Free Dying for Mercy with Bonus Material by Mary Jane Clark

discovered that the terra-cotta pot that lay next to Innis Wheelock’s body pointed the way to a spot on West Lake Road in Tuxedo Park.

CHAPTER 30

    T he clock screeched, rousing Eliza from a deep sleep. She groaned as she reached out and turned off the alarm. Then she rolled over and pulled the down blanket close around her, trying to get herself psyched to get out of bed.
    Four-thirty. Who was up at four-thirty? Nurses, police, firefighters, bakers, waitresses who made their living in all-night diners, and others staffing the places that were open twenty-four hours a day. The news business was operating all the time as well, and this was the career she’d chosen.
    She had no right to resent these miserable hours. After all, she’d asked to host the morning program again. And she was being paid far more than anyone else she could think of who worked while it was still dark outside.
    When the phone rang, she dived for it before it could sound a second time. She knew who was going to be on the other end.
    “Good morning,” she said sleepily.
    “Hello, honey,” said Mack. “How are you this morning?”
    “Better, now that I hear your voice,” said Eliza.
    “I wish I were there with you.”
    “I wish you were, too,” she said, rolling onto her side and fluffing her pillow. “I so wish you were here. How’s everything going over there in jolly old England?”
    “The rumor is that the president is making some real progress with these guys,” said Mack. “In fact, I’m in the middle of writing a piece about it for your show.”
    “That’s mighty kind of you,” said Eliza.
    “Anything for you. And while we’re on the subject of what I can do for you, how about if I fly home this weekend and we can come up with a list of other things you need doing.”
    Eliza smiled in the dark as she thought about the prospect. If Janie was going away with the Cohens for the weekend, she and Mack could drive up to Tuxedo Park and have the carriage house all to themselves.
    “I could definitely go for that,” she said. “And I’ll start making that list.”
     

    Her hair was still damp from the shower when the car left Eliza off in front of the Broadcast Center. She walked briskly through the lobby, the guard pushing a button so she didn’t have to show her identification card to get past the security post. She strode directly to the makeup room.
    Ruthie Pointer was waiting to blow out Eliza’s shoulder-length hair before it dried completely. Eliza put a nylon robe on over her clothes and climbed into the elevated chair. While Ruthie worked on her brunette locks, Eliza read through the notes for the broadcast.
    When Eliza’s hair was styled, Doris Brice took over with her makeup kit. Wearing a zebra-striped jumpsuit and Chanel sneakers, Doris applied foundation, blush, and powder. She gave special attention to the eyes, choosing the shade of shadow that she knew from long experience would make Eliza’s blue eyes pop on the screen. To make Eliza’s eyes seem larger and more open, Doris used white powder to highlight the skin beneath her eyebrows.
    “What do you think?” asked Doris as she stood back and surveyed her artistry.
    Eliza looked up from her reading material and regarded herself in the mirror.
    “I look tired,” she said. “But I’ll make up for it over the weekend.”
    Doris was unconvinced. “That doesn’t work,” she said. “Once you’ve lost sleep, you’ve lost it. And that’s not good for your skin. It’s not good for you, period.”
    “Yes, Mother,” said Eliza. “I promise. I’ll try to do better.”
    “See that you do,” answered Doris with mock severity, wagging her finger up and down.
    Eliza noticed the Daily News on the counter. She leaned forward and picked it up. The paper was still headlining the Wheelock story.
    “‘Suicide by Stigmata.’”
    “Creeps me out,” said Doris. “I always think that if I ever want to commit suicide, I’m going with the