“And the secret message reads…”
“FRAMED WITH POE,” Brainert declared.
I smiled smugly. “Just like I already figured out.”
Jack grunted in my head.
“Okay,” I silently conceded to the ghost. “Like
Brainert nodded and grinned, gesturing to the image on the cell phone. I leaned in for a better look at the tiny screen. The portrait glowed like an unearthed jewel.
CHAPTER 21
Kidding around about women is all right…But let me tell you something, I’ve been a mailman for nine years, and I can say that we have a respectable bunch of women around here.
—Bruno Fischer, “Five O’Clock Menace,”
BRAINERT STARED AT me with his one good eye.
“Not only have we found a new, previously unknown image of one of America’s greatest writers,” he declared, “we have also discovered another, as-yet-to-be-determined treasure, hidden behind the image, inside that thick wooden frame.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said, “but what do we
Brainert thought it over for a minute. “After the doctors spring us tomorrow, the first thing we should do is drive back up to that mansion. We have to retrieve the treasure before it gets lost again—perhaps forever.”
“It’s going to be tough getting past Raymond Chesley,” I warned him. “He’s got big muscles and he’s fond of waving a poker around.”
“I’ll knock him down myself, if I have to!” Brainert declared. “No one will stop me from solving a mystery for the ages.”
Using my cell, Brainert called Seymour Tarnish, who had just returned home after a slow night of trying to sell ice cream.
“Stinking rain,” I heard Seymour complain. “The haunted house was a complete washout. Not a rugrat in sight.”
Brainert told Seymour to come pick us up at the hospital first thing in the morning and drive us to Newport. He also issued strict instructions that Seymour was to tell no one where we were, what we were looking for, or where we were going—not even Sadie.
“You got it, Brainiac. I could use a sick day. The mail can deliver itself. I’ll see you at sunup.”
“Ugh. Nine o’clock will be sufficient,” Brainert replied.
“I’m up at the crack of dawn every morning,” said Seymour. “You should try it.”
“Yes. Whatever. Good night.”
He handed me the cell phone. When I opened my purse I saw the envelope Sadie had given me earlier in the day. I’d forgotten all about it.
“Oh, here! This belongs to you.”
Brainert took the envelope, shook the stone into his palm, and examined it under the bedside light. “This isn’t mine,” he declared.
“But…it’s got the St. Francis emblem, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed it does. It’s similar to mine.” To illustrate the point, he showed me the ring on his finger. The stone was still in place. He handed the envelope back to me.
“Anyway, black onyx isn’t for the teaching faculty. It’s for the sports teams, the coaches, and trainers.”
I thought that over, remembered the store burglary. “Any chance this could be Nelson Spinner’s?” I asked. “Is he involved in any of the college athletic teams?”
Brainert snorted. “Spinner’s sport is women. Preferably co-eds; the younger the better, which is why I tried to discourage your aunt from playing matchmaker with you two. He’s got a harem of admirers. It’s a wonder he gets any work done. I suspect he doesn’t. His tenure is hanging by a thread—”
“Oh, really? What more do you know?”
Brainert shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t mention it before because I don’t like to cast aspersions on fellow academics, but—”
“Spit it out, Brainert!”
“A few years ago Spinner was denied tenure,” Brainert explained. “A scandal about a plagiarized paper. There were other issues. He was using paid teacher’s assistants to paint his house instead of doing scholarly work, that kind of thing.”
“What happened?”
“What usually happens,” Brainert replied. “The college gave him a lecture and a second chance, but I don’t believe he’s published yet, and in my field it’s publish or perish. I believe Spinner will be out of a job in a year or so, when his contract runs out.”
“Solving the Poe Code would go a long way toward securing his position, wouldn’t it? Which is a pretty good motive for murder.”
“Indeed,” said Brainert. “Although I hate to think that a colleague of mine could be capable of such brutality.”
I waved the envelope in my hand, thrust it into my purse. “You know, Spinner could have hired, or even blackmailed, some poor dumb student to do his bidding. And it was that student who attacked me—and lost the stone from his ring. Or…it could be from Claymore Chesley’s ring, if he has one. He did go to St. Francis as an undergrad. I didn’t notice a school ring on his finger, but that could be the reason he wasn’t wearing it the day I saw him—he could have lost the stone in my bookstore. He does look the type to be involved in athletics.”
Brainert nodded. “Sure, but the stone might have nothing to do with the burglary.”
I sighed. “We’re going to have to investigate both Nelson Spinner and Claymore Chesley,” I concluded, then yawned and stood up. “In the morning.”
I PUT MY head on the crisp, white hospital pillow and what seemed like a minute later, someone was shaking me out of a deep, dreamless slumber.
“Jack?” I muttered.
“Ho, ho,” someone whispered. “Our sweet little Penelope has a secret lover.”
I opened my eyes—and yelped.
“Seymour? What are you doing here?” I cried, yanking up the sheets to cover my flimsy hospital gown.
Brainert appeared at Seymour’s side. He was dressed and ready to go. “Hurry, Penelope. We have to get out of here.”
“Oh…Okay.” Still groggy, I noticed the light coming through the hospital window was a pale pink. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to seven,” said Seymour. “And you better hurry.”
I sat up, finally awake. “What’s wrong?”
Seymour frowned. “I got up this morning, called in sick. Then I headed down to Cooper’s looking to beat the mommy set to the croissants. I ran into Eddie Franzetti, QPD. He warned me to warn you: The autopsy on Rene Montour came in late last night. His wounds were not consistent with a car crash. He was probably dead before the wreck—beaten about the head with a blunt instrument.”
“Oh, God,” I murmured.
“That isn’t the bad news,” Seymour continued. “Detective Marsh is on his way to town. He’s looking to talk to you.”
I threw my legs over the side of the bed. “Turn your backs, both of you,” I ordered. “I’ll be dressed in a
