Grace sighed and stared out toward the street. How can you ever really know what goes on behind closed doors in a marriage? The picture the world sees can sure be very different from reality. She gathered up the last of the pots and stacked them at the end of the neat row she had created near the back of the garage. As she turned around, she saw TJ pulling into her driveway.
The detective got quickly out of her car, strode over to Grace, and smiled at the dirt smudges on Grace’s shirt and shorts. “Is this some new ‘dirt look’ I hadn’t heard about on the fashion pages or are we headed back into grunge?”
“Very funny. I just decided to relieve a little stress.”
TJ cackled. “You? Stress? You ought to come down to the station if you want to see stress. Got any more of that strawberry pie you told me Lettie cooked yesterday, or did you eat it all yourself?”
“No, I have more in the kitchen. Come on in. Got time for some coffee, too?”
Sitting down at the kitchen table, TJ caught Grace up to date on her interrogation of Dan Wakeley.
“Had to turn him loose. No physical evidence connects him to Ronda. He absolutely swears he had nothing to do with her death, or Brenda’s, for that matter.”
Grace slid a piece of strawberry pie in front of TJ, along with a cup of black coffee and a fork. “How does he stack up with Sturgis? And what’s the connection between Brenda and Ronda? Or is there . . . a link?”
“He definitely has a motive—he had an affair with Brenda, his marriage was in a patchy spot, and, in his moment of weakness, she went in for the kill. Blackmailing him, of course, like half the town. A little bit at first and then a lot more later.”
“Now you can add him to your cast of thousands of suspects.”
“Man, this pie is amazing. Lettie really outdid herself.” She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Wakeley has definitely moved to the head of the line. He went to see Brenda the night she died. He needed more time to get some money together without Jennifer finding out. Brenda laughed in his face. But he swears she was alive when he left.”
“Did he say how that whole thing—the affair—got started?”
“Yeah. He said he and his wife had hit a ‘hard patch’ and he’d been drinking quite a bit. Sometimes when he drank he went to Tully’s and Brenda was always there. She had a sympathetic ear—you know the drill—and he blabbed it all out for her. One thing led to another and he’d end up at her house. For a while it helped, and then he felt guilty and realized how stupid he was acting. Small town. Wife and two kids. So when he wanted to end it—”
“—she explained she’d need some cash.”
“Exactly.”
“And where was he during the window of opportunity the night Brenda died?”
TJ laughed and looked right at Grace. “Funniest thing. Says he drove around the countryside trying to cool his temper and figure out what to tell Jennifer when he got home so late. Once he did get home, he says it was only about thirty minutes before he was called out to the fire.”
“And did you believe him?”
She laughed and shook her head. “It gets better.”
Grace got up and cut a piece of pie for herself. As she sat back down she asked, “Better?”
“Yeah. His three fifty-seven was stolen out of his truck two weeks earlier.”
“And the bullets that killed Ronda—let me guess—three fifty-sevens.”
“Ah, Grace, I’ve taught you well. Unfortunately, we don’t have the gun and he claims he doesn’t either. Without that we don’t have any physical evidence to tie him to the case. It’s all circumstantial.”
“Did he report the gun stolen?”
“Sure did. But if he was planning to kill Ronda, it was most convenient to have it stolen officially.”
“So let me get this straight,” Grace said, and drank a sip of coffee to wash down her pie. “He has the same caliber of gun that killed Ronda and he’s an expert on setting fires. He has no alibi for the night Brenda died, and he’d even seen her before her death. Shift scenes. Where was he when Ronda died?”
“Oh, more and better. He played pitch at the station with a group of the guys—and they agree—but he left about twelve thirty a.m. and drove around—again—only this time he went clear past Woodbury.”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
“Boy, that’s a lot of anger management. But I don’t understand. Why would he have a reason to kill Ronda?”
“He says he doesn’t. But Ronda undoubtedly saw him and Brenda making goo-goo eyes at the bar night after night, so put two and two together.”
“More blackmail. Man, Endurance sure has no small amount of that going on. I never knew this town had so many secrets to hide.”
“He looks like hell. His eyes are red-rimmed, his hair could use a good washing, and his usually clean-shaven face has at least two days’ growth. He wasn’t quite the Wakeley I normally see. And, believe me, I’d notice. You can tell he lifts weights quite regularly.”
Grace laughed. “Ah, TJ. You always look for those muscular shoulders.”
“I’m ignoring you.” TJ brushed off her hands and pushed her dessert plate aside. “He claims that he never spoke to Ronda except to say hello at Tully’s. But I have to tell you, he was sweating bullets when I questioned him. He twisted his hair and bit his lip and cleared his throat. If I was teaching a class on body language he’d be the perfect example for ‘hiding something.’ Stop and think about it, Grace, he is the expert on fires. The state calls him in.”
Grace stopped chewing, her fork in midair and her face taking on a thoughtful look. “Why would he do such a crummy job of setting that fire if he were so good? Jeff Maitlin told me multiple pours of accelerants was a sure sign of a set fire. Wouldn’t he disguise it somehow so it would look more . . . more accidental?”
“I guess he would if he had had the time. But what if he told the truth about going to see Brenda that night? However, when he left maybe he saw it as an opportunity—not really premeditated?”
“Maybe.”
“The next time I have him in I’ll use that as a possible scenario. Might get him to open up. And I do think a ‘next time’ is predictable. I’ve got McGuire keeping an eye on him in case he decides to bolt.”
The strains of “Saturday Night Fever” jarred them both and TJ answered her phone.
“Yeah, Collier. Uh-huh.” She looked at Grace and listened intently and a smile slowly came over her face. “All right. Bring it in and we’ll go make an arrest.” She tapped her phone off, looked at Grace, and said, “Wakeley. They found his gun hidden in some brush farther out from Ronda’s murder scene. Registration numbers on the butt of the handle match. It’s been fired—twice.” She stood up and Grace noticed her lips were pressed tightly together as she pushed in her chair and pulled her car keys out of her pocket. “Time to go pay Dan Wakeley a visit and invite him to spend some time in our jail.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
“Tully. I hear you have a special on for my most delicious, favorite of all time drink, margaritas,” said Deb O’Hara as she sauntered up to the bar. “Lay a dirty one on me, please, and take orders for my friends here. I’m buying.”
“That’s what I love to hear,” said Tully, chuckling as he reached up over his head for margarita glasses. “Sounds like a good way to celebrate the Fourth. And will you and Grace have the same?” he said to Jill.
“Absolutely.”
They sat down on the high stools at a table in the bar and Jill called out, “Oh, and some peanuts too, Bill.” He nodded. “Do I have a story for you,” said Jill to Grace and Deb.
“Do tell.” Deb gazed over at the bar watching Tully fix their drinks.
“I heard this from John Seiver at work. You know, he’s also on the city council. Everyone in town’s been watching this, but he had the scoop on the entire set of events and it is hilarious.”
“All right already. Get to the story,” Grace said, laugh
ing.
“You know that intersection at Main and Adams Street, the one near the Drug Mart store?”
“Sure, the one with the stop signs.”
“Right! Remember they decided to no longer make it a two-way stop sign on Adams with the through traffic going north and south on Main. So they put in a four-way stop. All kinds of accidents happened next. People couldn’t remember to stop on Main going either north or south because it has never been a four-way stop.”
Grace giggled. “It’s because of the sixty-five-and-up crowd, you know, like Nub Swensen.”
“Right—that and people texting. So after the fiasco of changing the signs that way, Seiver said the city council debated it and thought if they put stop signs in the middle of Main, between the lanes on each side, people would notice them.”
“I don’t remember that, but I don’t drive through that intersection much,” said Deb.
“Drivers knocked over and splintered three sets of signs—both going north and south.” Grace and Deb laughed and Jill put her hands up and said, “Wait. We have more to the story. Obviously the signs in the middle of the street weren’t working, so Seiver said they voted to make it a stop on the Adams side of the intersection, as always, and put signs on Main saying, ‘Stop if pedestrians are in the walkway.’ ”
“Let me guess. People stopped no matter what and were rear-ended,” Grace said.
“You got it. Great day for Bert’s Collision Shop. And one of the casualties was Mayor Blandford’s wife, Polly. She was almost arrested for causing a public disturbance because she got out of her car and marched up to Genevieve Blackburn, who was talking on her cell phone when she rear-ended Polly. McGuire had to pull the two away from each other, and Polly took a swing at him, too.”
“Fantastic,” said Deb. “I’d love to see His Honor have to go and bail her out.” They all laughed at that mental photo. She glanced over at the bar. “This place doesn’t seem quite the same without Ronda rolling around.” She leaned in and whispered so her voice wouldn’t carry. “How awful. I can’t imagine anyone hurting her, let alone killing her. What is going on with people?”
Grace glanced over at Tully and then looked around at the rest of the bar. She shook her head. “I can’t believe she’s gone. It’s only been three days and it seems like forever. Two murders in the past month. People send their kids to Endurance College from Chicago because it’s so much safer. Here we are in the middle of corn, beans, and cow pastures, and someone is killing people. It just isn’t normal.”
Jill, who’d been watching the waitresses at the end of the bar, added, “Looks like he’s already replaced her with that cute little blonde over there. She appears to be in charge of the wait staff and she’s pushing tables together for that big group.”
“Well, you can’t blame him. Life has to go on. He has a business to run,” Deb murmured.
“Here we go, ladies,” Bill Tully said as he set their drinks and a couple bowls of peanuts on the table.
“We’re really sorry to hear about Ronda, Bill,” said Grace. “I can still remember her in high school. She was so clever and funny and had so many friends. I figured she had quite a future as a stand-up comic, and I know she had plans to pursue that as a career.”
“You know, Grace, ‘the best laid plans’ and all . . .” Tully said. “I still can’t believe it either. She was off work that night so I have no idea what happened, other than what I saw in the paper. I just feel terrible. She always brightened the place up and I know she brought in customers. Relied on her like my own sister.” His gaze came back to Grace. “I hope Sweeney gets on top of this. If deaths happen in threes, we still have one to go.”
“Oh, don’t say things like that.” Deb shivered.
He smiled at her. “Ah, don’t listen to me. I’m just talkin’.”
As Tully headed back to the bar, Jill said, “You know he always seems to be in a pretty good mood for all the plates he has in the air. Now he’s had to replace Ronda, he’s finally finished the renovations, and he deals with so many problems like that idiot, Mike Sturgis. I can’t imagine how he can always be so cheerful.”
They talked about the centennial celebration and then Deb had to leave for a family outing. Tully came back over to refill Jill’s and Grace’s drinks.
At the end of the bar Grace saw Bunny Meyer. Her husband, Jonathan, was such a wheeler-dealer in high school, she thought. He stole some funds from the art club cake and cookie sale. Then he grew up and became a politician for real. Now he’s in Woodbury minimum-security prison making license plates. Politicians never get it, do they? TJ’s sometimes right that people don’t change very much.
“So, how are the newspaper articles going, Grace? Must be about done since the big fireworks are coming up this weekend. I notice they’re already starting to decorate the downtown. Kinda like the little flags that they’re hanging from the street lights with the centennial logo on them.” Tully abruptly changed topics. “Figured out anything else about those cold cases?” he asked as he slid two more margaritas off a tray.
“I’m wrapping things up, Bill.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the good-luck charm with the raven on it, polished to a shine. “Been carrying this around for a couple of days hoping to get some inspiration.” She placed the coin with the raven’s head on the table. Tully leaned down and studied it. Then he picked it up and turned it over in his hand.
“Hmm. Not seen anything like this before. Where’d you find it?”
“It’s a good-luck piece I found in the box with the Kessler stuff on that fire in ’sixty-eight. I need to take it back and put it with the other things, but I thought I’d carry it around today because it might give me a revelation. I’m going over to the Historical Society tomorrow to look up the old yearbooks on that period of time. Need to see what this Kessler kid looked like, just for the record. He’s the suspect in the case. But I think Brenda was working on some other angle.”
“Really? What kind of angle?”
“Not sure. But she had a clue in her notes about a Poe short story and I think I’ve figured that out. So I’m going to keep my nose to the ground and go after some photos from the yearbooks. I’m also thinking about some fire photos.”
Tully was silent for a moment. “Well, I don’t know anything about all that. Think there’s some kind of tie to the story and Brenda’s murder? Or Ronda’s?”
“Good question. I’m working on that. But TJ’s the detective.”
“You know, I hear an awful lot around this place with people coming and going. Could be Dan Wakeley’s tied to Brenda’s death. Maybe she was getting dough from him. Blackmail. They say that Sweeney had him in to interrogate him. I’d put my money on him. He’s been in the bar a lot the last few weeks with Brenda Norris. They seemed to be awfully cozy for him being married and all. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of his wife either. Seen her in action, and her temper can be just as out of control as her husband’s. And, you know, Ronda wasn’t stupid. She watched people in the bar, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try to get in on that action. Not that I should speak ill of the dead, but, like I said, I see things, and when people drink they tend to blab. Ronda just loved to gossip. Maybe she had some kind of angle to Brenda’s murder and it got her killed.”
Jill set her glass down. “You might have something there, Tully. Brenda was playing the odds with quite a few guys, from what I hear.”
He nodded. “I’m really missing Ronda around here, but, you know, life has to go on. Who knows? Maybe we’re all wrong. But I do know that someone out there is killing people. You girls take care of yourselves. Be careful, especially you, Grace. After all, you’re checking out the same stuff Brenda was working on. You say you think there might be a new angle to that fire story, but maybe it would be best to leave it alone. That might be what got her in trouble. Sometimes it’s best to ‘let sleeping dogs lie,’ as the preacher said last Sunday. On the other hand, if Brenda died because of her extracurricular
activities around town, maybe things will calm down now.”
The next morning Grace got up early and bicycled to the Endurance Historical Society. The red brick building that held the town’s history had been converted from an old grocery store that went out of business nearly twenty years earlier. Local residents had started a foundation, formed a board, and the town’s Historical Society had become a reality. Now Deb O’Hara worked there several mornings a week on a regular schedule among other volunteers.
Grace stopped outside the front window and looked in at the display of pictures and objects that marked the 175th anniversary of the town. Everything was decked out in red, white, and blue, and photos from the town’s history were framed and captioned. It wouldn’t be long now since the parade was this Saturday—just four days away—and the dinner dance was set for Saturday night. She put her hand up over her eyes to shield the sun’s glare and looked at each of the photos. A few were from the time since she’d moved here to marry Roger back in the early ’seventies—photos of parades, earlier celebrations on the centennial year, and then the 150th celebration. It was fun to see how some of the old buildings had been reused for businesses she knew today. She straightened up, parked and locked her bicycle in the rack next to the building, grabbed her laptop and purse from her basket, and walked in the front door.
Today Mildred Dunsworthy, the retired postmistress, was manning the main desk. She was on the phone, so Grace just waved at her and headed back through several rooms.
On one of Grace’s earlier trips, Deb had shown her boxes of microfiche that contained old copies of the local newspaper and other cartons that had pages of the Woodbury Spectator and the Stark County Newsletter. Bookshelves on every wall were filled with city directories, genealogy magazines, census records, and various volumes of the histories of neighboring counties. And, of course, files and folders adorned every shelf with genealogy records.
Three May Keep a Secret (An Endurance Mystery) Page 15