Collecting Shadows

by Gary Williams

The man continued another block as cars occasionally passed by on the dark street. Liam maintained a healthy distance between them, fidgeting with his phone, as if distracted. At the next intersection, the man rounded the corner. Out of sight, Liam hurried to catch up and make the turn. By the time he reached the intersection, the man had disappeared.

  “Great,” Liam said under his breath. He continued on, searching the dark houses for movement. There was no way the man could have gotten more than five or six houses ahead of him, and on the sixth house, Liam heard the click of a door closing. It had come from the back yard. He eased up the narrow dirt driveway. A light came on inside a second-floor garage apartment behind the main house.

  Liam moved as stealthily as possible. He pressed up against the side of the house watching the light filter down from the apartment above a short distance away.

  Okay, now what?

  A lone car was parked in the grass. He barely made out the wooden stairwell leading to the second floor. Steadying his resolve, Liam snuck over the grass to the base of the stairs. In the darkness, he took a blind step, pleased the wooden slat didn’t creak. Then he took another step and another one without a sound.

  Thank God.

  He brought his foot down expecting to feel the next step. Instead, his foot landed on something squishy, and a fetid smell struck him. Liam quickly pulled back. Whatever he had stepped on had mass. Breathing heavily, he whipped out his flip phone for light. Cast in the green glow, the remains of a small animal lay mangled on the slat.

  Liam felt his stomach flop. In a panic, he rushed down the dark stairs, praying he didn’t stumble in the dark. He knew he was making noise, but he didn’t care. He ran from the back yard and didn’t stop until he reached the corner at Kirkside Apartments where One was holding the base of a ladder. Above, Bailey was near the top rung eyeing the column as she ran a hand over the surface.

  “You okay?” One asked.

  Liam held up a finger. He had to catch his breath first. “Yeah,” he finally managed, “the guy…I followed…lives in a garage apartment on Saragossa.”

  “Is he the Scottish guy?” Bailey called down.

  “No idea.” Liam looked at Bailey, then back at One. “How come you’re not up there?”

  “Afraid of heights,” One shrugged.

  “Bailey, come down for a minute.”

  She complied. “What’s up?”

  “I want to know what that guy was doing. Will your key get us to where he was in the garage?”

  Bailey nodded.

  Liam led them to the dark building. Bailey again unlocked her mother’s parking bay and they entered the garage. Bailey passed by her mom’s car, moving through the dark to the back of the bay. There was a flick, and the light came on. Again, she used the key to open an interior door.

  “This way,” she motioned, passing through the doorway, which led to a hallway running horizontally behind the parking bays. A series of windows allowed in moonlight, lighting their way as they went. At the far end, a closed door came into view.

  “What’s that?” One asked.

  “A storage area, I think. My key won’t get us inside.”

  “We don’t need it,” Liam said as they reached it. The door was ajar.

  Bailey was surprised. “This door’s never open.”

  Liam pushed the door open and was greeted by a musty smell. He found a light switch on the rough wall and flipped it on. Inside the small, windowless room, things had been placed in a neat arrangement. Garden ornaments, such as paver stones, statues of small animals, and a pedestal fountain, were on the left. On the right were holiday decorations. To the rear were four thick, white objects, each standing several feet tall.

  At first, Liam thought they were low stools, or possibly small tables: flat on top with the shaft of each carved with flowers and leaves. Then he understood. Liam spoke to Bailey, “Remember when I questioned whether the columns were from Kirkside because they didn’t resemble Corinthian columns?”

  “Yes.”

  “To fit the apartment complex, which isn’t as tall as Flagler’s mansion, the shafts must have been shortened and the fancy Corinthian capitals were replaced with simple capitals.”

  One pointed ahead in revelation, “And these are the original ones.”

  “Wow,” Bailey said, kneeling in front of them. Liam and One knelt on either side of her.

  “This must be where the clue is,” Liam said.

  Two minutes later, Bailey discovered a series of tiny numbers pressed into the wooden top section of one of the capitals. They left patting each other on the back. Once outside, they sat down on the front portico of Kirkside Apartments.

  Bailey texted Patty to advise them of their success. Almost instantly, Liam heard the chime of Bailey’s phone. He watched as she read Patty’s response. Her face lit up with a dazzled expression. While Mr. Mast’s death had cast a cloak of despair over the group, they were moving forward, following in Mr. Mast’s footsteps. It not only felt good, it felt right: a way to avenge his death by discovering the treasure before the killer. While it initially seemed impossible, they were now one step closer.

  Bailey smiled after reading. “They got it. They got the clue from the fanlight window at the house on St. George Street. More numbers.”

  “We’re halfway there,” One said with a budding grin.

  52

  Farlan locked his fingers together behind his head and leaned back in the chair, still staring at the screen. He had finished decoding the clue from the column capital. With four of the six clues found and translated, Ida Alice Flagler’s message was taking shape. Finding the capitals in the building behind Kirkside Apartments had been a long shot, but it had paid off. He had a hunch the property owner wouldn’t have discarded the tops of the columns given their history, and he was right.

  When Farlan began the hunt, he had hoped each additional clue would add new insight. It wasn’t to be. Ida Alice’s message was one sentence, formed by six grouped clues. Clearly, there would be no way to guess at the missing words. He would have to gather all six clues.

  Yet getting this far was a victory. He felt his luck turning.

  Only one thing bothered him. The disturbance outside earlier had kept him on alert this evening. Someone had been on the stairwell, and he had watched from his window as an androgynous figure fled, most likely a boy given the way he ran, and probably a transient. This fuckin’ town was full of them. Or maybe it was a petty thief attempting to break into the house. Whoever it was, Farlan would remain vigilant. With Ron Mast out of his way, another player might have found clues Mast left behind. His one regret when the teacher had fought back was killing the man so fast. He never had a chance to learn how Mast knew about Ida Alice Flagler’s branded objects or whether Mast had shared information with anyone.

  Farlan realized he might be overthinking things. The figure had run away like a frightened child. Surely, if someone had any idea what he was up to, and the murders he’d committed, the police would already be knocking on his door.

  53

  It was approaching midnight when Bailey, One, and Liam reached the rendezvous point at the payphone on the side of the multi-story public parking garage. It was the only one Bailey knew of in town, kept primarily for use by the homeless.

  Liam made a quick call to his aunt on his cell phone. He used the excuse that he and the others were still talking and reminiscing about Mr. Mast as a reason to stay out late on a school night. Aunt Rita had no objections and encouraged him to take as much time as he needed.

  She could never replace his mother or father, but he was growing to appreciate her.

  They stood in the well-lit breezeway waiting for the others. They didn’t have to wait long.

  “Hello, fortune-hunting squad,” Calvin said, as he approached. Patty was at his side, and Random was beside her.

  “We slayed the fanlight without breaking a sweat. Victory is ours,” Patty said.

  One spoke, “Talking like a warrio
r. Is that a thing?”

  “It is now,” Random nodded.

  Calvin pulled out his phone, and turned the screen so everyone could see.

  Unlike the series of numbers Mr. Mast had found on the pergola, and the ones they discovered on the column capital, which were separated into two sets, these were broken into three sets:

  26 15 15 12 11 13 111 22 16

  Bailey removed a pad and pencil from her purse and jotted them down.

  “Do you guys really think this could lead to priceless artwork by Da Vinci?” Random asked.

  “Don’t forget the egg,” One added.

  “It’s a code that leads to something,” Liam said.

  “Here’s the update to Mr. Mast’s notes,” Bailey held it out for them to see.

  1. Column:16 22 25 27 25 15 11 26 28 25 15

  2. Pergola:19 21 16 112 22 25 19 14 11

  3. Fanlight Window:26 15 15 12 11 13 111 22 16

  4. Timepiece:No progress. Not sure as to what this refers.

  5. Staircase banister:Any clue lost with house fire?

  6. Front door:No status.

  “As exciting as this is, we still don’t have any idea how to decipher the numbers,” Patty said. “We can get all the clues in the world, but unless we figure out the code, it does us no good.”

  “If Mr. Mast’s killer, that Scottish man, is after the same thing we are, we’ve got to beat him to it,” Bailey said. She nodded to Liam, “You ready to make the call?”

  “Yes.”

  “You ordering pizza?” Cal asked.

  “I’m going to call the police and give them an anonymous tip about the man I followed.” He explained to Calvin, Patty, and Random about tailing the man. “I don’t have his address, but I can give them enough to go on.”

  “Just because you found a dead cat on his stairs, doesn’t mean he murdered someone,” Random said.

  “I just have a feeling,” Liam said.

  “And you think the cops will take you seriously?” Patty asked.

  Liam approached the payphone. “When I tell them that Erlinda Crewson, Granville Turnfield, Gabriel Young, and Mr. Mast may have all been killed by this Scottish man, they’ll have to check it out. With any luck, they’ll find something incriminating. Or maybe they’ll detain him for a few days. It may give us time to locate the other pieces from Kirkside.” Liam dialed 911. He cupped the phone, “As soon as I hang up, we need to get out of here. The police may be able to tell where the call is coming from.”

  54

  From the window, at first light on Monday, Farlan watched a dark blue sedan park along Saragossa Street in front of the main house. Two well-dressed individuals, a male and a female, exited the vehicle and walked through the back yard toward the stairs. No doubt, they were police detectives. Their gait and overt approach suggested to Farlan they weren’t there to arrest him.

  He had taken the time last night to remove the small animal carcass after someone had been on the steps. He was glad he had.

  The two made their way up the stairs and knocked on his door.

  Farlan opened the door. “Aye, may I help you?”

  The male began, “Sir, my name is Detective Sanders, and this is Detective Reinhold.” They each flashed their badges. “We’d like to talk to you regarding several homicides in the area.”

  “Homicides?” Farlan acted surprised. “Not sure how I can help, but come in.”

  During questioning, Farlan maintained the ruse of being Furman Ainsley, a consultant to Piedmont Publishing in the U.K. Piedmont was a real company, and Farlan had a friend who worked there who would cover for him if the authorities attempted to verify his status. Farlan had set up a shell company called Magistrate Consulting based in Dundee, Scotland, under the guise it was a consulting firm which assisted in research for non-fiction books. Also, all of Farlan’s credentials, including his passport, were in the name of Furman Ainsley. He knew his false identity would hold up to scrutiny.

  Nearly an hour later, the detectives left the apartment, seemingly satisfied with his answers. He would lay low for a day in case police were tailing him.

  Now, Farlan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the person on his stairwell earlier was a problem that he would have to deal with. This was a death that was necessary, thus it was a kill he would vastly enjoy.

  55

  Thanksgiving school break would begin early this year. Two days designated for hurricane activity had not been needed, and were applied to Tuesday and Wednesday of Thanksgiving week. Thus, they were off from school at the conclusion of class on Monday and wouldn’t return until the following Monday.

  With their three numeric clues in hand, the history club met after school on Monday in Classroom 222. It was a sobering experience without Mr. Mast to lead them. They spent an hour and a half trying to decipher the codes, brainstorming on how they might find the other Kirkside items, and lastly, attempting to figure out what Lucius Mast had meant by “timepiece.” Unfortunately, they made no progress on any front.

  With the holiday approaching, Calvin and Patty were leaving Tuesday morning to travel across the state to Patty’s grandmother’s house in Clearwater and wouldn’t return until Sunday. The others vowed to resume the hunt on Friday after Thanksgiving.

  Liam wasn’t about to stop. He was driven by anger over Mr. Mast’s death. He had also convinced Bailey to keep going. It wasn’t a hard sell.

  Liam woke up early Tuesday. He donned his usual blue jeans and tee shirt, but because of the moderate temperature, layered it with a sweatshirt, and met Bailey in front of Flagler College near the statue of Henry Flagler. It was obvious that the college students were also on break, as there was no activity in the courtyard. Bailey approached wearing blue jeans, a snug pink sweater and a black baseball cap. Liam had never seen her in a hat, but he wasn’t disappointed. There was a beauty that surrounded Bailey that never dimmed.

  “Good morning,” Liam said.

  “I’ve never met someone my age who was as much of a morning person as you,” she said, suppressing a yawn.

  “I don’t sleep too well.”

  “I don’t either. Last night, I was up trying to figure out Ida Alice Flagler’s cryptic code. Still nothing. And then there’s the mysterious ‘timepiece.’ It’s got to be something like a grandfather clock.”

  Liam shook his head, “I don’t think so. If it were a grandfather clock, why didn’t Lucius just say so? He knew the correct names of the pergola and fanlight window. Seems like an intelligent guy. It’s almost as if the ‘timepiece’ was something rare, or maybe unusual.” Liam raised his eyes upward in thought then stared at Bailey.

  “What?” Bailey asked, her curiosity obviously piqued by Liam’s expression.

  Instead of answering, he grabbed her hand and led her away. “Is Memorial Presbyterian Church open this early?”

  “No, but if Mrs. Atworth is there, I can get us inside.”

  They quickly reached the church. Liam pointed to the corner where a walkway led through the exterior garden of the church. Resting on a stone stand was a half-moon-shaped metal object with an arrow angled through either side, intersected by a second curve of metal. “See that?”

  “A sundial?”

  “I hadn’t paid it much attention, but it is a timepiece.”

  “You think it might have come from Kirkside?” Bailey asked, curiosity lighting up her brown eyes.

  “There’s a chance. We need to see the diorama inside again. I remember it showed a tiny object on a stand in the garden in front of the mansion.”

  This time, Bailey grabbed his hand. “C’mon.”

  She led him up to the door of the church. Surprisingly, the doors were unlocked. The two stepped inside.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Bailey remarked. They continued across the long nave and reached the room near the back. Liam trotted through the opening toward the small diorama of Kirkside. If he was right, the timepiece might have been in full view all this time.

  “There,”
he pointed, as Bailey caught up to him. “Right there, standing on the grounds in front of Kirkside.”

  Bailey knelt to see through the front of the glass case. “It does look like a sundial.”

  “Actually, it’s an armillary sundial,” a voice coming from behind startled them. “Originally invented by the Greeks several hundred years BCE.”

  Mrs. Atworth stood in the opening. “When Kirkside was demolished, the church adopted the sundial and placed it in the garden out front near the street corner.”

  Liam felt a charge of adrenaline. “I knew it.”

  “Unfortunately,” Mrs. Atworth continued, “it was stolen not long afterward. The church purchased a new one out of a catalogue, but it’s not an exact replica of the one from Kirkside. About five years ago, it was also stolen. We’re on our second replacement sundial, now.”

  “You have no idea where the original sundial is?” Bailey asked in a disappointed tone.

  “It was never recovered.”

  Liam felt his excitement falter.

  Mrs. Atworth continued, “Funny you should ask. A man stopped in about three weeks ago also inquiring about the sundial. He had an accent. Welsh, maybe Scottish. What’s your interest in it?”

  Liam and Bailey exchanged a knowing glance.

  56

  One rode his bike to his mom’s office at Ashton Realty on U.S. 1. Most of the agents had taken the day off, and those who hadn’t were showing listings. She had offered to order pizza in, and he wasn’t about to decline.

  “Hello Arturo,” she greeted him as he entered the small office.

  “Hey Mom. How’s business?”

  “Slow, but I’ve got some prospects. I talked to your father this morning. He’s left Chile and is in Uruguay now.”

  “Sucks that he has to travel.”

  “It’s his job. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m still sad about Mr. Mast’s death. I can’t believe someone would kill him. He was such a good man.”