Collecting Shadows

by Gary Williams

  He studied the two rows of letters on the board, then back at the column sequence. “The numbers are never single digits,” he spoke his thought aloud.

  Drew watched. “And they don’t go above the twenties. That has to be significant.”

  He looked at the other sets of numbers. “Yet the fanlight window and front door strings contain the numbers 111 and 112. Why would the code jump from the twenties to triple digits?”

  “Those numbers still start with 1. I think that’s relevant,” Drew paused. “Wait, I think I understand. Read me the numbers one at a time until you hit the first blank space.”

  “16.”

  “Okay.”

  “22.”

  “Go on.”

  “25.”

  “I’ve got a word. For.”

  “How?”

  “The first number of each is the line number on the board. So for 16, it means the top line. The number 6 means the sixth letter on that line. Six over on the top line gives you ‘f.’ For 22, it’s second line, second letter in that line, or ‘o.’ It’s not a complicated code.”

  Liam could barely contain his excitement. “Let’s keep going. I assume for the three-digit numbers it will follow the same principle. The first number is the line, the other two are the letter.”

  Together, they worked through what they guessed would be the second word in the code.

  Liam was amazed at the translation. The very word was tantalizing: treasure. The entire clue was for treasure. His face lit up. “You did it.”

  “No, Liam. We did it.”

  Liam immediately texted Bailey: Solved code. Come ASAP.

  The elation in her reply was obvious: OMG!

  By the time Bailey arrived, Aunt Rita had returned from grocery shopping. With no customers in the shop, the foursome huddled around the counter.

  “You’re killing me,” Bailey exclaimed. “Show me what you’ve translated.”

  Liam pulled out the piece of paper, but before showing her the deciphered clues, he explained to Bailey and Aunt Rita how they had figured out the cypher.

  “A Ouija board. Remarkable,” Bailey said. “It’s such a simple code once you know to use the two lines of alphabet on the board.” She stared at Liam. “Enough suspense. Let’s see the four translated clues.”

  Liam placed the paper on the counter for Bailey and Aunt Rita to see.

  Column - for treasure

  Pergola - in Florida

  Fanlight Window - see back of

  Timepiece -

  Staircase banister -

  Front door - de León

  “Wow,” Aunt Rita exclaimed. “I believed you when you said you’d found a code in numbers, but I had serious doubts about them making any sense. I can’t say that any more. You got these clues off the stuff from Kirkside?”

  Liam nodded. He noticed Bailey staring at the paper in utter fascination. “So what do you think?” he asked her.

  “I’m speechless, and that doesn’t happen often. This is incredible. For treasure, in Florida, see back of, blank, blank, de León. It’s obvious the staircase banister clue contained the word ‘Ponce’ since ‘de León’ comes after it, but even then, the entire clue reads, For treasure in Florida see back of ____ Ponce de León.”

  “Hotel Ponce de León?” Aunt Rita offered.

  “Possibly,” Liam said, “but it doesn’t follow the pattern. Each of the clues so far contained at least two words, and one had three. We should assume the missing two clues also contain multiple words. The staircase banister clue might say, ‘Hotel Ponce,’ but what about the words before it on the armillary sundial?”

  “It might be referring to the artist studios at the back of the hotel,” Bailey said. “For treasure in Florida see back of artists’ studios at Hotel Ponce de León.”

  “It may, but could it be that general? There were what, seven artists’ studios? Now they’re classrooms, right?”

  “That’s right,” Bailey said with a grin. “You really are learning.”

  “Yeah, learning to be frustrated. The clues just don’t add up to ‘X marks the spot.’ Assuming the staircase banister clue said ‘Hotel Ponce,’ we have to have the clue from the timepiece—the armillary sundial—to solve it.”

  61

  Farlan drove to the Magnolia Avenue Queen Anne-style house and parked in the driveway.

  On Tuesday, after the failed attempt to obtain the code, he had returned to his apartment, packed up his things, and fled an hour south to Daytona Beach. Things had become uncomfortable in St. Augustine, and he wanted to allow time for the police activity to subside.

  Farlan had seen both the front and back doors of the house and knew neither were from Kirkside. The only alternative was that the door was inside the house. Thus, he had broken into the house on Tuesday with a two-fold intent: to kill the boy and find the door. As he pursued the teenager upstairs, he realized there were others in the house. He blindly sent seven rounds through the closed bedroom door, then broke off his attack to search for the door. He discovered it at the top of a second smaller stairway, but when he heard the police sirens approaching, he was forced to evacuate before he had a chance to examine it.

  After impatiently waiting in the nearby city the last two days, Farlan was primed to return to the house and obtain the code. He wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way now.

  With this being Thanksgiving Day, an American holiday, the neighborhood would be busier than usual. He researched online and determined the best time to break into the house would be around 4:00 p.m., when the majority of the people had finished their turkey dinner and the tryptophan had kicked in, rendering them sleepy and lethargic. Those who were able to fight off the effects would be preoccupied piling on desserts while watching American football.

  Farlan was about to kill the engine and exit the car when he noticed a blue sedan parked in the driveway two houses to the right. The vehicle had dark tinted windows, but Farlan could make out a figure sitting in the driver’s seat. He leaned toward the passenger seat and pretended to retrieve something from the glove box, making another furtive glance toward the blue sedan.

  ****

  For the last two days, Detective Randy Sanders had staked out the home on Magnolia Avenue. Linda was pissed. Her parents were down from Cleveland, and Randy had promised her he wouldn’t work on Thanksgiving Day, but there was just enough intrigue regarding the story those teenagers had told him that Sanders felt it was worth the time to see if the perpetrator returned for the numeric clue on the door. Whether there was really a treasure to be found, Sanders doubted. But that didn’t matter. A hunt for riches could consume a man, and hunters had a way of getting lost in their dreams.

  The most troubling aspect was the kids’ claim that this same man was responsible for a number of recent deaths in town, including the murder of the Gazette editor and the high school teacher, Ron Mast. The coroner had already confirmed the method of death, strangulation by a thin wire, was consistent for both the editor and male teacher. And that other man, Granville Turnfield, had sustained multiple contusions, including having his front teeth knocked out, prior to his death by house fire. Then there was the description that Liam Poston had given to the sketch artist. Although not a perfect match, without the beard and with a different pair of glasses, it did bear a likeness to Furman Ainsley. The apartment on Saragossa Street where Sanders had interviewed Ainsley was rechecked and found to be deserted. Although his reason for being in St. Augustine had been verified, Ainsley’s sudden departure was suspicious, especially since the man had indicated that he would be in town awhile.

  Because there was no curbside parking, Sanders had gotten permission from the homeowner two houses over to sit in the driveway to surveil the house. After nearly two days of watching bicyclists, runners, walkers, parents pushing baby strollers, fast-food delivery cars, dogs and dog walkers, teenagers, and an infinite number of brown squirrels, Sanders was growing weary. Considering the wrath awaiting him at home from
his wife, he decided to give it another hour. If there was no activity by 5:00 p.m., he would go home to a seething wife and loud in-laws.

  Then again, maybe he would wait until 6:00 p.m.

  A gray Ford Taurus pulled into the driveway of the Queen Anne house. Sanders watched the driver through the tinted windows of his car. The vehicle came to a stop with the engine still running.

  The driver leaned over in his seat, probably accessing the glove box, then straightened. Without incident, he backed the car up and drove off in the opposite direction. Most likely, a lost tourist.

  At 6:45 p.m., Detective Sanders backed out of the driveway to spend what was left of Thanksgiving at home. Awaiting him would be his wife, in-laws, and a new bottle of Crown Royal. There was no doubt which one he was looking forward to the most.

  ****

  Farlan sat in a gray Ford Taurus on a side street. He had exchanged rental cars, fearing the previous one would be under suspicion.

  The blue sedan passed by the side street without slowing. He knew it was law enforcement of some sort; someone watching the house to see if he would return. This meant the teenagers had exposed what they knew to authorities about the Kirkside clues. He still had no idea how that teacher, and now these kids, knew about the treasure without Ida Alice Flagler’s letter, but it didn’t matter. Things were getting messy. He needed to solve the clues, decode the message, and claim his prize before the situation got further out of hand.

  Farlan had considered killing the man in the blue sedan while he was staking out the house but knew that would have brought a crush of attention by the police. He needed to avoid giving the authorities extra motivation. The best thing now was to let them assume he had left town. Thus, he waited the man out.

  Now that no one was watching the house, he was free to look for the clue.

  Fifteen minutes later, Farlan successfully returned to his car. Anxious to decode it, he pulled up a photograph online of the Ouija board and deciphered the numbers. He added the two new words to the sentence.

  With incredible relief, he realized he didn’t need the last clue from the sundial. The two missing words were obvious. He had done it. He had solved Ida Alice’s message.

  Yet, studying the sentence, he wasn’t sure if further progress was possible. Another object had to be located. A quick Internet search set his mind at ease. Farlan smiled and began humming a tune.

  In a way, Farlan admired Ida Alice Flagler. She didn’t make things easy. He would have to wait until tomorrow to proceed, but at least the end was finally in sight.

  62

  “Liam, time for turkey,” Aunt Rita called out from the kitchen.

  The joyful celebration of unlocking the cypher had soon eroded when the clues made no sense. Liam had spent most of the previous night and today in his room agonizing over the partial sentence. He had written the words out, leaving blanks for the sundial and banister clues. He glanced at the page one final time: For treasure - in Florida - see back of - _____ - ____ de León.

  Liam couldn’t guess at any combination of words for the two missing pieces that made sense. If, as Bailey suggested, the entire sentence read, “For treasure in Florida see back of artists’ studios at Hotel Ponce de León,” it would mean having to explore all seven studios-turned-classrooms, which were off limits to the public. He had assumed the directions would be clearer. Then again, they were left by a woman who was mentally unstable.

  If there was a positive to all the time he’d spent studying the partial code, it was that he hadn’t given much thought to the day. His mother and father had been big on the holiday season, decorating even for Thanksgiving with tabletop cornucopias, a paper turkey centerpiece, and stringing pumpkin ribbon banners over the dining room table. It was a strong memory for Liam that he had been able to avoid, until now.

  He joined Aunt Rita and Drew in the kitchen. The table was arranged neatly with nice china, silverware, and folded linen napkins. The smell of everything Drew had prepared caused his mouth to water. When he spotted the basted turkey on a counter next to several side dishes, Liam realized he was starving.

  Drew scraped a few pieces of turkey into Pilot’s bowl, which the Malamute promptly gobbled up.

  “Ready to eat?” Drew asked Liam.

  “Absolutely,” Liam responded.

  After each had fixed their plate at the counter, they sat at the table. Upon Aunt Rita’s suggestion, they held hands as she said grace.

  When Aunt Rita finished, Drew added, “I’d also like to say that I’m thankful for the two of you. Because of you, I’m not going hungry on this holiday, and I have a place inside to sleep and wonderful company. Frankly, this is the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.” Drew’s voice broke slightly. Liam noticed that when he finished, his aunt and Drew were much slower to let go of each other’s hand than he was.

  “Yes, I’m very thankful for this day,” Drew continued with a stronger voice, opening his eyes. “Even if my SUV was towed away sometime overnight.”

  “Oh, no. I’m so sorry,” Aunt Rita said.

  “It’s okay. It wasn’t like I was going to drive it anywhere with the windows broken out.”

  “Maybe I can help you get it back.”

  “No, it’s not worth it, Rita. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “We’ll see.” She spoke to Liam, “You make any headway with that code?”

  “No, and I’ve been staring at it since last night.”

  “It’s probably best you don’t pursue it any longer,” she said, taking her first bite.

  Liam was surprised to hear his aunt say this. “Why?”

  “Because it almost got you killed, that’s why.”

  Liam became incensed. “Are you serious? This guy killed my teacher and others in town, and you want us to let him ride off with some priceless treasure as his punishment?”

  “You don’t know who killed Mr. Mast. You’re just speculating. As for the treasure, who knows if it really exists? It may be a myth. Or even if it did exist, maybe it was found long ago.”

  “We’ve done the research. We know the Da Vinci painting is a lost work of art, and there are eight imperial Fabergé eggs missing to this day.”

  “That’s no proof they’re hidden somewhere in St. Augustine.”

  “Mr. Mast’s great-grandfather, Lucius, died in order to write down those six particular pieces of Kirkside in a Bible.”

  “That means that he believed there was hidden treasure. It doesn’t mean there ever was one.”

  Drew spoke, “Not to gang up on you, but your aunt’s right. Whether the treasure is real or not, someone appears willing to kill to find out. Let it go for a couple of days. Your aunt…just wants you to be safe.”

  Liam shoved a bite of turkey in his mouth. He was shocked that neither Aunt Rita nor Drew seemed willing to support his efforts just one day after getting caught up in the possibilities. Adults could be so frustrating.

  “Liam, just give it a pause. Drew can check on the man’s apartment again to see if he returns.”

  “Tell you what,” Drew added, “come Saturday, I’ll join in the hunt if you can make any progress with the clues. Deal?”

  Liam nodded. Hunting clues. It was similar to what he and his father used to do when they went geocaching. The thought of continuing the search with Drew’s help was appealing. The thought of waiting two days was not.

  Drew continued, changing the subject, “You know, I didn’t know a thing about St. Augustine before I came here. The history really is impressive. And I’ve come across a lot of interesting things in my time wandering the streets.”

  “Like what?” Aunt Rita asked.

  “Well, where college students are involved, I’ve seen some unique beer can art. One place on Carrera Street had a six-foot-tall beer can pyramid glued together against the back wall of the house.”

  “Do you ever go inside empty homes?” Liam asked delicately. He hoped Drew wasn’t offended, but it was something he’d wondered about with ho
meless people.

  “No, I would never do that. I once went inside a shed in a back yard over on Grove Avenue. I heard a cat crying. He had gotten himself trapped inside, and I freed him. Then, when I thought I heard the homeowner coming out, I hid in the shed until it was safe to leave. Come to think of it, that was another place I found some interesting art.”

  “Let me guess. A beer can robot,” Aunt Rita said.

  Drew laughed. “Not exactly. It was some kind of metallic sculpture; a strip of metal twisted in the shape of a half-moon. I know some people like this type of stuff, but modern art doesn’t appeal to me. I prefer beauty in simpler forms,” he said, smiling at Aunt Rita.

  She seemed mildly embarrassed, but returned the smile. Silence ate up the room. Liam liked Drew and all, but this was embarrassing. Old people and PDA don’t mix.

  “And what else have you seen in your travels?” Liam urged, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence.

  Drew told stories of things he’d discovered and his experiences surviving on the street. They continued eating and talking. The meal really was delicious, and Liam went back for more of everything. Last Thanksgiving with his Uncle Nelson had been nice, but this truly felt like a family gathering.

  63

  That evening, Liam nearly went cross-eyed continuing to work through possible variations of the clues. He and Bailey exchanged a number of text messages on the topic.

  Like Liam, Bailey and her mother had spent a quiet Thanksgiving at their apartment. Mrs. Deeth had gone to bed by 9:00 p.m. Mr. Deeth was in a facility in Memphis, undergoing some experimental treatment and Bailey’s mom was taking a flight out in the morning to Tennessee to meet his doctors. It was a one-day trip. She would return in the evening. Mrs. Deeth felt it best for Bailey not to come, so she would remain at the apartment.

  Sometime after 11:40 p.m., Liam’s eyes were so strained that he fell asleep with the light on.