Collecting Shadows

by Gary Williams

  She rubbed his shoulder as he took a seat next to her desk, “I know, mijo, and after that other teacher died falling down the stairs. What was her name? Mrs. Crewsome? It’s like there is some bad mojo in the air, but it will pass.”

  The members of the history club had made an agreement not to mention finding Mr. Mast’s notes regarding a treasure, but a thought occurred to One. He would risk asking his mother.

  “Mom, have you ever heard stories that pieces from Henry Flagler’s mansion were taken by residents of the city when the mansion was demolished?”

  “Of course. Working in this business, I come across houses all the time where the owners claim they have this or that from Flagler’s place. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, just curious. Mr. Mast had a fascination with locating the pieces.” It was only a partial lie. “I thought the members of the history club could honor him by putting a list together.”

  “That’s a wonderful thought, cariño.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. His mother rose, grabbing her purse. “Lunchtime.”

  After she paid for the pizza and drinks, they broke out the paper plates and plastic utensils. One required neither, grabbing a slice and eating straight from the box.

  “About those pieces,” he prompted as he chewed.

  “Don’t speak with your mouth full,” she took a drink of soda. “Let’s see, I know the columns from the mansion are now part of Kirkside Apartments. There’s a fanlight window at a house on St. George Street, but I don’t recall the address. There’s the pergola on the island, but again, I don’t remember the address. I’m sure I can find them, though. I also know of a couple who have a large display cabinet in their house.”

  Of course, One was aware of the columns, window, and pergola, but a display cabinet wasn’t one of the items on the list. “Any more, Mom?”

  “Yes, I seem to recall one more. Ah, yes, it’s a listing that Marcy once had.” She pulled a file from the drawer. “It’s at 97 Magnolia Avenue, near the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park. One of the original front doors from Kirkside is there.”

  One gobbled down his lunch and 10 minutes later scrambled out of the office to contact Random, Bailey, and Liam. Random was able to pick them up in her car one by one, and the troop set off for Magnolia Avenue.

  57

  It had been nearly three months since Stewart Farlan had begun the hunt. If his run of good luck continued, he might be back home in Scotland by the end of the month, and a much richer man at that.

  Farlan decided to act upon the North Florida Historians librarian’s advice. He would seek out realtors in the area to see if he could locate the remaining two pieces from Kirkside.

  The first realty office he stopped in didn’t have any agents familiar with the Kirkside items. He sensed it was because they were young and inexperienced. He needed to find someone who had been in the business for a while.

  The second office was empty, save for one Hispanic-looking agent.

  “What can I help you with?” the woman, who appeared to be in her mid-forties asked, rising from her chair to greet him. She was dressed in a snug-fitting business suit and had her hair up.

  “My name is Furman Ainsley. Could I have a minute of your time?”

  “Certainly,” she said as she escorted him to a seat by her desk. “I’m Carla Manacia. Are you interested in buying or listing a house?”

  “I’m interested in information,” he said with a smile. “I’m searching for some items from Henry Flagler’s mansion that were distributed throughout homes here in town. As a realtor, I’m hoping you have insight into where some of these items might be.”

  Farlan noticed a curious look flash over the woman’s face, then it was gone, as if she was hiding something.

  “Is there any particular piece of the mansion you’re looking for?” she asked, reaching her hand to the back of her head and touching her French braid as if checking on it.

  “Aye, several. There’s an armillary sundial and the front door, for example.”

  She looked nervous and her voice now lacked its former cordialness. “I’m sorry. I know where the columns are, but that’s it. May I ask why you’re looking for them?”

  “I’m gathering information for a book,” Farlan said with a glowing smile. “Well, I shall leave you to your work. Good day, madam.” He stood, shook her hand, and walked toward the door.

  ****

  After the man left, Mrs. Manacia’s phone rang. She didn’t recognize the name or number on the ID. “Ashton Realty,” she answered.

  “Mom, it’s me.”

  “Whose phone are you using?”

  “Liam’s. My battery’s almost dead. Mom, what was the address again?”

  “97 Magnolia, but hold on. There was a man here with a funny accent just asking me about the same items from Kirkside. What’s going on?”

  “Funny accent? Is he gone?”

  “Yes.”

  The door opened, and she lowered her voice to a whisper when she saw the man return. “He just walked back into the offi—” she cut herself off. The man held a pistol with a long barrel aimed at her. Silently, he motioned for her to put down the phone.

  ****

  “Mom?” The line went dead.

  “I think something just happened to my mom.” One said breathing heavily. “The phone went dead.” He dialed her back. “It’s ringing. She’s not answering.”

  Random wheeled to a stop at the curb. “Bailey, you and Liam get out and check the house. I’ll go to the real estate office with One to check on his mother.”

  58

  Random dropped Bailey and Liam off and dialed 911. One was too badly shaken to do anything.

  “Keep in touch,” Bailey said sincerely, taking One’s hand through the open window and squeezing. They backed away from the car as the vehicle sped off.

  “Oh, God, I hope his mother is okay,” Liam said.

  “This all seems surreal,” she said, pulling out her smartphone and searching for the address. “This way,” she pointed. “Two blocks up, then a left on Magnolia Drive.” The app confirmed this with voice directions.

  They moved quickly. With no sidewalk, they stayed on the edge of the street.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Liam asked.

  “That the Scottish guy may also get the address from One’s mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why we have to get there first.”

  “He’s probably already coming this way,” Liam said.

  Spurred by Liam’s remark, Bailey began to trot. He followed close behind her. They quickly reached the second corner and turned up the street. Again, there was no sidewalk, so they stayed to the side of the road.

  They passed the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park on the right. A block farther and they reached the address. Liam recognized the yellow and blue house as another Queen Anne, with the signature parapet, steep-pitched roof, and round tower.

  The temperature was in the low sixties, but the jog had warmed him up. Liam wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “This is the place.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “I have no idea,” Liam said, as they made their way up the driveway.

  “That door isn’t right.”

  Bailey was right. Like most Queen Anne homes, the door of this house was engraved with a graceful pattern and contained an upper pane of glass with a white curtain on the inside. They had studied a picture of Kirkside on the drive over. The mansion door was solid, possibly mahogany or some other hardwood.

  “Maybe it’s at the back of the house,” he suggested. “Stay here.” Liam scampered around the side of the house. He remained on guard, concerned about a trigger-happy homeowner. The back door was painted blue. He gave it a light tap. Wood veneer. Definitely not from Kirkside. He returned to the front of the house. “It’s not here.”

  “Maybe One’s mom was wrong?”

  “We have to be sure,”
he said, climbing the steps and passing between turned-spindle porch supports. Liam knocked on the front door.

  “What are you going to tell them?” Bailey asked.

  Before Liam could answer, the door opened. “Yes?” A girl who appeared to be his age, with brown, sun-streaked hair, stood before them.

  “Preston?” Bailey said.

  “Bailey?”

  “Don’t you live on the other side of town?”

  “Yes, I’m housesitting. What are you doing here?” she tilted her head with a grin.

  Liam tried to remember seeing this girl at school, but she was unfamiliar. She had full lips, dark-toned skin and was wearing a tank top and board shorts as if she should be working in a surf shop.

  Bailey spoke, “Preston, this is Liam.”

  Preston extended a delicate hand. Liam gently shook it. “Nice to meet you, Liam.” Her almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes sparkled, and dimples appeared in each cheek as she smiled.

  She spoke to Bailey. “Where’s Jason?”

  “Grinding at practice. They have a playoff game downstate on Friday. He doesn’t even get to be here during Thanksgiving. Preston,” Bailey continued, “Liam and I are partnered for a history project. We’re trying to find some of the pieces of Flagler’s mansion and photograph them.”

  Preston was obviously confused, “I thought your history teacher was—”

  Bailey hesitated. Liam picked up on her lie. “He was. Murdered. But we thought the best way to respect Mr. Mast was to complete the last homework assignment he gave us.” He changed his tone to sound more mournful, which wasn’t difficult to do. “We need to do this, too.”

  Preston bought the story. “Oh my God, you’re going to make me cry. But…why are you here?” she asked with compassion in her eyes.

  “We were told the front door from Kirkside was at this address.”

  Preston arched her eyebrows. “That’s news to me. You mean this front door?”

  “Can’t be. This one doesn’t match the picture,” Bailey said.

  “And neither does the one in back,” Liam said.

  “You were in the back yard?”

  “Yes, but only to take a quick look,” Liam said apologetically.

  “Preston, can we come in?” Bailey asked.

  “Sure,” she swung the door wide. “Like I said, I’m housesitting for the Monroes. They’re in Boston for Thanksgiving and asked me to come over during the day to keep Hugo company. That’s Hugo,” she said, nodding toward a bulky ball of gray fur asleep on a love seat.

  Liam and Bailey walked over. Bailey gave the cat a rub behind the ears. The cat stretched and began purring.

  “You found his spot,” Preston said.

  Bailey leaned into Liam’s ear and whispered, “We have to tell her. That guy might be here any time.”

  “What are you two whispering?” Preston said from behind, crossing her arms defiantly.

  “Okay,” Bailey began. “I’m going to be honest. Yes, we’re looking for the Kirkside door, but so is another man. We think it’s tied to Mr. Mast’s death, and this other man may be here soon.”

  Liam spoke, “We think he’s the killer.”

  Preston’s eyes grew large. “And you led him here?”

  “Preston, are there any old doors inside the house? Maybe a bedroom door?”

  “No,” she said. “Are you guys making this stuff up?”

  Liam shook his head from side to side solemnly. “None of the doors upstairs seem out of place?”

  “No,” she paused, “well, maybe the door to the room at the very top, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been up there. They think that room is haunted.”

  “How do we get to it?” Bailey asked.

  “Up the stairs. There’s a small staircase at the far end of the landing which leads to a hallway that goes left. The room is at the end.”

  A car door slammed shut outside. It came from close by. It was loud enough to spook Hugo, and he raced out of the room.

  Bailey didn’t hesitate. “You guys wait here. Don’t answer the door.” She disappeared up the stairs, bounding two steps at a time.

  Preston barely parted the curtain on the windowpane at the door. “A car’s in the driveway, and there’s a man coming toward the door.”

  “Get down,” Liam instructed. The two crouched with their backs at the base of the door.

  ****

  Farlan reached the front door and gave it a firm knock. When it went unanswered, he mashed the doorbell. Still no response. Just as he had anticipated. He retreated to the steps and sat down, glancing at his watch. Two more minutes before the homeless man would make the phone call.

  Farlan enjoyed the crisp air. The temperature gave him renewed vigor. Soon, he would have what he came for. It had taken time, but victory often comes to those who are patient.

  He pushed his glasses up on his nose. They were a pair he wasn’t used to wearing. He rubbed his face. The fake beard itched, but was necessary.

  He checked his watch. Another minute to go.

  A small kid rode by on a bicycle but didn’t seem to notice Farlan. Good thing. Farlan had never killed a child. Teenagers were a different matter. They were capable of making decisions, and decisions not made in Farlan’s best interest, like directing the local authorities to him, drew his ire.

  He consulted his watch. Twenty seconds to go.

  ****

  “What’s he doing?” Preston mouthed to Liam.

  Liam slipped back down to the floor. “He’s just sitting there,” he whispered, confused.

  “Why?”

  Liam shrugged. His cell phone began to ring, startling both of them.

  Wood from the door splintered, and Preston let out a grunt, listing to the side. Liam saw a gaping, jagged hole in the door where Preston had been leaning. The door had a splatter of blood. Preston was writhing on the ground in agony. The horrid reality sunk in: she had been shot through the door.

  Liam’s cell phone was still ringing. Frantically, he fell to the side to reach into his pocket to turn it off. As he did, another explosion of wood shot across the floor. There was a second hole in the door.

  Shaking, Liam got to his knees and pulled Preston away from the door. She was moaning in pain. Blood pulsed from the wound in her right shoulder. He dragged her around the side of the staircase, using it as a shield.

  “Aye, I know you’re in there,” the Scottish man hissed through the door.

  The accent was unmistakable. Liam whipped out his phone and dialed 911. Another bullet shredded the door, slamming into the first step of the stairs with a sharp crack, splintering the wood.

  “What’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

  “I’m at 97 Magnolia! A man is shooting through the door! A girl has been hit!” Liam hung up. He didn’t have time to answer a barrage of questions.

  The shots continued entering through the door and peppering the room.

  ****

  Bailey stood at the door to the room. The light switch didn’t work, but she could see into the small room from the glow of the hallway light. From the array of boxes and containers, it appeared the windowless area was being used as a storage room.

  The door was solid, brown, and aged. This had to be it. She finished examining the front and back when she heard the commotion downstairs. Her concern was for Liam and Preston’s safety, and her first instinct was to return downstairs to find out what was going on. Her gut told her the Scottish man had arrived. Even through her fear, she knew the best thing she could do now was find the code and try to eradicate it.

  If someone came up the stairs after her, she was trapped. She willed herself to remain focused amid the escalating chaos.

  Bailey worked quickly. She stepped into the room and pulled a dresser over. It, too, was made of heavy wood and was a struggle to move, making a high screech as it slid across the wood floor. Inch by inch she dragged it, until it was finally in place. Somewhere downstairs, she thought she heard a door close.r />
  Bailey was breathing heavily when she hopped up on the dresser to search the top edge of the door. She supplemented the hallway light with the light from her smartphone.

  There it was. Along the top edge, carved into the wood.

  14 15 112 15 22 21

  ****

  Preston was no longer moving. He didn’t know if she was alive or dead. Liam knew he had to draw the man away from the house. He raced to the back door, unlocked it, and was about to dash outside.

  Coming around the corner of the yard, holding the pistol before him, was the Scottish man.

  Liam darted back inside, and slammed the door closed. He spun the deadbolt into the lock, but before it secured, the door burst in, throwing him backward. He scrambled to his feet without looking back, and charged up the stairs. “Get out a window!” He stumbled onto the landing and up the hallway.

  “In here,” she whispered loudly.

  Liam shot into the first open bedroom doorway.

  Heavy footsteps ascended the stairs.

  Bailey had reached the window and torn the curtains apart, but was struggling to lift the pane. Liam closed and locked the bedroom door an instant before the Scottish man slammed into it. He rushed over to Bailey. Together they gripped the window and tried to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge.

  Bullets sizzled through the bedroom door, striking the walls around them.

  Bailey screamed, and Liam threw her to the ground and covered her body with his.

  The next two bullets struck the windowpane. The first cracked it; the second shattered the glass.

  “Now, Bailey,” Liam shouted in a loud whisper. “Through the window.” He helped her to her feet, and they scrambled over the windowsill, trying to avoid the jagged shards of broken glass. Liam’s pants caught on one of the pieces, and he pulled until they ripped free. A bullet zinged by his head. “Down,” he yelled. The two collapsed onto the sharply pitched roof, struggling to keep their balance. One misstep, and they would slide off the roof and fall to their deaths. Carefully, Bailey and Liam scooted to either side of the open window, bracing their backs against the wall. Two-and-a-half stories up, there was no place to go.