Free Dying for Mercy with Bonus Material by Mary Jane Clark Page A

car-exhaust-in-a-closed-garage plan. The carbon monoxide leaves your skin all pink and glowing.”
     

    Annabelle and B.J. were waiting for Eliza when she arrived at the KTA studio.
    “We’ve got something to show you,” said B.J. “Can you come downstairs for a minute?”
    Eliza looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes till airtime.
    “All right, but let’s make it fast.”
    As they rode down in the elevator, Annabelle explained about the numbers on the side of the terra-cotta pot in the greenhouse.
    “I didn’t even notice those,” said Eliza.
    “Why would you?” asked Annabelle. “With a dead body and five stab wounds oozing blood staring you in the face, who would notice some numbers on a flowerpot?”
    “Obviously you two did,” said Eliza.
    “Actually, believe it or not, it was B.J. who noticed them,” said Annabelle, feigning disbelief. “He enlarged the picture to see them better.”
    “And it was Annabelle who figured out what the numbers meant,” said B.J. “Her obsession with those gossip magazines finally paid off.”
    In the editing room, Eliza looked at the photo enlargement.
    “All right, I give up,” she said. “What do the numbers mean?” B.J. handed her the computer printout. “Those are the latitude and longitude coordinates for a spot on West Lake Road in Tuxedo Park.”
    Eliza shrugged. “I guess that makes sense,” said Eliza. “The Wheelocks’ house is on West Lake Road.”
    B.J. shook his head. “Look at this map, Eliza. You can see an aerial shot of all the houses on West Lake Road.” He pointed to one of the larger roofs. “That one is the Wheelock house. But see that X way down at the end of the road, the deserted section at the bottom of the lake, where there are no houses around?”
    Eliza nodded.
    “That’s the spot the numbers indicate,” said B.J.
    “That’s weird, isn’t it?” asked Annabelle. “Maybe we should add something about it in our piece.”
    “Let’s hold off,” said Eliza, “until we know if it’s even pertinent to the story.”

CHAPTER 31

    E unice showered and dressed in her basement apartment before going upstairs to the kitchen. She walked to the front of the house, opened the always unlocked front door, went out to the driveway, and picked up the New York Times . Going back inside, she took the newspaper from its blue plastic wrapping, spread it out on the kitchen table, and began perusing the front page. The Wheelock story was there again, but below the fold today.
    She wondered if anything was going to happen to her job. Would Mrs. Wheelock continue living at Pentimento? Would she find it too hard? Eunice hoped not. Mrs. Wheelock was nice to work for, and Eunice really needed the job, sending money back to Trinidad every month to help support her family there.
    Turning to the task at hand, Eunice took the bag of coffee from the cupboard and scooped the appropriate amount into the grinder. While the machine pulverized the beans, she took butter from the refrigerator and left it on the counter to soften.
    Mrs. Wheelock had barely swallowed a morsel since everything had happened Sunday night. Eunice planned to prepare a nice breakfast for her and was determined to make sure she actually ate it. She set the coffee brewing and sliced an orange in half. She was twisting it on the juicer when she suddenly sensed that she was not alone.
    Her body swung around. When she saw who it was, she held her hand to her chest.
    “You scared me,” she said.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
    “It’s just that it’s so early, and I wasn’t expecting anyone,” said Eunice. “Is there something I can do for you?”
    “A cup of coffee would be nice.”
    Eunice set the sugar bowl and creamer on the table. Her hand trembled as she poured a cupful of the black, steaming liquid.
    “There you go,” she said.
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome,” Eunice answered. She waited tensely to see if there was something else required of her.
    “Go