“New?” Grace said.
“Yes. It goes hand-in-hand with the loss of tenure in a couple of years. We must have a better way to evaluate teachers. The state is pushing it.”
Grace nodded her head. “If tenure goes, what happens? They can get rid of bad teachers more easily, but where is the protection for good teachers?” Grace’s voice became stronger, picking up on Godina’s unhappiness. “The best are often the veterans who make the bigger salaries.”
“Exactly right. It’s a matter of trust. Nowadays, trust is a rare commodity.” He stirred his coffee and thought for a moment. “It’s about recall rights too, Grace. Often the cash-strapped state doesn’t make payments, and teachers must be let go until the board sees if the program money will be available. So, who will the board call back first—a teacher paid $28,000 or a veteran paid $45,000? With tenure, seniority mattered. Enter the new evaluation system. Now it won’t.”
“Is this evaluation policy a subject people have been arguing about?”
“You better believe it. It was under debate last summer when we had some meetings, plus throughout the first semester. We finally hammered out a system, but, of course, it has possibilities for unfairness.”
“Any evaluation system would when you’re dealing with humans.”
“Sure,” said Bob. “I don’t know where this new policy is going to go now with John Hardy gone. At least he was reasonable and had been a teacher in the past. Unlike some administrators, he remembered the classrooms he came from.” He poured the few last drops of coffee into his cup. “I think John was under a great deal of pressure.”
“Why would you say that?”
Godina seemed to take a rather long pause before he continued with an answer. He scanned the room and, seeing no familiar faces, said, “I heard he was concerned about a person on the faculty cheating on their test scores.”
“Cheating?”
“The new evaluation also includes student test scores.”
Grace’s voice rose. “What?” Then she looked around and lowered her voice. “Why?”
“State law. We have to show students are making progress somehow.”
“But you and I both know we’ve watched students make beautiful patterns on their answer sheets. It’s easy to do with those bubble sheets.”
“Now they’re doing it on their electronic notepads. The tests mean nothing to them. If they fail the standardized test, they still graduate because it doesn’t affect their grades. Why do well?”
“You’re saying this determines whether you’re a competent teacher?” said Grace, shaking her head.
“Yes, but it’s only one part of the evaluation, Grace. It doesn’t count as much as actual observation in the classroom. That’s another story. All kinds of domains and questions for administrators to answer as they watch teachers teach.”
“Thank goodness it counts more than the student test scores. So where do the tests come from? Is it possible to cheat on them?”
“Part of the test is the standardized one; it would be difficult to change those answers. Now that we’re doing computerized tests, it’s not easy to change test answers. But we also use local tests made by teachers, and those tests should show improvement from early in the year until later in the year. The teachers grade them, turning in the scores.”
Grace shook her head. “Of course, they show improvement. The students haven’t had the material yet at the beginning of the year. Any fool could make that happen. Just more jumping through hoops.”
“Rumor has it that Hardy suspected someone of changing his or her local test scores.”
“Wow,” said Grace. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “I wonder if that’s what he wanted to talk to Evan Harrington about.”
“Evan?” His eyes widened and he touched Grace’s arm. “Why?”
Grace had to backtrack to get out of this slip of the tongue. “Oh, I heard the police found a notation on John’s desk calendar to talk to Evan on Monday. It’s probably a rumor flying around town. You know how that goes.”
Bob slowly shook his head. “I can’t imagine Evan Harrington would cheat on test scores. He’s just not that kind of person.”
“How do you know? What if his job depended on it? You talk as if this new system would warrant that.”
He was silent for a few seconds. “I know Evan well, Grace. We have a prep period together and teach in the same department. You get to know people when you’re thrown together with them. He’s very innovative. The kids like him, John Hardy likes him, and I can’t imagine he would have a problem with test scores. He wouldn’t cheat.”
Then they were both silent, lost in thought.
“Are the mailboxes still in the teacher’s lounge?” asked Grace.
“Sure. If he checked his mail for a note on Friday and found one from Hardy, he would have said something.” Godina paused thoughtfully. “I don’t remember anyone delivering him a note from the office during his prep period either.”
“Well, I imagine I just heard a rumor. This town is rife with them.”
Bob nodded his head, beginning to put his coat on. “I need to go, Grace. Remember, I’m still teaching,” he said, picking up the mood.
“You’re going to the funeral Friday, I’d guess?” asked Grace.
“Yes.” He looked away from her. “It will be difficult.”
“Maybe the teachers can lean on each other.”
Bob hesitated a moment, and said, “Yes, you’re so right.”
After paying her bill, Grace thought about the changes Bob had brought up. Not gone a year, she thought, and already the climate at the school is changing. If Bob Godina is right, this new system is pushing the change and driving a wedge among the people she fondly remembered.
Chapter Nine
The air Friday morning was fresh and crisp with no hint of snow or storms. What a perfect day for a funeral, Grace thought, if you had to have one in the winter. She remembered her own father’s funeral years earlier in Indianapolis. His was in February too, but overnight they had an ice storm, stranding many of their friends in airports all over the country. But not today, she thought. Sitting quietly in the church, her hands folded in her lap, Grace tried to forget that memory by watching the mourners.
Liz Hardy was immaculately dressed in a black silk suit, keeping close to her two devastated children, one in junior high and one in elementary school. Watching the grieving family, Grace found John Hardy’s violent death so unfathomable. TJ would tell her about evil, even in small towns, but Grace didn’t want to believe her.
She could see the district’s faculty had turned out, and she also noticed TJ standing quietly in the back, observing the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw the entire coaching staff, plus Alex Reid. They sat in a starched, suited, and neck-tied group, uncomfortable without their shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers.
Other mourners caught Grace’s eye. Marilyn Atkins sat in a back pew, red-eyed as usual, but without her husband. Del Novak came alone, quickly leaving after the service. He was probably nervous that he might have to see Hardy’s horrible grinning face again, but the family had chosen to have a closed coffin. Overflowing flowers of every imaginable kind covered the casket, with plenty of colorful blooms sitting in spaces at the front of the church.
After the service, Grace elected not to go to the cemetery or stay for the bereavement lunch in the church’s social hall. She needed to steal away home, have her own lunch, and pick up her notes so she could get down to the Register. As she was walking to her car, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, Grace saw a disturbed Evan Harrington.
“Grace,” he said, his eyes matching his pleading voice. “I know you and TJ Sweeney are tight. Do you think you could put in a good word for me?”
Grace smiled, played dumb, and said, “A good word? What do you mean?”
“She’s questioned me twice now,” he said and swallowed nervously, looking away. “Believe me, Grace, I had nothing to do with thi
s. You know me. I couldn’t kill a fly, let alone poison somebody, especially not John Hardy. He was great to me.”
“I think if you didn’t do it, Evan, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. TJ is really good at her job. She pokes and pries at everything, trying to find out the truth.”
“She seems to do a lot of that specifically with me. I wasn’t even there, Grace.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I did stop into the building on Sunday, but it was to pick up the lab reports I’d left on Friday. I slipped in the back door and up the back stairs. Didn’t go anywhere near the main office. I couldn’t have been in the school more than five minutes, tops.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No. Hardy’s car was in back where he usually parks, plus another one with his wife’s name on the plate. I think I saw a car in the student parking lot.” He pursed his lips, picturing the scene in his head. “I guess I didn’t pay much attention at the time since I was in a hurry.”
“Makes sense, Evan. But it means no one saw you either. I suppose TJ asked you where you were on Sunday.”
“Yeah, of course. But I didn’t mention I stopped into the building because I was afraid it would put me at the scene. She’s already suspicious enough. After all, I’m the man in the school with the chemicals, although the janitor’s closet has chemicals too. It’s not just me. And incidentally, I don’t see anyone questioning him.”
“I hadn’t thought about you and chemicals. Does anyone else have access to wherever you keep those chemicals?”
“Of course. The other teachers on my floor do, as well as anyone with a basic AC314 key. It’s a common key.” He paused. “Oh, and I also keep a second key in my desk drawer.”
“Could someone get into your desk drawer? Do you keep your office locked?”
He paused a moment, combing his fingers through his hair. “Oh, Grace, you know what it’s like. Since I teach five classes, I go in and out of my office to grab things I need. I pop downstairs to copy papers or stop in at the main office or take a bathroom break. Geez, I forget to lock it half the time. Yeah, I know I shouldn’t be so casual about locking up chemicals or poisons with teenagers around. I made a pledge to myself to work harder on that.”
“You have the carelessness going for you then.”
“How do you mean?”
“They can’t prove you alone have access to your chemical cabinet. Of course, if they find your fingerprints on a bottle of poison that matches whatever the autopsy finds, now that might be a smoking gun. When was the last time you opened the cabinet?”
“The poisons specifically? Not since last spring. I do a special CSI unit in the spring.”
“Can you think of anyone else in the building who might be so angry at Hardy that he would do this?”
Harrington shook his head, responding thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine anyone I teach with could be a murderer.”
Grace smiled. “I used to believe that about people I knew too, but look where it got me last month. I ended up right in the middle of a murder investigation, trying to prove a former student could never have murdered her husband.” She hesitated, considering what else she could say to help Evan while not betraying TJ’s conversations with her. “I struggle these days not to think the worst of people; it’s sad because it’s not who I always thought myself to be. Well, for what it’s worth, I’ll share some advice. I think you should search through your memory, especially over the last few months. Consider details. Sit back and let your mind travel through those months. Sometimes a memory will come back to you that you didn’t think was important at the time.”
Evan looked up at her, touching her arm. “Thanks, Grace. I feel better already. You always were a real friend to me, especially when I first came to teach here. It was tough to move into a new district where I didn’t know anyone, but you went out of your way to be helpful. You didn’t have to because you were heading toward retirement. I’ll never forget that.” His eyes dropped, embarrassed by revealing such a raw emotion. He cleared his throat, backing up a step. “I’ll do what you say: try to relax a little bit. Maybe you’re right. After all, the brain works in very mysterious ways! Chemicals, you know, and electricity.”
“Good luck. Evan, trust TJ to figure this out. She’ll get the right person.”
Grace watched him walk back to his car, his shoulders slumped, his gait slow. She believed in her heart of hearts Evan Harrington could not have done this terrible thing. But then she considered that TJ always told her she was too trusting. Which is it? she thought. She realized Evan didn’t mention the strychnine was gone from his cabinet. TJ told her that. Should that lapse make her trust him less?
She turned onto Sweetbriar Court and saw a police squad car parked down at the end of the street in front of Ardis Brantley’s house. Oh, no, not again, she thought. After putting her car in the garage, she decided she’d walk down and see what was happening. Maybe she could help.
Trudging down the snowy block in the car tracks, she saw Ginger Grant coming out of Ardis’ house, followed by a policeman. It was Ted Collier, the guy the other cops called “Mr. Chivalry” because he was always so sympathetic and kind to crime victims. Before Grace got to them, Ted started his car, driving cautiously down the street. He waved at Grace, but didn’t stop. Again, Grace thought about how comfortable it was to live in a small town where people helped you.
“What’s up?” she said to Ginger, who was walking Ardis’s English cocker spaniel, Stella, on a red leash. Ginger had been Grace’s student a year ago, before Grace retired. An intelligent girl with strawberry blond hair that waved slightly, she had dark brown eyes like Grace.
Ginger’s face lit up. “Hi, Ms. Kimball. It’s okay. Ms. Brantley’s fine, but I think occasionally she gets nervous or needs someone to talk to. Officer Collier said he was doing a wellness check since they’d been to her house about the fire alarm. I try to stop in too. It’s a little harder for me to get down there to walk Stella when I’m in school, but today, you know, school was out for the funeral, so I had some time to stop by.”
Grace had forgotten Ginger’s bubbly voice and endless energy. “You are kind to check in on her, Ginger. Makes me feel guilty.”
“Oh, but you take care of everyone else. I miss you at the high school, and I’m reading a great book right now. You’d know it—Crime and Punishment. I got it from the list of college-recommended books you gave us last year.”
“Wow. Dostoevsky. Pretty dark. What do you think so far?”
“I think people’s minds are weird. Here this guy murders someone he doesn’t even know to see what it feels like, then suffers from terrible guilt. I know it was written long ago, and this guy is Russian, but it seems to me like lots of people do that kind of thing today, but they don’t feel guilty, do they? You see it all the time on the news. I mean, look at Mr. Hardy. Somebody killed him, but I don’t see anyone turn up at the police department to say, ‘Gee, I feel guilty and I did it.’ ” A pained expression on her face followed this literary assessment.
“That’s a very good point, Ginger. What do your friends at school say about all of this?”
Ginger reached down a moment, petting Stella’s soft caramel coat. Then she stood back up and said, “Well, depends on who you ask. Nobody’s sure what to think. I mean, well, what if it’s a teacher? Geez. Can’t imagine a teacher who would do such a terrible thing. Why, Ms. Kimball? Why would a person kill Mr. Hardy? I always thought he was a great guy. He’d be in the hallways between classes talking to everyone because he knew all of us by name, even though there must be seven hundred kids at the high school.”
“Are your friends nervous about it?”
“Well, again, depends. My mom says some of the parents are saying they may keep their kids at home until Detective Sweeney figures it out. I think that’s dumb.”
“I wish I had answers for you, Ginger. I don’t know who did it, and I know most of the teachers in the building, except for the new ones. Seems hard for me to
believe too. But I have faith in Detective Sweeney, and since she lives right here in the neighborhood, I’m sure we’re safe.”
Ginger’s eyes sparkled and she grabbed Grace’s arm. “I forgot to tell you the best news of all, Ms. Kimball. I’m going to be in the junior class play. Ms. Terry picked me for what she calls ‘an old water chestnut’ called Arsenic and Old Lace.”
“I think the phrase ‘an old chestnut’ means a play that has been done often. Perhaps it doesn’t seem like such a great choice after Mr. Hardy’s death.”
“But we’ve practiced it already for about three weeks. The blocking is done—you know, figuring out where we should stand or where we move. Memorizing is next. We didn’t know something terrible was going to happen, but we already have too much time invested to stop. I’m sure glad we weren’t in the school on Sunday.”
Grace patted Stella’s smooth, silky coat and looked up. “What part do you have?”
“I play the part of Abby Brewster. She’s one of the wicked but lovable elderly aunts who poisons people. It’s so hilarious because Ms. Terry knows that a killer is not who I am. A little weird, Ms. Kimball—she told me to have fun with it.”
Grace smiled. “I’m sure she was joking, Ginger. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that play. This is one of those stranger-than-fiction things, I mean, the fact that she would do this particular play when Mr. Hardy just died.” Grace stopped herself before revealing he’d been poisoned, because she wasn’t sure how much to say. It was likely, however, that everyone in town was aware of how he died, except for the underbelly of gossipers who undoubtedly had him stabbed, shot, or thrown down the stairs in their discussions. Small towns were hotbeds of inaccurate information, the more salacious, the better. Endurance was about the same as any other, she supposed. She glanced at her watch.
Death Takes No Bribes: An Endurance Mystery (Endurance Mysteries Book 3) Page 8