Death Takes No Bribes: An Endurance Mystery (Endurance Mysteries Book 3)

by Susan Van Kirk

  She reached the high school in snowy, creeping-along-the-road time, stopping in the office to check in with Ann Cummings. The crime scene tape, plus “Do Not Enter by Order of the EPD” sign on Hardy’s door, gave her chills. Ann had said the meeting was in the library/learning center, so Grace sat at the side of the gathering where she could see a cross section and observe people’s behavior. This had taken quite a few minutes since teachers stopped to talk to her, asking why she was there. She told them she had to cover the meeting for the Register and, trying to look genuine, got out her electronic notepad. TJ slipped in at the last moment, immediately moving to the back, over toward the other side of the room from Grace. Everyone talked in hushed tones and a few people had red, swollen eyes. Grace figured school had limped on today with counselors available for students.

  She watched Alex Reid come in with a notebook and a water bottle. He sauntered to the front, where a small table had been placed. Setting down his items, he cleared his voice several times, said one last thing to one of the teachers in the first row, and then waited for the chatter to die down before he began.

  “Ah, I think we should get started.” He paused and rubbed his jaw. Then he looked up. “I’ll bet you’re wondering why I called this meeting,” he began. No one laughed. In fact, the silence was deafening. Alex cleared his throat—twice. “Sorry, bad joke. I know we are all devastated by the death of John Hardy…”

  Grace looked around as Reid hemmed and hawed his way through his announcements. Studying the faces of her colleagues, she noticed Evan Harrington, the chemistry teacher, regarding her. He quickly looked away. She watched as he held his head straight forward, avoided her stare, and pretended to listen to Reid. He had been a new teacher right before she’d retired, and Grace had served on several committees with him. The students loved Evan because he was young, designed unique ways to teach them chemistry, and taught his classes with a “hands on” approach. Right now, however, he sat in a rigid posture, fidgeting every so often, and avoiding Grace’s stare. He occasionally stole a look at someone behind him, but she couldn’t figure out whom since his eyes shifted several times.

  Grace’s eyes moved on to the superintendent, Dawn Johnson, who stood in the back near TJ. Johnson had been with the district three years, and Grace admired the way she handled decisions. Right now, she was leaning against the back wall, staring intently at Reid, a sour look on her face.

  Grace contemplated the two administrators. Johnson was in quite a bind if she moved Reid up to the high school principal’s position for the rest of the year. It was one thing to deal with the discipline problems—which Reid did now—but a totally different task to make the policies and lead the school. Grace figured Johnson would resolve this situation in the next month, bringing someone else in to be principal. Then Alex would be back at the assistant principal job, where his staff could take care of his lack of organizational skills. Ah, Grace, be charitable, she chastised herself silently.

  Suddenly, her eyes were caught by a movement in the back of the room. She noticed Marilyn Atkins, a social studies teacher, who was visibly upset over Hardy’s death, her eyes swollen and red. Grace could see she appeared to be having a difficult time keeping her composure even now. She didn’t look up at Reid or Grace, but instead appeared to fiddle with something in her purse. Grace felt sorry for her even though they’d not been friends. She found Marilyn cold, and often students would show Grace sarcastic remarks Marilyn had written on their papers. Two seats down from Marilyn was Grace’s replacement, June Jaski. Grace looked at the young, slender girl, thinking of herself when she had first started teaching. Well, not really, she thought. I already had three children and had just become a widow. In some ways, Grace envied the woman because she had her whole career ahead of her.

  Then she remembered her instructions from TJ. Instead of looking to the front at Reid again, her eyes were drawn to Ellen Terry, the drama teacher. Grace had only heard about her, but it appeared she was a splash of color in an otherwise conservative crowd. Small wonder the students were drawn to her, although Grace thought her rather strange-looking. Right now, she sat in her chair, appeared sleepy, and filed her nails with an emery board. Every so often she switched the position of her feet. Then she picked at her cuticles. Grace turned her attention back to the front and Alex Reid. Better remember to write down a few notes so I’ll look official, she thought.

  “At this point we believe the—uh—funeral for John Hardy will be later in the week, once the coroner has released his—him to the funeral home. The police, of course, are still investigating, but as soon as we hear about the arrangements, we’ll let you all know.”

  “Will school be dismissed so we can go to the services?” asked one of the teachers.

  “I kind of doubt—” Reid looked back at Johnson, who nodded her head. “Uh, uh, that I am, well, wrong, and…” He flailed away at his insecurities. “Yes. Yes. We will dismiss school, but I don’t yet know when.” He looked back at the superintendent.

  Grace watched the back of the room, eyeing Johnson as she executed a slicing motion across her neck, then pointed at TJ Sweeney. Reid introduced her, and TJ explained the police would be in the building talking to people over several days. If anyone had any information to give regarding the death of John Hardy, they could call down to the department or speak to her or Jake Williams directly during the investigation. Then she expressed her condolences since they were all sad to lose their principal and friend.

  TJ’s demeanor contrasted with the bumbling Alex Reid. She was all business, her crisply ironed uniform indicating her respect for her job. Her olive skin, the product of a black mother and white father, turned more than a few male heads in the town of Endurance. Speaking clearly and directly, she reminded Grace of the teenager she’d taught years earlier in this very building.

  TJ—Theresa Johanna Sweeney.

  Pulling herself back to the present, Grace examined her notes. She had circled five names of people she thought were ill at ease or nervous beyond the ordinary. Of course, this didn’t include Alex Reid, who was always flustered and probably didn’t want to have this responsibility anyway.

  Everyone began to clear out of the library, but a few teachers stopped to talk to Grace. Listening to their comments, Grace thought it felt so natural, so normal to be back here in the library again. Then Evan Harrington brushed past her quickly, without saying a word. Many of her former colleagues made polite jokes about how retirement was treating her since they knew she was now working at the Register part-time instead of sitting on a sandy beach soaking up sun on a Caribbean island. Several mentioned how sad it was for her to be back in the building for such a terrible reason.

  Grace looked around at the friends and colleagues she had worked with, some for many years. As more details eventually came out, Grace fervently hoped her trust in them was warranted. She couldn’t imagine a teacher in that room murdering John Hardy.

  Chapter Four

  Later that evening, Grace was driving home from the high school basketball game with her friend, Deb O’Hara. Alex Reid had gotten permission to have the game despite school being shortened by an hour. In fact, the crowd had observed a moment of silence for their principal at the start of the game. Briefly, she mulled over Hardy’s murder on the way home over streets that were much improved from their condition in the morning.

  “You’re in a pensive mood. Still thinking about Jeff?” Deb asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Between his absence and my time back in the high school, I guess I’m a little lonely. I’d forgotten how much I missed the people I worked with all those years.” She swallowed and glanced over at Deb. “Jeff’s absence has…weighed on my mind too.” Turning the corner onto Deb’s street, she pulled up in front of the house, where the lights were on inside. The front porch light greeted them like an old friend. “Looks like John left the light on for you.”

  “Oh, he worries too much. Whenever I’m out with you or the girls, he waits up fo
r me as if I’m an errant teenager.”

  “You’re fortunate to have him. He’s a good man. Now get in there, lock the door, and let him know all is safe and secure.”

  Deb shook her head quickly. “Right. Even though some crazy person is killing people in town.”

  “I think you’re safe, Deb. I’m sure that murder was not random.”

  “Just the same, people are nervous.” She lifted her wool scarf to cover her blond hair. “See ya,” she said, climbing out and closing the car door. Grace watched her carefully plod up the sidewalk until she was up the stairs and inside. It must be comforting to have a man she loved waiting for her. Lucky Deb, she thought. Too many years now Grace had gone home alone to her empty bed.

  She pulled out, driving carefully on the way home. Her mind went back to the restroom stop she’d made during the first half of the basketball game. Maybe that was why she was brooding. After washing her hands, she was about to return to the ballgame when she looked down the adjoining hallway. The English Department.

  Before she even realized it, her feet had carried her down the familiar tiles, past the counselor’s office, by the teacher’s lounge, and to a classroom she remembered so well. She could tell from a distance the door was ajar and the lights were on. Hmmm…lights. Wonder why. Quickening her pace, she stopped in front of her old room, eyeing the new name taped over the door. Hesitantly, she tiptoed through the doorway. Clearly, the room was being used for a coaches’ lounge, empty now during the game.

  Little had changed: She saw the same student chairs, shelved books, and computer on the teacher’s desk. Maroon-and-gold curtains Grace had sewn herself covered the eight windows, so she could lower the light for films during the day. She walked over to her old desk, letting her hand brush the top of it where someone had carved 2002 into the wood. She had never found out who the artist was, but she felt a pull of tenderness at its familiarity. Her lip trembled, but she drew herself back together.

  Noticing the corner cabinet, Grace saw new signs and posters which had not been there before. This momentarily startled her: someone else’s things. She sat down in the teacher’s desk chair, smiling at the classroom. Many of the best years of her life had been spent in this room, years filled with wonder, teenagers, lively discussions, and delirious laughter. She had put the jagged pieces of her life back together here. In the far-left corner desk was where Jim Haskell had sat; now he was an English professor at Rutgers University. Imagine that!

  But not all her memories were so pleasant. The seat near the door had belonged to Farley Young—a teenager she had sent out of class on many occasions. He had ended up in prison and, eventually, after his release, he’d blown himself up in a meth lab at his house. Grace shook her head. With his childhood home life, he’d never had a chance. What a terrible waste. On the back wall was the chart Ella Andrews had made about verbs. Grace knew she was married to one of the firemen in the town now. At last count, they had two kids.

  So many memories, so much to be happy about. Grace couldn’t venture to the post office without waving or talking to former students, now adults. But her life in this familiar room was over. That thought was finally real since someone else’s possessions were in her room. Twenty-five years, and they had flown by so fast. It seemed like yesterday Roger had died, her children were small, and her students had healed her, here in this room. Now she had been retired for almost a year. This was the first time since then that she had entered this classroom. She sniffled a moment, gazing out at the silence. Then she grabbed a tissue from Ms. Jaski’s desk, wiping her eyes.

  She should get back to the ballgame. Deb would wonder where she was. Grace stood up, walked a few steps, took several deep breaths, and stopped in the doorway. Her shoulders slumped and she felt a thickness in her throat. Looking back into the room, she pulled back her shoulders, and then she thought to herself, it will be fine. She had a job she loved at the newspaper, and soon Jeff Maitlin would be back. She turned and sauntered down the hallway slowly.

  Oh, but I so loved this life too.

  You are feeling sorry for yourself, girl, she thought, as she came back to the present and turned onto Sweetbriar Court. So, stop it! You are fine. Seeing lights ablaze in TJ’s house, she figured at least her friend had a little time off from the murder case. Whenever she had a big case, TJ was on it 24/7, and Grace worried about her total focus. It didn’t have a great effect on her psyche—dealing with murderers, corpses, and coroners.

  Once she was in her house she saw a light blinking on her answering machine on the kitchen counter. Her heart started pounding. Maybe it was Jeff, but why wouldn’t he have called her cell phone? Staring at it, she hoped it was Jeff. She held her breath and pushed the button. A message from the library played: they were holding a book she had ordered. Reaching for the counter to steady herself, Grace slumped, and the tightness in her chest felt like her heart was shrinking. As she deleted the message, she smiled bitterly and her eyes filled with tears. Then her doorbell rang and she literally jumped. She wiped her eyes, checked her face in the mirror by the door, and peered out the peephole. It was TJ, whose stomach was calling for Lettie’s last piece of blueberry pie. When they opened the refrigerator, they discovered Lettie had left a freshly baked apple pie.

  “Which do you want? Blueberry or apple?”

  TJ looked at her choices carefully. “Definitely blueberry. Last piece. Okay with you? Or did you want it too?” She sat down at the kitchen table, studied Grace’s face carefully, and added, “So, what’s wrong? Why the poopy face? The droopy eyes?”

  “I’m fine, TJ,” she muttered softly.

  “That’s what you usually say when you’re not.”

  Grace warmed up coffee and set out some plates. “Oh, I’m feeling a little lonely. I stopped in my old room tonight. Of course, it brought back such memories. Made me wonder why I decided to retire. It’s a momentary low point.”

  “Well, in that case, I think we should take a field trip tomorrow.”

  Grace looked up, a question on her face. “A field trip? What do you mean?”

  “I’ve decided we need a field trip. I haven’t seen Maitlin’s great monstrosity of a house, so I think it’s time I do. Who knows? Maybe a field trip will banish the ghosts away. You keep talking about this place, but I’ve never been inside.”

  Grace brightened. “It’s been a week or two since I’ve been there. Sure. I’d like to see what progress Todd Janicke has made. Every time I go to Lockwood House it seems like he’s created wonders. Good idea, TJ. Now I feel much better.”

  TJ grinned. “I wonder why people in small towns call the houses by one of the past owners’ names.”

  “Don’t have a clue. When Roger and I married, they called our house the Hamilton House, named for a family who lived there in the forties and fifties. How long does a person have to live in a house before people change the agreed-upon name?”

  “Beats me. Good question. Besides seeing the work in progress tomorrow, I must see Hardy’s widow, Liz.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “Don’t know. But I have questions to ask her, and she is on my list of possible suspects.”

  “Really? I thought you said whoever killed him must have hated him.”

  “What is the Shakespearean line about a woman scorned?” She raised one eyebrow. “Evidently, he’d been having an affair with someone, and perhaps she went to see him about the affair that afternoon. Her car was spotted in the high school lot by Evan Harrington.”

  “I can’t believe that. John Hardy? He always struck me as such a straight arrow.”

  “Oh, I forgot. Roger was a saint who would never have strayed from the path. Unfortunately, Grace, not everyone else is in his league.”

  “Oh, stop it, TJ. Do you know who this mystery woman is?”

  “I have a hunch, but I’d rather not say till I’m sure,” TJ said, digging into her pie, avoiding Grace’s eyes. “By the way, Evan Harrington is lying to me. He claimed not to know abo
ut the meeting.”

  “Evan?” Her eyes stared at TJ in disbelief.

  “Hardy left a note on his desk to see Harrington Monday morning. When I asked Evan about the topic of their meeting, I could tell he was lying.”

  “Seems odd.”

  “Lying makes me suspicious. Must be covering up something.”

  “Did you get the autopsy results? Weren’t they supposed to do that this afternoon?”

  TJ finished the last bite of her pie, pushing the plate away. “Yeah. This afternoon. The coroner also figures it was poison, but we must wait for the tox report. He echoed Martinez. Thinks it looks like strychnine. Otherwise, the guy was in perfect health.”

  “What a shame. I liked John. How sad. I can’t imagine dying like that, especially not John.” She paused momentarily in thought. “Who could get ahold of such a poison?”

  “I have my suspicions. Hardy’s file cabinet had personnel files for everyone. According to Ann Cummings, the secretary, the board would be apprised of poor teacher performance at their March board meeting. We’re close to the deadline.”

  “Really? Someone who had a bad evaluation might do such a horrible thing? Seems a bit drastic for a bad teaching evaluation, doesn’t it?” Grace popped the last bite of apple pie into her mouth. She waited for TJ to take another sip of coffee, and then added, “TJ?”

  “No telling what a person might do if he thought he would lose his livelihood. The file cabinet drawer was slightly open, and I found plenty in those personnel folders. One of the negative evaluations was for Evan Harrington, the chemistry teacher.” She looked up at Grace, waiting.

  “Evan? No. Can’t be. The students love him. I can’t remember him ever getting a negative evaluation.”

  “I knew the Grace Kimball defensive proclamation would be the next thing out of your mouth. What else do you know about him?” asked TJ.

  “I know when my neighbor Janet Grant’s boy, James, took his class last year, Evan tutored James for hours after school because he had a math disability. Of course, math is indispensable for understanding chemistry problems. Evan was tireless in helping him. I always thought of him as one of those teachers who went above and beyond to help kids and make them feel special. Hard to believe he’d do such a terrible thing. Evan doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”