A Penny Earned, page 7
“Why?”
“Philoneus used a special powder which when hit with a black-light, would illumine details on paper. Every wall is covered in wallpaper,” he said.
Cotter pointed a finger and said, “Good thought, but first, you need a beta blocker; your lip is getting bigger. You allergic to tree nuts?”
“No, ground nuts give me an itch, but nothing like this,” Fred said.
“Explains it,” Cotter replied. “Marylynn at the diner likes to cook some stuff in peanut oil mixed with olive oil, trying to be gourmet, but she usually ends up giving folks the trots.”
Before Fred could agree or disagree, Cotter went to his bag and yanked out an epi-pen. He shoved it into Fred’s thigh and waited. Fred stared at him in utter shock and disbelief.
“Better preventative than closed-up throat and dead,” Cotter said. “The game’s afoot. Let’s get Daddy a pool.”
Fred grumbled a thank you as he followed behind the large man. “Nobody is calling you Daddy,” he mumbled, finding himself also excited at uncovering the mystery and solving the puzzle.
Chapter 7 – Rake In
Fred didn’t care for all the new friends he and his wife were earning, based on the shenanigans of a loser like Philoneus Mason and the dusty old house from Hell. He most definitely didn’t like the idea of a large man like Cotter Wihlborg hanging around his woman looking for gold in a house that was more than likely stripped bare years ago. The last thing he wanted to admit to either his wife or to Cotter was the gold bullion he’d found in the safe in Philoneus’ office which he personally delivered to the Society of the Golden Orb headquarters in Boston.
“What’s on your mind over there, Doc?” Cotter asked as they entered the library. The rows of empty bookcases, layered with years of dust, almost set the tone for the day. Little space remained in the room and the small area which was actually covered in wallpaper revealed nothing as Fred ran his hand across the raised etchings in the paper.
He pulled his hand away, looking for a powdery residue and found none. He began to tap on the walls, much like he had with Desirío, listening for gaps and pockets. Finding none, Fred paused to answer the big guy.
“If there is a note on the walls, there should be a powdery substance which reacts to light or black light,” Fred told him, “like the missives you receive with your orders as a Technician.”
Cotter stopped and looked at him, squinting his eyes. “You know about us?”
“I know about a lot of things including the mating habits of Pygmy shrews,” Fred said, “and none of it gets my engine going or makes my guy stand up to play. Philoneus was a creep who did creepy things to bilk people of money. Yes, there’s a puzzle, but the man wasn’t very bright. Therefore, we can’t overthink the matter.”
“You like to overthink matters, don’t you,” Cotter said, watching Penny. She took her time examining the bookcases, going shelf by shelf, looking, touching, feeling. Fred realized he wasn’t talking about the mystery before them, but the woman he now called wife.
“Penny, are you okay to continue with the bookcases while we head to the living room?” Fred asked.
“Sure, but I feel like we need to commemorate this day with a drink,” she said, smiling.
Cotter laughed. “It’s way too early for anything with a tiny umbrella in it!”
“Next time I make you a drink, I will remember to add one for you,” she told him with a wink. “I like my whiskey neat, my coffee as black as Philoneus’ heart, and to sleep all day and prowl at night. Use that information as you see fit.”
Cotter said no more and followed Fred into the living room. They both started on opposite ends of the room, running their hands over the wallpaper, looking for powder, chinks, and breaks in the layers. Several seconds passed before Cotter spoke again.
“You don’t have a lot of guy friends, do you?”
Fred didn’t look at him when he responded, “I work a lot. Almost nine months of the year I’m on the road, which doesn’t give way to hanging with the bros.”
“How is that schedule going to work out with a new wife and a wee one on the way?”
“Not sure how any of that is your concern, Wihlborg,” Fred replied. He continued to feel the walls, checking his hands for residue, coming away with nothing more than dirt.
“A couple of years back, I did a job with some co-workers,” Cotter said. “I never expected, you know, to actually make friends with those bros as you call them- but there is something to be said for men who share the same underlying objective. It is like an immediate bonding kind of thing. You get to open up and talk about things that others wouldn’t understand.”
Fred stopped touching the walls to look at Cotter. “And you see a need in me to open up to talk about my feelings? However did you arrive at that assessment?”
“Because you’re always the smartest dude in the room,” Cotter said. “Smart people always hold themselves to a higher standard, thinking no one gets them or will understand how they see the world. In truth, we all kind of see it the same. I want to make money to give my kids a good life and not have anyone fuck with my family. Or me for that matter. But at the end of my week, I want to chat with a friend.”
“And you have a great deal of friends, I take it?”
“Initially, no,” Cotter said, leaving the living room and moving to the dining room. “When I moved to Missouri, I hated it. The house sucked, my kid was weird, and my wife, well, Judy stole my heart, but she took everything in me to make the life and marriage work. So, the diner where you saw me, I go there once a week to kind of hide out, but I met a young lady.”
“Whoa, stop right there,” Fred said, holding up his hands.
“Turn off your dirty big brain, Doc. She was a ghost writer from a place where I had a house in Georgia. Nice lady, great conversationalist, and we made it a weekly thing until she finished her assignment in Missouri,” he said. “I ended up renting her my house in Georgia, and man can she cook. Had dinner with her and her husband, who makes pots, you know, the clay kind that sit on your porch. I got a bunch of them for my Judy. She likes flowers and shit.”
Fred mumbled, “Dear God, forgive me of all my sins. I know not what I did to earn such company, but whatever it was, I repent and beg your forgiveness.”
Cotter stopped, turned, and showed Fred his hands. A light, yellow powder covered his fingers. He wagged his brows at Fred, adding, “I heard that. I’m saying that to say this, we all need a friend. She’s a tough cookie, but that baby is going to kick her ass and bring her down a notch or six. My Judy caught hell with the second child. There’s only six years difference between our girl and the boy, but six years in a woman’s life...and yours isn’t a Spring chicken.”
“I don’t think I like you,” Fred said, leaving the room and returning a moment later with a black light.
He plugged it into the wall, shining the light on the area where Cotter found the powder. Incrementally, an image began to materialize. Initially, the image appeared to look like a map compass. The more the light shined and the closer the black light was to the image, the more details appeared.
“Are those praying hands?” Cotter asked.
Penny entered the room, also staring at the wall. She commented on the six doves encircling the rays of inky black strands. Waves and curlicues enveloped the base of the circle; however, her attention was on the hands.
“The praying hands honors his brother’s sacrifice,” she commented.
Cotter commented, “What in nerd speak are you talking about?”
“Albrecht, the painter, went to art school. His brother worked so he could go to school, and he found his brother kneeling in prayer, and he painted his hands in honor of the sacrifice,” Penny explained. “The hands honor his brother’s sacrifice.”
“Philoneus didn’t have a brother,” Cotter said. “Neither did Sellers.”
“Frank James had a brother,” Fred said, “but this was after Sellers moved in with James Barr, who also had a brother.”
“Based on what I learned about Sellers, rumor has it, he poisoned Barr after he built this house around the original house,” Cotter said. “He left as the house was being constructed, just disappeared off the map, returning six months after the house was finished.”
Fred stared at the image on the wall. The doves didn’t make sense. The black diamonds and ink didn’t make sense. “None of this makes sense. The inky black rays, the doves flying to heaven...I’m missing something. Black ink. There is so much black ink.”
Cotter stopped staring at the image. “You said black ink?”
“Yeah, cases of it downstairs next to a kiln,” Fred said.
“Shut up! Why didn’t you tell me there was a kiln?” Cotter said. “Show me were.”
“It’s in the basement,” Penny chirped, “and those stairs aren’t very solid. We had Doug the Bug Thug come out to spray, and he was scared the steps wouldn’t support his weight.”
“Doug the what? Never mind, it’s the kiln. I need to see the kiln,” Cotter said, heading for where he thought the basement should be.
Carefully, he went down the stairs, flipping on the light. He spotted the hole in the ceiling, pointing at it. Penny pointed at herself.
“Look around for plates. Any sort of pressing plates,” Cotter said.
“Pressing plates?” Fred asked.
“Yeah, a kiln gets hot enough to break down a human body,” he said. “My friend’s husband makes clay pots. He uses a kiln, but Philoneus wouldn’t use it to make ceramics. That cheeky old bastard was using it for something else. Exactly what is based on the plates?”
Fred moved items about on the floor, realizing he didn’t send the movers down here because of the safety issue. However, what he truly began to understand was that unlike the rest of the house, the basement was not cluttered. A lone shelf sat in the corner, drawing Fred to it. He reached up and heard the clunk.
“I found your plates,” he said, pulling them from the shelf.
Penny looked at the plates and both she and Fred smiled. Cotter was missing the joke. “I am not seeing the humor.”
“We found gold doubloons,” Fred said.
“And what does that mean?” Cotter asked.
Fred moved the plates closer to the light. The design was the exact same markings as the gold coins he’d found earlier. However, these were not the golden eagles discovered in Philoneus’ safe. This was different.
“I found some gold bars,” Fred confessed. “I assume he used the kiln to melt the gold and pour it into these plates. The markings are of Spanish and Portuguese doubloons, which are only worth about $4 each in a regular market. It doesn’t make sense.”
Penny checked the kiln. “It makes sense if you tell people the coins are old, rare, and very few left in the world. I can see Philoneus telling buyers his coins came from a sunken pirate ship and were worth thousands, but he’d sell them cheaply. Imagine, they are only worth about $4, yet he sells a sack of $20 for a few thousand, suckering the buyer in.”
Cotter frowned. “I hate assholes. These guys were Grade A pucker points.”
“Greed usually gets you what you deserve,” Fred said, thinking of the diamonds. “The ink is what is troubling me. He used the ink to coat the diamonds. The diamonds were, what...loaded into the kiln and fired hot. What is with the birds on the wall?”
“The birds are up against the wall,” Penny said, making all three stop and stare. “The birds are up against the wall!”
Fred repeated, “The birds are up against the wall!”
Cotter asked, “What is with the bird talk?”
“The clue was up against the wall. It is that wall,” Fred said, grabbing Penny by the hand and leading her to the stairs.
He watched her go first, then he followed, with Cotter bringing up the rear. In the dining room, he shone the light on the wall. The flight path of the birds went in a circle. One bird sat at the top of the image.
“Hold the light, Wihlborg,” Fred said, hefting Penny onto his shoulder with one hand. She fell across the wall, reaching the center bird, and pressing her hand into the breast of the bird. A small door in the wall popped open. Two items wrapped in an oil cloth tumbled out.
“What in Satan’s belly button is that?” Cotter wanted to know.
Fred used the end of the light to open the cloth. Inside were two pieces of what looked like silicone. The three stared at the items, uncertain what they were seeing.
Penny spoke, “Is that pattern Damask?”
“It is,” Fred said, looking around the room.
Penny continued, “It is a Damask stencil, but I haven’t seen any Damask wallpaper or even linens with this pattern. Fred, do you remember any?”
“No, I don’t.”
Cotter kicked the templates in frustration. “This dead sumbitch is getting on my nerves. Where is he buried so I can dig his ass up and punch his skeleton?”
Half of the day had gotten away from them. Penny’s stomach growled like two bears fighting a swarm of bees over a honeycomb. Time was needed along with clearer heads.
“I need a pizza,” Penny announced, “and a cold beer.”
Chapter 8- Haul In
Fred couldn’t take his mind off the birds etched into the wallpaper in the dining room. The primary bird at the top of the wall sat in perfect position to twelve on the clock. He began to rethink the other birds on the wall etching, wondering perhaps, or even if by chance, the other birds lined up with the hands of a clock, then possibly, perhaps, there was reason to be applied to the rhyme.
“Fred, what are you thinking?” Penny asked as she inhaled another slice of cheese pizza.
Personally, he preferred to set his own dough for a slow rise and to bake the bready delight in the pizza oven installed in his outdoor kitchen. However, his wife had wanted pizza and a cold beer, and he had acquiesced for mediocre takeout with red sauce loaded with sugar and preservatives. When in Rome, he pondered quietly, thinking, a long week away in Italy would be a better honeymoon than the trip from Hell, which had also awarded the effort with their very own lumbering hellhound in the shape of Cotter Wihlborg.
“Time,” he said, dropping the soggy triangle masquerading as a slice of an Italian snack. “If the dove at the top of the wall opened the bottom of the wall, at let’s say twelve, which opened the wall at six, then perchance, the dove at three o’clock will open the wall at nine.”
Cotter frowned at him. “Did you just use perchance in a sentence?”
“Perhaps,” Fred said, allowing a smile to come to the corners of his mouth. More than anything, he was kind of, sort of, on his honeymoon. He wanted this over and to have them all out of the dusty house and back East, in his comfortable bed, maybe sailing on his boat. “If it is a clock, we should get some answers, but we can’t get them here eating this greasy mess passing itself off as a pizza.”
Cotter was smiling. “It will make a turd and satisfies the craving if nothing else.”
“It’s the nothing else to which my tastebuds are objecting to being forced to endure,” Fred said, rising from the makeshift dining table, “along with your company, Wihlborg. Let’s get this found so we can all be on our way. Tonight, we can be in a five-star hotel in Kansas City eating a marbled rib-eye with sauteed shrooms, grilled onions, and a baked potato.”
Penny tried to read his mood. She felt as if she were failing to get a good grip on the man’s current sour disposition. The good news was that the swelling in his lip had receded and his mouth appeared to be its normal size. However, in her estimation, his ego was taking a hit with Cotter being around filling the space with extra Alpha male pheromones.
She dropped the slice she’d been gnawing on and pushed the wilted salad around on her plate. “Fred has a point; let’s explore it, then determine what the template means. Hopefully, we can find what we’re looking for today and get out of here. That soft bed and a steak dinner sounds amazing. I’d love that.”
“We have a plan,” Fred said, tossing the pizza in the plastic bag serving as a trash can. “Let’s get started, and prayerfully by dinner, we can be on our way to a better place to sleep as well as a better meal.”
“Man, can you get food off your mind! There is gold in these walls, and we are so close, I can feel it,” Cotter stated. “I can almost feel the cool waters of the pool surrounding my large body as I slice through the blue currents.”
“Dear Jesus, at this point, I am willing to pay for your pool if you’d simply shut up about it!” Fred exclaimed. “Honestly, I will write you a check right now for thirty grand if you’d just leave.”
Cotter stood still. He didn’t move from the spot where he rested against the sink. This is where the rubber and the road often disagreed when it came to tacks spread on the asphalt- a flat was bound to happen. A scratch went to his chin as he gave thought to his response.
He spoke slowly when he looked at Fred, “I could take a contract for twice that amount and take a life on Monday, be home by story time on Tuesday, and not lose a wink of sleep. This is an honest venture, whether for the reward at returning the gold or being able to simply close the case and get paid for it that way. I was enjoying the company and conversation, but if this is where we are then fine.”
“Did you just say take a life?” Penny asked. “You said it so casually as if you went to the market for eggs and a bloke scratched your pickup, and you handle matters and took his life, then made omelets for dinner. Ooh, an omelet would be nice for breakfast.”
Fred shook his head. He was over it all. He left his wife and Cotter in the kitchen and walked into the dining room. The black light in hand, he shone it on the wall, locating the spot where the dove at the three o’clock position rested. He pressed the breast plate of the bird, and nothing happened. Fred tried again with the dove at one o’clock, and nothing worked. Anger course through him and before he knew it, his leg was in the air as he kicked the wall. The sheetrock gave way and when Penny came around the corner, she found her husband, his foot stuck in the wall. As he tried to yank it out, the toe of his boot triggered the six o’clock mark and the entire wall gave way, opening slowly, with an eerie squeak reminiscent of an episode of Scooby Doo. As the wall rotated, it took Fred and his entire body with it, rotating, leaving him hanging upside down, his boot wedged in the wall.
