned it over to Eliza.

  “He was good-looking, wasn’t he?” asked Bill.

  Eliza nodded as she looked at the red-haired man standing shirtless with one hand on his hip and the other propped up on a shovel. She passed the picture to Annabelle.

  “And he knew it,” said Bill. “Marty was a player. Handsome, great build, and a real way with the ladies. He had established his own landscaping business, and it gave him access to well-off women who lived in the big houses. You dip your pen into somebody else’s inkwell enough times and you’re bound to get ca
ught.”

  “You think somebody’s husband found out that his wife was fooling around with your brother?”

  “Maybe,” said Bill.

  “And that Marty was killed for it?”

  “Put it this way,” said Bill. “His car was found crashed and empty. He was never seen or heard from again.”

  “It said in the old newspaper accounts that it was thought he’d gone to Ireland,” said Annabelle.

  “If that was the case, don’t you think we would have heard from him again after all this time?” asked Bill. “No, Marty is dead. I’m certain of that.”

  Everyone sat quietly for a moment.

  “Perhaps you’ll allow me one last question,” Eliza said eventually. “Can you think of any reason that Innis sent us to West Lake Road?”

  Bill fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable with saying more but knowing that the truth had to come out.

  “Because,” he finally answered, “Marty had an affair with Innis Wheelock’s wife.”

  CHAPTER 128

  A walk along the water’s edge, a close examination of the boats, a slow and purposeful stroll through the boathouse—all of it was necessary in order to figure out what Innis had meant with his clue about the dock.

  Had Eliza Blake and her cohorts figured it out?

  “Sunken Dreams” below the picture of Innis and Valentina aboard the Guv was a very fitting caption. When the boat sank—or, more correctly, was sunk—it took a dream along with it. The dream of the perfect union of Innis and Valentina Wheelock, the coming-together of a man and woman, united in purpose and exclusive to each other, was dead.

  Though there was little doubt that Innis had loved Valentina to his dying day, he must have known he could no longer trust his wife. Once unfaithful, she would be forever suspect in his mind.

  Who could blame him?

  Perhaps even worse was the fact that Innis had been forced, or at least had chosen, to cover up her indiscretion. With a political campaign under way for the governorship, a scandal like that would ruin everything for which they’d all worked so hard.

  So Innis had swallowed it.

  There was no way in the world that should have been an option. When a woman did something like that, it could never be forgotten—or forgiven.

  CHAPTER 129

  Eliza, Annabelle, and B.J. kept interested but dispassionate expressions on their faces as the conversation with Bill O’Shaughnessy continued.

  “What can you tell us about their relationship?” asked Eliza.

  Bill shrugged. “What can I say? I know he was with her for a couple of months.”

  “This would have been before she was governor, right?” asked Annabelle, thinking back to the date of the newspaper articles on Marty’s disappearance. They’d been dating prior to Valentina’s move to Albany.

  “Yes,” said Bill.

  “Was the relationship with Valentina still going on when your brother disappeared?” asked Eliza.

  “I think so,” said Bill. “But Marty never gave me too many details about any of the women he snagged. He could be a dog, but he wasn’t a big mouth. He didn’t brag about his conquests.”

  “Did Marty ever say that he thought Innis knew about his wife’s affair?” asked Eliza.

  “Not to me he didn’t,” answered Bill.

  “Let’s switch gears for a minute,” said Eliza as she consulted her notebook. “Let’s look at the places Innis has pointed us to so far. First, West Lake Road, the site where Marty’s car was found abandoned. Second, he sent us to Nine Chimneys and the letter blocks that spelled out ‘crematory.’”

  Bill winced as she said the word.

  “I’m sorry,” Eliza apologized, “but the carvings on the blocks also led us to the turtle fountain at Pentimento, which led us to the club’s boathouse.”

  “Find anything there?” asked Bill.

  “A picture of Innis and Valentina together on their boat along with a stuffed fish that Innis was seen holding in the picture. The name of the boat was Guv, but we didn’t see it moored out by the dock.”

  “And you won’t,” said Bill. “The boat disappeared a long time ago.”

  Eliza, Annabelle, and B.J. glanced at one another. “Disappeared?” asked B.J.

  “Maybe it sank,” said Bill. “Maybe it didn’t. All I know is that suddenly it wasn’t moored there anymore. You see, I paid attention to that boat. I’d look for it every time I drove past the dock on my way to work, because I knew that it was Marty and Mrs. Wheelock’s little love nest.”

  CHAPTER 130

  As they left Bill O’Shaughnessy’s house, Eliza’s phone sounded. The hospital was calling to say that Mack had regained consciousness.

  Eliza closed her eyes, “Thank God,” she said, and told Annabelle and B.J. the good news. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

  On the drive to Good Samaritan, they discussed what Bill had told them.

  “That was a bombshell, huh?” said Annabelle.

  “Yeah, America’s sweetheart is a fallen woman,” said B.J.

  “It happens,” said Annabelle. “The question is, do we report it?”

  “My feeling is we don’t,” said Eliza. “At least not yet. Unless it turns out that the affair had something to do with Marty O’Shaughnessy’s disappearance and death.”

  “We’ve got to talk to her, you know,” said Annabelle.

  Eliza nodded. “And we will. I’ll call her later and ask if I can come to Pentimento and speak with her. But now all I want to do is get to Mack.”

  Eliza entered the hospital room, walked over to the bed, and kissed Mack on the forehead.

  “Mack,” she said softly. “It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Eliza.”

  He slowly opened his lids. His eyes were dull and cloudy but brightened a bit when he recognized her. He raised his hand to his throat as he tried to speak.

  “Don’t try to talk, darling. You can’t with the breathing tube,” said Eliza, taking his hand. She felt him feebly squeeze hers.

  “Oh, Mack, I’ve been so worried about you.”

  She looked into his eyes, and he gazed back at her. Eliza detected frustration even in his weakened state and knew he wanted to say something.

  “How about you blink once for yes, twice for no?” she suggested.

  Mack blinked once.

  “Great,” said Eliza. “There’s more than one way to communicate, isn’t there?”

  She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it. There was so much she wanted to tell him, but all she could do was hang on to him and pray he was through the worst of it.

  Pale and helpless as he lay in the hospital bed, Mack tried to stay awake.

  “Go ahead, sweetheart,” she said. “You have to rest. Let yourself fall asleep.”

  He blinked once and closed his eyes.

  When she felt confident he was going to be out for a while, Eliza stepped out and spoke to one of the nurses. The nurse told her there was no predicting how long Mack would sleep and that even when he awoke, it was best that he rest quietly.

  “Can the breathing tube be removed?” asked Eliza.

  “Not yet,” said the nurse. “The doctor wants to leave it in for a while. He’s not out of the woods quite yet.”

  CHAPTER 131

  After she left the hospital, Eliza called Mack’s parents and gave them an update. Then she called Valentina and asked if she could come and talk to her about something. They agreed that Eliza would come to Pentimento tomorrow morning, after she signed off on KTA.

  Eliza, Annabelle, and B.J. conferred and agreed they would hold off on reporting their discoveries at the fountain and in the boathouse until the meanings were clearer. They also agreed not to tell anyone about Valentina Wheelock’s affair—at least not until Eliza had a chance to talk with her.

  “All right,” said Eliza as she got into the security car. “We’re all on the same page. We won’t be reporting any of this on the show tomorrow morning.”

  “Got it, boss,” said B.J
.

  “Me, too,” said Annabelle.

  When Eliza got home, Janie burst from the front door and ran down the driveway to meet her.

  “Mommy, I missed you!” she said, wrapping her arms around her mother. “I thought you were going to come home early since I had no school today.”

  “Well, I’m home now, Monkey,” she said as she hugged her child back. “The rest of the day is just for us.”

  Janie stretched and twisted along with Eliza as she did her yoga exercises. They played Scrabble Junior and multiple hands of Go Fish before dinner. While Janie took her bath, Eliza called the hospital. Mack was asleep and resting comfortably.

  “What do you want to read tonight?” asked Eliza as Janie got ready for bed.

  “My St. Francis books,” said Janie.

  “Good idea,” said Eliza. “And let’s see if we can come up with some plans for your Halloween costume from the pictures.”

  They snuggled beside each other and read about the poor man of Assisi, the man who wanted his life to be a perfect imitation of Christ’s. They read about his vow of poverty and aid to the poor, his caring for the lepers, his love of nature, his sermon to the birds, his taming of the wolf, his prayer, his fasting, his manual labor.

  “I don’t think I could ever be as good as St. Francis,” said Janie, her eyelids growing heavy.

  “He was a saint, Janie,” said Eliza. “Not many people grow up to be saints, but you can just try to be the best person you can be.”

  When they got to the end of the second book, Janie insisted that Eliza read her the Canticle of the Sun. By the fifth stanza, Janie was nodding, and by the tenth the child was asleep. Eliza read the last stanzas out loud anyway.

  She closed the book, wondering not why Innis Wheelock had chosen St. Francis’s beautiful song for his prayer card but rather why he had chosen only four of the fourteen stanzas.

  Quietly Eliza slipped out of Janie’s bed, switched off the lights, and tiptoed from the room, carrying the book with her. She went down the hall to her own bedroom and retrieved Innis’s prayer card from her purse. She read the stanzas and compared them to the ones in Janie’s book. Not only had specific stanzas been selected, but they were not listed in the same order as in the original Canticle of the Sun.