my theory, but I can’t do it from this bed. I’ll have to make a phone call or two—”
“Brainert, listen to me,” I said, cutting him off. “I think I know who attacked you…and me, for that matter.”
“You do? Who, for heaven’s sake?”
“When I came to see you, I had just met with the new principal at Quindicott Elementary—”
“New principal? What happened to Mrs. McConnell?”
“She’s on maternity leave. The new guy’s temporary. And that new guy’s name is…are you ready for this? Claymore Chesley.”
“What! Is he related to the Chesley family?”
I filled Brainert in on everything I’d learned.
He shook his head. “So Claymore badly needs money and he’s obviously stung by the fact that his side of the family was cut out of the Chesley inheritance. But how would he even know about the Poe Code? He told you he hadn’t been in his family’s Newport mansion since he was a little boy.”
“I think he was lying,” I said. “I think when he moved back to Rhode Island last February, he looked up his uncle and befriended him. After all, Claymore Chesley was a professor, he’d earned a doctorate and taught, and he would have been able to establish common ground as a fellow academic with his uncle Peter.”
“I suppose it’s possible.”
“Think about it…Peter was suffering from arthritis pretty badly near the end of his life. The condition he was in, he probably welcomed having a tall, strong young relative show up at his door and help him with his task of inventorying the entire mansion’s contents—including the library. In fact, now that I think it through, Peter could never have inventoried that library alone. How would he have reached the higher books? No, he had help, and I’m betting that help was Claymore.”
“So you think Claymore stumbled upon the code while he was helping his uncle inventory the family’s library, and since he needed money, he was trying to solve it so he could steal the hidden treasure?”
“Yes, I think it was Claymore who was upstairs when Sadie and I were visiting. And I think the key is that last bit of information you told me. The treasure is in that library. It’s in Prospero House. I think Peter probably suspected what Claymore was up to—that he was going to solve the code and steal the treasure right out of the mansion. And that’s why he called Sadie with such an urgent offer.”
“Yes, I see!”
“Peter wanted us to take those books out of the mansion right away so Claymore would no longer have access to them—or the code, or the discovery of the treasure. After we left, I’ll bet Claymore came downstairs, argued with his uncle, got angry, and killed him with a blow, then tried to make it look like an accident by tossing him down the stairs.”
“And the 911 call?”
“There’s an explanation for that too, I think.” I rose and began to pace. “After he killed his uncle, Clay Chesley could have called 911 himself and disguised his voice, making it sound like his uncle in medical distress, asking for help. That way, when the police came to the house and found Peter’s body, they would assume he’d fallen as a result of medical illness or disorientation. And, in fact, that’s exactly what Detective Kroll assumed.” I shook my head. “That’s the notorious part if you ask me. Even if Claymore killed his uncle by accident, he was completely cold blooded in the way he covered it up.”
Brainert nodded, following along. “So you think claymore was the raspy-voiced intruder who broke into Buy the Book, too?”
“Same M.O. of disguising his voice. And he’s a tall, well-built guy. But here’s the fact that nails him to the wall: His SUV had no dents in it. Not one scratch.”
“And that nails him because…?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you! When he showed up
“No!”
“Yes! He told me he’d been in an accident on the highway and his airbag deployed. But if he’d been in an accident, his car would have at least had a dent or a scratch on it, and there was nothing! After our meeting in his office, I went out to the parking lot and checked out the SUV I saw him driving—there was no way that car was in an accident.”
“He lied?”
“Why would anyone lie about something like that unless they had to make something up on the spur of the moment. There I was, pointing to his swollen nose and asking questions, and I think he got that swollen nose from me or you or both of us when we tried to defend ourselves.”
I grabbed my coat and my purse.
“Where are you going, Pen?”
“I’m driving to Newport, right now. I’m going to stop all this for once and for all.”
“How? Are you going to the Newport police?”
“Not yet. You know and I know that neither Detective Kroll, Chief Ciders, nor Detective-Lieutenant Marsh will believe some tall-sounding tale about a hidden treasure map buried in a set of books—not unless I produce the treasure to prove it’s real. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to find the oval portrait and take it to the police with my charges against Claymore. I’m sure once claymore realizes he can never have it, he’ll confess to his crimes.”
“But you don’t even know what to look for!”
“It’s an oval portrait, Brainert. How hard is that to find?”
“There might be a dozen or more oval portraits. Wait until tomorrow or the next day, and I’ll probably be well enough to go with you. I’ll recognize the treasure at once. I’m certain of it.”
“No. I have a better idea.”
I showed Brainert the cell phone I’d just bought from Gerry Kovacks at Cellular Planet—one of the new stores on Cranberry.
“Look,” I told Brainert. “This phone captures and stores digital images. I can snap pictures of the portraits in the manor, show them to you when I get back. The display screen is right here…”
I could see the anticipation in my friend’s one good eye. But there was doubt, too. “There’s no one at the Chesley mansion, Pen. The doors are locked up tight. How will you get in?”
“Well,” I told Brainert as I headed out the door, “I’ve already been charged with grand larceny. Why not go for breaking and entering, too?”
Jack laughed in my head.
“No, you don’t.”
CHAPTER 18
“I think I’d better go over there and see what’s broken.”
—Philip Marlowe in “Finger Man,”
by Raymond Chandler, 1934
BY THE TIME I turned onto the twisting, turning, annoyingly treacherous Roderick Road, the sun was kissing the horizon. I couldn’t believe it, but the sky was looking ominous and heavy clouds seemed to be threatening rain —even though there’d been only the slightest chance of precipitation in the forecast.
“All we need is a little lightning, thunder, and a big, flat headed guy with bolts in his neck,” I muttered with a shiver.
“Cold nose. It’s chillier here by the ocean.”
