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

by Susan Van Kirk

  “Did you know he does a quasi-CSI unit in his chemistry class these days?”

  Grace stared at TJ. “No. I had no idea.”

  The detective chuckled. “Since all the television shows about crime scenes began, everybody’s kids want to be forensic scientists so they can go testify in court. Harrington does a mini-CSI unit, creating a murder so they can try to solve it.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a reason to be suspicious. It actually seems like a great way to get kids interested in science.”

  “Oh, I agree, Grace. I went in to see him today. He has a cabinet filled with chemicals, but he keeps them locked up. For this CSI unit, some of the bottles are filled with poisons. He says he needs them to show kids what they look like. He gives the future forensic experts a set of facts about the victim’s remains, and they must figure out what killed the dead guy. Guess which bottle was missing?”

  Grace pulled in her breath and gasped. “Oh, no, TJ. That can’t be. Who else has a key to the cabinet?”

  “Good question, Grace. All the teachers in the science department have keys to open all the locks on the third floor.”

  Grace rubbed her jaw, a nervous habit. “What about anyone else in the building?”

  “The janitors and the administrators have master keys which will open anything. But I hardly see Alex Reid with enough intelligence to even figure out how to find the poison cabinet, let alone know it exists.”

  “Where does Evan keep his key? With his other keys?”

  “He says he has two chemical cabinet keys. One is with his building keys on one of those things that hangs around your neck,” TJ said.

  “A lanyard.” Grace sighed. “I have so failed you on vocabulary.”

  “Don’t worry, Grace. I don’t have to use fancy words to write my detective reports. I’m the Ernest Hemingway of detective report writers. All verbs and nouns.”

  “So where is the other?”

  “Key? Conveniently missing from his desk drawer until recently.”

  “Since when?”

  “Last week,” said TJ. “He began to sweat, staring at me with one of those deer-in-the-headlights looks. I waited for him to ask if he needed a lawyer yet.”

  “Does he?”

  TJ shook her head slowly. “Not yet. But the noose is definitely tighter.”

  “Did you ask him about the bad evaluation?”

  “I did. In fact, it was, I’d say, the climax of the interview. He claimed he’d had nothing but positive evaluations, and this is the year he’d get tenure. Says Hardy told him he was good.”

  “So how does that make any sense?”

  “I showed him the red-flagged evaluation from Hardy’s filing cabinet. I pointed out a few statements Hardy had written which made it sound like they might hold off on giving him tenure. Along with the evaluation, the file contained a list Hardy had organized—a bulleted list—which prioritized his upcoming actions to remedy Harrington’s shortcomings. But first, of course, Hardy wrote a note to himself to talk with the superintendent. I don’t think he’d done it yet because a quick call to Dawn Johnson revealed they made a plan to meet next week to discuss evaluations.”

  “You know, TJ, schools are filled with lots of forms and paperwork. Evan would have had a copy of this bad evaluation. But he denies he knew about it?”

  TJ poured a little more coffee into each of their cups while checking a text that just dinged on her cell phone. She closed the screen and looked up at Grace. “You are so right about copies. He said to me, ‘I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you I have had nothing but good evaluations. Here, I’ll get my most recent one.’ He pulled some folders out of his desk. Thumbed through them. One of the labels said ‘evaluation,’ so he took it out and set it on a lab table. I opened the folder. It was an exact duplicate of the red-flagged one I had in my hand.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say shock. His eyes widened and he was momentarily at a loss for words. Said he’d been down to see Hardy a week earlier about his evaluation. Claims it was all positive. Hardy assured him he wouldn’t have any trouble with the tenure designation. Harrington slipped the eval copy in his desk folder and forgot about it. He claims this file, the one on the table, was not what Hardy had given him. Of course, now that Hardy is dead, I’ll have a tough time confirming any conversation, especially when the bad evaluations match.”

  “Do you have enough to arrest him? Could someone be setting him up?”

  “Good question. It’s an awfully elaborate plan if he’s being set up. I don’t know what Hardy wanted to see him about on Monday morning. The timing is suspicious. Problem is, I can’t put him at the scene. He said he drove by the school and saw Liz Hardy’s car. Why would he be driving down the alley behind the school? It’s the only way he could have seen her car.”

  “I’m sorry, TJ,” said Grace, shaking her head. “I just have a hard time picturing Evan Harrington as a cold-blooded, premeditated killer.”

  “I’ve heard those words pass your lips on several different occasions when someone you thought you knew was in trouble.”

  Grace rolled her eyes, reminiscent of her high school students. “Haven’t I always been right?”

  TJ didn’t say a word, but a pained expression on her face was enough.

  “There. Besides my expertise in gin rummy, I’m also right about your suspects.”

  “Not sure you are this time, Grace. The fingerprint IDs came back today. Since we have every teacher in the police files, it isn’t difficult to figure out who’s who.”

  “Well, who’s who? What did you find?”

  “Two sets which are definitely suspicious. Another teacher’s prints were on a flower vase on the bookshelf. Then, on the coffee cup on the floor in pieces, we found fingerprints that matched Evan Harrington’s.”

  Chapter Five

  Early on Tuesday, Grace sat in her car, the heater running, and stared at Lockwood House. Jeff Maitlin had purchased all four thousand-plus-square-feet of this huge old Victorian built in the late 1800s by Judge Charles Lockwood. Now, he was having the Victorian renovated to its 1800s appearance because it had, unfortunately, been divided into apartments back in the 1950s. Frankly, it hadn’t been maintained well since the late 1930s. A local renovator, Todd Janicke, was restoring the inside, but the outside would still need attention once the Midwest weather warmed up in the spring. Grace took a last sip of her coffee, examining the house from her car window as she waited for TJ Sweeney.

  Lockwood House was three stories high, boasting several gables and a pointed tower over a third-floor window. The porch roof was supported by three pillars, while the spindles which enclosed the porch sat at odd angles, a few of them missing. The wooden siding would need to be patched and painted, but the roof would have to be completely replaced. Jeff had plans to eventually move in, operating it as a bed and breakfast, so people who returned to Endurance College for special events would have a historic place to stay. Glancing at the porch, however, Grace realized his goal was a long way off.

  TJ’s truck came around the corner as Grace set her coffee cup down and opened the car door. She watched as the detective parked her truck, turned off the lights and music, and trudged over through the snow. “Time I saw the inside of this monstrosity.”

  “Oh, come on, TJ. Use a little imagination. It will be beautiful.”

  Sweeney glanced up at the porch, roof, and siding, shaking her head. “He must be either a millionaire, or else he launders drug money.”

  “I can’t imagine either of those is true. But you’re right—it’s going to take an awful lot of money to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Even though Jeff’s gone, we can see how Janicke is doing with the work.”

  “You still have no idea where he gets his money, or why he came to this tiny town from New York City. You have too much faith, my friend.”

  “But I fell immediately for his blue eyes.”

  “Right. I’ve only hear
d about those fifteen or twenty times. Let’s see. Bluebonnet? No, cornflower blue. I don’t even know what blue cornflowers look like.”

  Grace laughed while they picked their way across the slippery street, up the stairs, and into the house.

  She called out, “Hey, Todd. It’s me. Grace.” They heard footsteps; then the pocket doors into the front hallway opened, and a blond head stuck through the opening.

  “Hi, Ms. Kimball! You brought Sweeney with you. TJ Sweeney, the most feared fighter on the playground at Gardner Elementary.”

  TJ smiled, shaking his hand. “No different now, except I get to carry guns with live ammunition.”

  Todd Janicke’s jeans and insulated vest were covered in plaster dust, and some sawdust sat precariously on the curly ends of his hair. His left hand held an electric screwdriver, while his other hand pushed the pocket doors open. “Come on in.” He turned, walking back into what had once been a front parlor.

  TJ tapped Grace on the shoulder, whispering, “Mmmmm…” She nodded toward Janicke’s well-defined biceps stretching the soft material of his waffle shirt. Softly, she murmured to Grace, noting, “Nice shoulders, manly power tools, but married…Crumb.” Grace shook her head, a wry smile on her face.

  They walked into a main room that would have been a front parlor. A wall had been taken out on the north end to make the two parlors into one huge room, perhaps in the 1950s. Now the front and family parlors would be their own spaces once again.

  “This is amazing,” Grace said, her eyes studying the demolished room.

  Janicke wiped his arm across his forehead, leaving a trail of plaster dust on his face. “Yeah, well, I came across some problems I hadn’t counted on, so I’m a little behind where I’d like to be.”

  TJ scanned the room, shaking her head. “This might be a lifetime project. Are all the other rooms like this?”

  “Some are not so bad, but Mr. Maitlin is always particular about how he’d like this done, and that’s the only way I roll.”

  “When do you think that will be? Done, I mean?” asked Grace.

  “My guess is by the end of the year. Course I’m not doin’ it all myself. Several of my buddies come over when I need more than two hands. I have a couple of guys on another job; I’ll move them here when they’re finished.”

  TJ glanced questioningly at Grace, then turned to Janicke. “So, Jeff won’t live here for a whole year?”

  “Oh, no. The rooms I’m working on now will be in decent shape by late spring, and he can move in while I’m working. I’ll finish an upstairs bedroom. He’ll be gone during the day, but he’s already had some appliances brought in for the kitchen.”

  Grace said, “I had a call from Jeff, and he should be back in a few days.”

  “Oh, good,” said Janicke, his voice registering relief. “I want to show him several problems where I need to get some decisions.” He checked his watch, saying, “Well, gonna head out and have some coffee with the guys down at The Depot. You two feel free to stroll around all you want. I’ve taken out paneling and carpet, and most of the windows are stripped down to the essentials. I’ll put in plaster, lath, insulation, sheetrock. It’s a bit of a mess right now. The chimney and fireplace had to have more work than I anticipated. You’ll need to watch where you walk. But, she’s coming along fine.” He smiled, looking around. “Going to be a proud lady once again, eventually.”

  After Janicke left, TJ said, “Well, hundreds of thousands of dollars eventually, plus Janicke will be able to retire.” She examined all the windows. “Are you sure Jeff didn’t rob a bank in his past life?”

  Grace laughed, twirling around to get a panoramic view of the parlor. “This is really something. I can’t wait to see the finished product. Come with me while I show you the kitchen and the upstairs. You can see where I found Olivia’s diary.”

  As she gave TJ a tour of the broad staircase that led up to the second floor, Grace pointed out the old black metal gaslight fixtures, along with various changes Jeff planned to make. They spent a few minutes in the front bedroom, where Grace had found the diary of Olivia Lockwood, the young wife of the judge who built the house back in the 1890s. The diary was hidden beneath a squeaky floorboard in the front bedroom, the noise causing Grace to unearth it a month earlier. She had read the girl’s account, and now Sam Oliver, the history department head at Endurance College, was studying it.

  After pointing out what Jeff planned to do on the second floor, Grace took TJ still higher to the ballroom on the third floor. Like the other rooms, it appeared tattered and neglected, but the ceiling held a chandelier surrounded by paintings of cupids or angels which were barely visible beneath the grime. Grace thought it would have been so grand in its day. Then they took the servants’ back staircase down to the kitchen and dining room on the north end of the house.

  On her way down the stairs, Grace suddenly realized Jeff was everywhere in this house. After he signed the papers, he couldn’t wait to take her around each room, seeing the old decaying mansion through the eyes of a dreamer. She remembered their kiss on the huge staircase leading up to the ballroom, and how he had held her hand, pulling her through each room as he had talked excitedly about the changes. Then there was his boyish enthusiasm as he lovingly caressed the mahogany woodwork of the front staircase, his smile and laughter as he pointed out the old gaslight fixtures, his plans for the hallways, and his descriptions as he focused on fireplaces, chandeliers, and wallpaper ideas. The tiny lines around his cornflower-blue eyes wrinkled from the grin that spread over his face as he had explained each of his ideas. She was sure he would be back. He’d already invested thousands in this mansion.

  She had been alone for so many years. Oh, she had gone on dates with other men over those years, but nothing had come of those relationships. They simply weren’t Roger. The men she’d seen were somewhat interesting, often kind, but she felt no spark, no impulse that told her she’d like to spend the rest of her life with any of them. Not, that is, until Jeff Maitlin came along.

  “So,” said Grace, putting her last thoughts about Jeff into words. “I think it’s exciting he’s decided to stay here in Endurance.”

  TJ nodded her head. “I hope you’re right, Grace. I know how much you want that.” Then moving across the dining room, she pointed at some papers, asking, “Is this mail?” She walked over to the pile of envelopes and circulars on the floor.

  “Yes. It comes in through a slot, but Todd or I have piled it on the table over here.”

  TJ gathered up the envelopes, credit card opportunities, and store ads, straightening them out. “Hmm…What might this be?”

  “You’re being snoopy.”

  “Of course I am.” She pointed to her badge. “Police detective.”

  “Let me see.” The heavy manila envelope was packed full, with $8 worth of postage on its corner. The return address said, “Atkins, Pheiffer, & Genler, Law Offices,” and was postmarked Chicago, Illinois.

  “If he’s in Chicago, he’s only about three hours away.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” said Grace, slowly. “He’s been gone too long to be so close.” But she stared at the address.

  “We’ll see. I have my concerns about this mystery man in your life. You’ve hardly known him longer than a few months, and then he disappears.”

  Grace sat down on a packing box in the middle of the front parlor while TJ stared out the window into the cold, Illinois snowdrifts. Grace had known TJ for a long time, so she could tell her friend was holding something back. “It’s your job, TJ. It makes you suspicious of everyone. So, what is it?”

  “I had hoped he’d be back by now so he could tell you himself.”

  “What? Tell me what? Have you been snooping? You know I told you not to bother. He’ll tell me at some point.”

  “Right, like he’s done so far.” She turned away from the window, walking over to Grace. “Yeah, I did do a little snooping into his background. Someone has to watch your back.”

 
Grace considered for a few moments whether she wanted to know what TJ had found out. She and Jeff had just begun to date when he disappeared. Unlike her sister-in-law, Lettie, Grace was more reticent when it came to asking people about their personal lives. If Lettie had been dating Jeff, by now she’d have known the location of his measles vaccination and what year he got it, as well as its cost.

  “Oh, all right. What do you know that I don’t?”

  “Good thing you’re sitting down. I did a tiny background check on him.”

  “And?”

  “And…his parents…were murdered.”

  Grace gave TJ an incredulous stare. “What? Murdered? You mean killed intentionally? Oh, TJ? Why? How could that happen to them?”

  TJ looked at Grace. “Intentional—yes. I discovered that quite quickly when I investigated where he’d been. The speculation at the time was that his father defended Mafia guys. In other words, he was connected, and both parents were shot execution-style.”

  “What? TJ, that’s horrible! Those poor people. Please tell me Jeff didn’t find them. How could he survive that? How old could he have been?” She paused, thinking about the detective’s revelation.

  “His father was a Chicago attorney, and his mother was one of those charity mavens. They were found murdered in their home in July 1961. Many of his father’s clients worked for the mob. At the time their influence in Chicago was high—money-laundering, bookmaking—and it appears Jeff’s dad was in the thick of it.”

  Grace raised her hand to her mouth and asked in a shaky voice, “What about Jeff? Why wasn’t he killed too?”

  “He was away at the time. Summer camp.”

  “Did he have any brothers or sisters?”