Collecting Shadows Page 24

  Liam nodded. “That’s good. Well, I’d better get Pilot home. Here,” he handed her the paper, “I made this copy for you.”

  Back home, Liam continued to study the disjointed clues. Aunt Rita was still gone. He began to feel isolated, trapped in the place by himself. He needed to clear his mind. He wrote Aunt Rita a note, left it on the cash register counter, and set out on a walk. With no intent, he ended up in front of Flagler College staring at the large statue of Henry Flagler before the entrance to the courtyard.

  It portrayed a regal, mustached man, larger than life, staring slightly up and to Liam’s left. He wore a frock coat, vest, dress pants, and dress shoes, and his right hand dipped into his pants pocket.

  Liam recalled what Mr. Mast had said to him on the ride home after they left Granville Turnfield’s house. Mr. Mast had confided in Liam that he believed Turnfield was a Koyster—a group rumored to have information about an undiscovered treasure. Mr. Mast had said, “The group met where the owner didn’t look.”

  If there was, in fact, a treasure left by Henry Flagler, maybe they were referring to where his statue didn’t look. Liam turned, and estimated the statue’s visage was aimed at nothing in particular on the other side of King Street. He looked across the street and slightly left, fixing his gaze on the former Hotel Alcazar. He recalled the morning he and Bailey had spent together in the Alcazar courtyard. Now, he felt a strong urge to return.

  Traffic was minimal as Liam crossed over and cut through the grounds. He kept to the wide sidewalk, circling the large fountain. Liam reached the front of the building and made his way through the spacious open-air passageway and into the lush courtyard. This early in the morning, the interior grounds were empty.

  Returning here brought back the memory of standing on the footbridge with Bailey and watching the koi swimming aimlessly in the pond.

  Koi.

  Liam walked to the right, following the loggia that ran the perimeter of the courtyard. There was an answer here. He could feel it. He wondered if it had stared them in the face, and they had missed it.

  He felt the anticipation build as he cut toward the footbridge. At the summit, he stopped and lowered his eyes to the water six feet below. Again, the koi grouped beneath him. He looked to the edge of the pond where he’d previously noticed the flat, oval-shaped granite rocks.

  The similarity of their shape and size were beyond mere coincidence.

  For Liam, everything suddenly made sense: the granite stones, the koi fish.

  Of course.

  Liam left the courtyard in a hurry. He stopped at the fountain in front and pulled out his phone.

  ****

  Bailey was watching television when her cell phone rang. It was Liam. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I need you to check something. Go out and search the grounds of the apartment for an oval granite stone. It’ll have an inscription on it.”

  “Um, I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I promised mom I wouldn’t leave the apartment. After what happened and all.”

  “I see.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Why do you want me to look for a stone.”

  “I have a theory.”

  “And this has to do with the treasure?”

  “Yes.”

  “It won’t hurt if I go outside for a minute.” She traversed the portico, passed the columns, and stopped at the driveway. “Wait, you said an oval stone with writing?”

  “Yes. A granite stone.”

  “There’s one in the garden. It’s some sort of a marker for a deceased pet. It’s been there since we moved in,” Bailey said, heading to that side of the building. “Here it is.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Moby.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, a date of—”

  “1979.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Do you know where that man burned to death in his house on Mulvey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meet me there in five minutes.”

  “Liam, what’s—?”

  The line went dead.

  65

  “Liam, what’s going on?” Bailey said, walking up to the burned remains of what was once Granville Turnfield’s two-story house. “If my mom finds out I left the apartment, she’ll kill me.”

  “Follow me, and I’ll explain.”

  Liam angled around the side. Bailey had to run to keep up. Even after a week and a half, the stench of ash remained strong.

  “Koysters, Bailey. Did you ever wonder about the name?”

  “Not really.”

  “I didn’t either until I was just in the courtyard of the Hotel Alcazar. I don’t think the name of the group was Koysters with a ‘y.’ I think it was spelled K-o-i-s-t-e-r-s; as in koi, the fish.”

  “Why would a secret group name themselves after fish?”

  “Because they took six stones from the koi pond.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I kept wondering why each of the members didn’t have a complete list of the clues, when in fact, they didn’t have to. Each member knew where the six clues could be found.” He eased along the ground, poking his shoe in the weeds. “Here it is,” he pointed to the oval granite stone he uncovered. “See the inscription?”

  Bailey saw that the stone was roughly the same size and shape as the one outside her apartment. She turned so that the writing faced her. “Mr. Limpet. 1979.”

  “Mr. Limpet is the name of a movie from the 1960s. My dad loved old movies, and he made me watch it once. It was about a man who turns into a fish.”

  “The name on the stone at the apartment was Moby; another fish name,” Bailey said.

  “Actually, it’s a mammal, but you’re on the right track.”

  “And they both had the date 1979. Do you think there’s an oval stone at each location where one of the six pieces of Kirkside was located?”

  “Where Drew and I found the sundial, I saw a stone that read, Bruce.”

  “Who names a fish Bruce?”

  “One of my father’s favorite movies was Jaws. He told me they used a mechanical shark they called Bruce to film it. It also had the date 1979.”

  “What’s the relevance of the date?”

  Liam shrugged. “I’m not sure. It may have been when they decided to place the clues on the stones.” Liam knelt, and picked up the stone at their feet. “I believe they wrote the clues onto the back of each stone. If I’m right, the code for the staircase banister, the only one we’re missing, is on the bottom of this one.” He flipped it over, and used his hand to rub the dirt off.

  Bailey watched with anticipation as the stone surface cleared.

  It was blank.

  Liam tossed the stone to the ground. He paced away a dozen steps and returned. “I don’t understand. What are the odds that we found three oval granite stones with the names of fish and the date 1979 at the exact location of three of the missing pieces from Kirkside? It has to mean something.”

  “Maybe it does.” Bailey walked to the back wall of the grizzled house. She found a piece of burned board that she pried off and returned to Liam.

  “What are you doing?” Liam asked.

  “Digging. Maybe what we’re looking for is underneath the stone.” She crouched and used the end of the wood to scrape the ground where the stone had left an impression. Despite the surrounding weeds, the earth was soft, and she made steady progress.

  “Here, let me help,” Liam said, offering to take the plank. Bailey let him.

  Liam used the combination of the wood and his hands to claw at the dirt until he hit something solid. “We’ve got something.”

  Bailey felt a wave of exhilaration as she joined Liam in clearing the dirt away. Using the board, they kept digging until they found the edges of the object. The top was arched, but the edges indicated the rest was box-shaped. They eventually managed to wiggle it free of the earth. The small chest was made from solid material, l
ike wood, but was covered with worn, dark plastic or possibly vinyl.

  “If we open this up and there are animal remains inside, I’m going to puke,” Bailey said.

  Liam released a rusted latch and pulled the top back. Inside was a dark, filthy cloth. Gingerly, Liam drew back the material to reveal a twist of iron. He lifted it from the box. It had a wooden handle like a trowel, with iron that curved underneath and small, intricate scrollwork.

  “What is that?” Bailey asked.

  “I have no idea.” Liam turned it over so they could examine the bottom of the scrollwork.

  Bailey leaned in closer, almost touching heads with Liam. “Are those…numbers?” she pointed to the small, bent designs.

  Liam locked eyes with her only inches away. “This is a branding iron.”

  Bailey was momentarily confused. Then everything crystalized.

  Liam stood, retrieving the piece of wood from the ground. “We’ve got to start a fire.”

  “My apartment. There’s a barrel behind the garage.”

  Together, they walked briskly back to Kirkside Apartments. Liam kept the iron tool tucked inside his jacket with one hand, carrying the piece of wood with his other. The weather remained overcast and cool. It was still early enough that the street remained quiet; not an unusual occurrence on Black Friday.

  “If this is really the last piece of the code, can you imagine?” Bailey said.

  “If it is, you know what that means? In all the yards where the pieces were, each member of the Koisters buried the associated branding iron of the clue they had.”

  “Where do you think they got the branding irons?”

  “Ida Alice Flagler must have had them made to mark the six pieces. I don’t know why I never considered that. Remember what Mr. Mast’s notes said? Granville Turnfield was part of the demolition crew, and they surveyed the building’s interior just days before it was razed. I bet you anything that’s when they discovered that certain pieces of Kirkside had been branded. They found the branding irons and matched them to numbers on those items. That’s when they decided to take the pieces—the door, the columns, and the rest—and distribute them among the Koisters, matching each with their branding iron. In 1979, for whatever reason, they decided to bury those irons in their yards. They took six granite stones from the Hotel Alcazar koi pond and inscribed each with a fish name so the members would know where to find the other pieces.”

  “Do you think they ever solved the clues or found the treasure?”

  “No, I don’t think they figured out the Ouija board was the key to the code. It appears Turnfield was the last surviving Koister.”

  When they reached Kirkside Apartments, Bailey took Liam to the rear of the garage building and showed him an old steel drum. Clipped tree branches and limbs were piled nearby. Liam placed the piece of wood on the ground along with the branding iron and began to load the barrel with branches while Bailey dashed into her apartment. She grabbed the morning newspaper and a book of matches from the kitchen cabinet and returned.

  “All loaded and ready to fire,” Liam said.

  “Help me wad some of these,” she handed Liam a section of the newspaper.

  When they finished, Bailey looked around to make sure no one was watching. She struck a match and dropped it in the drum. The paper caught fire and the dried branches ignited. Bailey fed in a few more brittle sticks.

  As the fire breached the top of the drum, Liam held the bottom side of the branding iron directly into the flame. After a few minutes, it glowed red. “I think it’s ready.” He pulled the iron away, and lowered it to the plank, pressing the bottom into the wood with moderate force. It sizzled and gave off a small puff of smoke as the wood seared. When he pulled it away, the numbers were unmistakable:

  27 18 15 23 11 19 21 27 19 21 17

  Liam pulled the paper and small pencil from his pocket and decoded. “The painting?”

  “That’s what it says?”

  Liam nodded. “When you put the six groups together, it reads, “For treasure in Florida see back of of Ponce the painting de León.” He fixed on her sparkling eyes. “It’s out of order. Mr. Mast’s great-grandfather knew the six mansion pieces that were branded, but he didn’t know the intended order by Ida Alice Flagler.”

  Liam held the paper out so they could both study the grouped phrases. A thought occurred to Bailey. She whipped out her phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Remember the first history club meeting this year when Mr. Mast told us about a painting that once hung in the Hotel Ponce de León?”

  “Sounds familiar,” Liam said.

  She brought up her Google app and typed. “Here it is: Ponce de León in Florida. That’s the entire name of the painting.” She pointed to the paper. “Write that to the side.”

  Liam did. “That takes up three of the phrases: of Ponce de León in Florida. It leaves these three:”

  For treasure – see back of – the painting

  “I’ve got it. See back of the painting of Ponce de León in Florida for treasure,” Bailey said energetically.

  “The treasure is on the back of a painting?”

  “Maybe it’s the final puzzle piece that gives the location?”

  “Where is this painting?”

  “The Cummer Museum in Jacksonville.”

  “Great, how are we going to get there?”

  “I have an idea,” Bailey said. She composed a text message to Random and hit send.

  66

  “How is Mrs. Manacia?” Bailey asked as she and Liam climbed into Random’s Toyota Corolla. Bailey sat up front, Liam in back.

  “Not good. Mr. Manacia is there. One’s still a mess, poor guy.” Random paused as she turned the corner. “Okay, so we’re going to Jacksonville?”

  “The Cummer Museum. I’ll give you directions.”

  “I guess I have a lot to catch up on.”

  Bailey’s GPS mapped out the trip and found it would take just over an hour to arrive at the museum on the north bank of the St. Johns River in an area of Jacksonville known as Riverside.

  Liam and Bailey spent the next 25 minutes discussing the clues they had found and how they rearranged the phrases to lead them to the Ponce de León in Florida painting. Random listened intently as she drove on I-95.

  “So you think the Scottish guy has skipped town?” Random asked.

  “Police feel pretty confident,” Liam said, “and we haven’t been shot at lately, so I’m much happier.”

  Bailey spoke, “Liam, it’s great that we figured out Ida Alice’s message and all, but the museum’s not exactly going to let us examine the back of the painting. Any ideas on how we’re going to do this?”

  “I’m working on it,” he said, staring out the side window. And he was. “Have either of you been to this museum?”

  “I went on a field trip there in middle school,” Bailey said. “It’s a neat place: not too large, but it has a lot of nice art. I remember one painting by Peter Paul Rubens and reading the name, Bernini, on a small statue.”

  “Never heard of either artist, but okay,” Liam said.

  Bailey typed on her smartphone. “Whoa. This Thomas Moran painting of Ponce de León in Florida is, um, almost six feet tall and ten feet wide.”

  “Oh, that makes it easier,” Random laughed nervously.

  “It cost $2 million when it was purchased for the museum in 1997.” She scanned Liam and Random’s faces before adding, “It’s considered one of the centerpieces of the museum.”

  “Which means the security will be sick,” Liam said.

  “There were a few security guards wandering the exhibits when I was there.”

  “Most likely, the exhibits are monitored via closed-circuit cameras,” Random added. “We touch this painting, we’re going to jail.”

  “Do you remember seeing it?” Liam asked Bailey.

  She shook her head no.

  “Is there a chance it’s permanently attached to the wall,” Bailey ask
ed.

  Liam spoke, “Dad once told me paintings in museums normally aren’t because they have to be taken down on occasion for restoration and maintenance.”

  “Even so, won’t a painting six feet by ten feet weigh a ton?” Random asked.

  “At least several hundred pounds, depending on the frame,” Liam replied. “Bailey, can you find a layout of the museum? We’ve got to figure out where they monitor the cameras from.”

  It only took her a minute. “Here’s the floor plan from the museum website,” she handed her phone to Liam.

  Liam studied it. “In developing architectural floorplans, Dad taught me that monitoring rooms are usually in discreet locations, seldom near the front, usually down a back hallway. Based on this layout, I believe the room will be down the north hallway.”

  “Now do you have a plan?” Bailey asked apprehensively.

  “Yes, but odds are, we’ll still go to jail,” Liam said.

  “You going to share?” Random asked.

  “Not until after we’ve had a chance to see the painting.”

  “You mean the $2 million painting?” Random added.

  ****

  They arrived just after noon. The sky had clouded, and the temperature was cool. Traffic was unusually heavy due to the Black Friday shopping lunacy, but once they crossed the Fuller Warren Bridge in the heart of Jacksonville and reached Park Street, the congestion thinned. The parking lot of the Cummer Museum was nearly empty. Apparently, admiring quality art was in conflict with saving money on Christmas shopping.

  “The website said admission is $6 for students,” Bailey said as they exited the car.

  “I’ve got my share,” Random said, over the top of the car, closing her door.

  Liam didn’t have a dime. He silently appealed to Bailey.

  She read his expression and offered a smile. “I’ve got you covered.”

  Random blurted out, “If dumb people are dimwitted, are the smart ones brightwitted?”

  By now, Liam had learned not to respond. They crossed the street and took the steps to the tall, glass-front doors and entered the atrium. They approached a large desk where a woman in her late forties with her hair in a bun smiled. Not far behind the desk, a hallway ran to the left and right, perpendicular to the atrium.