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

by Susan Van Kirk

  “Oh, dear, I need to go. Well, you must keep me updated on Crime and Punishment. I wonder how it will end.”

  “Now you’re kidding me, Ms. Kimball. You know how my book’s going to end. You’ve read just about anything I could quiz you on, I think.” She paused. “I’ll take Stella along with you past your house. She needs some exercise, so I thought I’d at least walk her to the end of the Court. I’ll keep you up to date, and you must come see our play, of course.”

  “Absolutely. Take care of yourself. I miss seeing you too at the high school,” Grace called to her.

  Ginger waved enthusiastically and went on down the street, Stella trotting happily in front of her, excited to be out of the house. After Grace closed her garage door, she ambled into the house, stopping in her kitchen. It was obvious Lettie had been here because lunch was in the refrigerator, and a casserole sat next to it, covered in plastic wrap, ready to put in the oven for dinner. She always left Grace very specific instructions for the oven temperature as well as how long to cook the food. She taped them on the plastic. This time she also left a message to “take off the plastic wrap before you cook it. You remember what happened last time you left the plastic on. Geesh! What a smell!” Grace shook her head and chuckled.

  She had obviously been distracted a month earlier when she put the dinner in the oven and left the plastic on. The next thing she knew, she smelled something smoldering, and when she opened the oven, smoke billowed, the smoke alarm went off, and the Chicken Delight Casserole was definitely not delighted. Cooking was simply not a household job she would ever understand. It wasn’t that she was stupid.

  When she and Roger married years ago, it became painfully clear she was not going to be Mrs. Homemaker, unlike many of the wives who lived near them and could throw together a feast, watch three children, and have a spotless house. Grace thought those women were like one of the 1950s television commercials for the perfect wives using the newest appliances. As time went by, she became somewhat proficient at tuna casseroles or homemade pizza. Thank goodness Roger was the epitome of patience and understanding. But wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when you loved each other? Take the bad with the good, forgive, and let each other grow?

  Chapter Ten

  Later that evening, Grace perused the Register for errors and typos, and finding few, she gloated. See, Jeff Maitlin, we can keep this newspaper afloat without you, she thought. She had remembered to take off the plastic wrap from the casserole, eating way too much of Lettie’s tasty dinner. Now she was ready for a cup of warm tea and an old movie.

  Sitting down in her recliner, she put the teacup on the table, grabbed the remote, and switched the television to a movie channel. She had just begun to watch The Way We Were—one of her favorites—with Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford. Too bad it wasn’t a DVD or she could put it on pause long enough to simply stare at Robert Redford in his white uniform at a New York City bar. No man deserves to look that handsome in a uniform. She sighed. Then the house phone rang. She glanced at her clock. It was seven p.m. Couldn’t be TJ because she’d call Grace’s cell. Could be a robocall or someone who wanted to sell her something. She checked the phone, and since it was a local number, she picked up the receiver.

  “Hello.”

  “Grace, thank goodness you’re home!”

  It was a man’s voice, vaguely familiar.

  Grace’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who is this?”

  “Evan. Evan Harrington. I need to talk with you, Grace. I took your advice. I remembered something. I wasn’t thinking about Hardy at all. That’s what’s so strange. It came to me out of the blue. It’s really important.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “Grace, someone is trying to frame me for John Hardy’s murder—first, a bad evaluation which I’d never seen, then my coffee cup stolen from the lounge and left in Hardy’s office. It’s been missing for a week. We need to talk in person, and it would be better away from the school grounds. Sometimes I think these walls have ears. Can you think of a good place to meet? I’m at school right now.”

  Grace checked her watch. “Well, all right. How about the little coffee shop down on the Square? It’s still open.”

  “Perfect. I—I’m sorry to call you about this, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Why not Detective Sweeney?”

  “Grace, she already has me one foot in prison for the rest of my life. No, I’ll meet you at the coffee shop in, say, fifteen minutes?”

  “I can be there, Evan. I’ll put on my coat, and I’m out the door as soon as I hang up.”

  “Grace…I don’t know what to say. Thanks. I appreciate your help so much. You’re a lifesaver. Just need to pack up my stuff before I go down to the car. See you in a few minutes.”

  Ten minutes later she had parked and ordered coffee at The Coffee Bean, owned by one of her former students, Sissy Brock. Sissy could have been a poster girl for STEM programs, long before the acronym became popular for girls who were good at math, technology, and science. Sissy and two of her friends figured out how to make the very volatile nitroglycerine in the high school chemistry lab. Forced a full school evacuation. Fortunately, they didn’t add one ingredient, which prevented the demolition of the high school and surrounding blocks. She assumed Sissy was more careful brewing coffee.

  Only one other person was in the shop, sitting in the back. It was a cozy little business, with all kinds of coffees and teas. Grace ordered a French press, light roast coffee with a shot of caramel. She looked around at the tables and noticed an area of comfortable, stuffed armchairs, arranged in groups so customers could have conversations. A sign on the wall said Wi-Fi was available, and that brought in quite a few college students or professors who liked to drink coffee while they worked on their papers.

  Grace set her coffee down on a table close to the front window where she could watch for Evan. What did he remember? She looked at the clock over the counter. 7:15.

  Gazing out the window across the Square, she watched the old-fashioned historic lights, spreading a warm glow through the misty night. Three creamy round globes adorned the top of each light pole, their lights reflecting on the store windows on the quadrants of the Square. She observed the dark front of Gimble’s Paint and Wallpaper Store. The last time Grace had called the paint store to ask about whether they still had cement sealer for her porch, Mandy Thompson answered with, “Gimble’s Paint and Wallpaper Store. This is Mandy. How may I help you color your world?” What a clever thing to say to customers, Grace thought, smiling at the memory.

  Her eyes strayed to the Second National Bank of Endurance, under new management since the difficulties from earlier in the winter. That reminds me. I need to give Emily Folger a call and see how she is. Grace had kept in touch with Emily since her life fell apart when her husband was killed.

  Next to the paint store was the Endurance Public Library, a single light burning over the doorway. How many hours she’d spent there with her three children, Roger Jr., Katherine, and James. What sweet memories we have from those times. She was glad Roger brought her here to his hometown when they got married. She took a sip of coffee. It was such a lovely place to bring up our children. The bell on the coffee shop door jangled, causing Grace to look up, expecting to see Evan. But it was Jane Randolph. Grace knew her because she worked at the courthouse. Jane Hillman, later Randolph, had graduated as the valedictorian of her class. Let’s see. Probably twenty years ago.

  She stared at the clock again. 7:25. Where was Evan? She stirred her coffee for the fourth or fifth time and checked her phone, but she didn’t have his cell number because he’d called on her house phone. Technology. Much good it does me in this situation! He might be between here and the school by now. She determined she’d wait until 7:45, then drive by the school to see if his car was gone. Finishing her coffee, she frowned and peered anxiously out the window into the darkness. By 7:50, she figured he wasn’t coming.

  Driving past the school, she s
aw lights in the top-floor hallway windows. That was where the science lab was, but then the night janitor might be up there working too because his battered brown Ford was parked out in front. She studied the parking lot as she drove by, but it was deserted, its tall mounds of snow standing like sentinels on the easternmost corners. Well, she thought, where did you go, Evan? Pulling into the alley behind the school, she peered between the ends of the building addition. The outside night lights glowed in a straight line all the way down the brick school wall, and Grace could see Evan’s dark blue Ford in the spot where John Hardy often parked. That’s strange, she thought, biting her lip.

  She pulled out her cell phone, punching in TJ’s number, and the detective’s voice came on the phone after three rings. Grace could tell she’d been napping because she sounded groggy. After explaining the situation with Evan Harrington, Grace asked if TJ could come meet her. But how would they get in the school?

  “I’ve got a master key, Grace,” said TJ. “Johnson gave it to me because it was easier than making people let me in all the time. I’ll drive over and meet you in back. It could be he’s up in his lab and just forgot the time.”

  “I don’t think so,” Grace mumbled. “He seemed very interested in talking to me about something he remembered.” She paused and took a breath. “I’ll wait here behind the school, but hurry, TJ.”

  “You stay in your car and be sure to lock the doors. I’ll be there in no time at all.”

  Ten minutes later, TJ’s truck cruised around the corner of the building, and the detective pulled in next to Grace’s car. Together they unlocked the back door of the high school, TJ in the lead. She’d told Grace to stay behind her, checked the magazine in her gun, and went through the door, alert for anything. The building was quiet, except for the furnaces, which thundered every time the fans came on. They walked the length of the lower-level hallway, their footsteps on the tiles sounding muffled from their snowy shoes. Up to the main office. Another set of stairs took them to the top floor, Grace huffing and puffing a little after two flights of stairs. TJ, of course, could have doubled her speed without breathing hard, Grace thought. All the lights were on in the second-floor hallway. No janitor in sight.

  “He could be on a break down in the janitor’s room,” whispered Grace. “Maybe he was up here, left on a break, and that’s why the lights are on.”

  They walked down the long hallway to Evan Harrington’s lab, finding the door closed and the lights off. TJ used her key to open his room. Moving cautiously, she signaled Grace to stay back in the hallway. She flipped on the switch inside the door. Instantly, all four banks of lights came on in the lab area. Nothing. Grace peeked around the open door, watching TJ walk farther into the room, looking behind lab benches. Then she turned toward Evan’s office, which was attached to the far end of the lab, unlocking that room too.

  “Nothing. Come on in, Grace,” she called.

  Grace moved toward TJ and glanced around, opening the closet door near Evan’s office. Her eyes squinted. “This is strange. He always hung his coat in this closet, and he’d have his briefcase with him. They’re both gone. Still, his car is out in the parking area behind the building.”

  “Then he has to be here somewhere.” TJ rubbed the back of her neck and scowled. “If he left his office, heading downstairs, which stairway would he take? I’d guess the back stairs. It’s the only way he would leave unless he went out the front, which would be stupid with his car in back. The outside door we came in opens into the lower hallway, but it doesn’t access the back stairs. Come on, let’s try the back stairs and see where he might have gone from there.”

  Locking all the doors, they trudged back down the stairs, which extended from the third floor to the basement at the building’s south end. Night lights shone dimly on the stairwells. On the second floor, TJ stopped, pausing to look through the glass panel in the door to the landing, a door that opened into the main-floor hallway. It was dark; nothing was moving clear to the north end of the building. TJ turned and started down the last flight, Grace following close behind. Suddenly, Grace bumped into TJ with an “umph.” She heard the detective pull in her breath, saw her shoulders tighten, and felt her put her hand back to Grace’s waist.

  “Go back to the landing, Grace.” Then she started cautiously down the stairs. Ignoring her, Grace crept behind TJ, staring ahead at the lights outside the door on the end of the building. What was TJ seeing? The stairwell below was bare, painted a neutral institutional gray. The metal railing on the stairs was cold to the touch.

  Grace tried to see around TJ’s back, but to no avail. Her leg muscles tightened, sensing the detective’s caution. Following TJ’s movement, she shifted her gaze to the stair railing on her right. That’s when she saw Evan Harrington’s open briefcase, its contents strewn all over the floor. Then she stuck her neck out to see around TJ and gasped. At the bottom of the stairs was Evan Harrington, his eyes staring skyward, his neck twisted at a strange angle, and his feet still lying on the lowest three steps.

  Chapter Eleven

  Grace stared at the clock on her bedside table. 2:45 a.m. She turned over, plumped and repositioned her pillows, and pulled up the covers, but to no avail. Evan’s lifeless eyes and the horrible picture of his crumpled body kept floating through her brain. She couldn’t get the image out of her head. Over and over her thoughts replayed the scene at the bottom of the stairwell as if it were on a loop. How does TJ do this? She wondered.

  Her thoughts went back to the school. After TJ turned, telling her to sit down on the top step or return to the hallway on the landing, the detective carefully advanced down the stairs, not touching the railing or the wall. Grace slowly lowered herself to the step and observed. TJ bent over Evan carefully, keeping her balance as she examined his body from above at different angles and then, finally, checked for a pulse. Then she watched TJ turn her head and look up at the wall above the landing and behind Grace. Following the line of TJ’s sight, Grace saw above her, perched on a small shelf over the landing doorway, a camera, aimed down at the stairway.

  Grace stared at the camera and then turned back around. She saw TJ pull a cell phone out of her coat pocket and call the police department, asking Myers to assemble Jake Williams, the coroner, and the CSI team. Then, as an afterthought, she told him to call Dawn Johnson, the school superintendent, to let her know another death had occurred in her building.

  Cautiously, TJ came back up the stairs, unsmiling and choosing her words with care. “Grace, I want you to do two things for me.”

  “Yes, TJ.” Grace’s voice echoed in the stairwell, a rote reply as shock had set in.

  “Find the night janitor and tell him to stay out of this entire area of the building; then go home and lock your doors. I mean that, Grace. Lock your doors. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can get loose.” She started down the steps, but then Grace saw her stop, pause, and come back up to the landing. Her voice took on a kinder tone. “I’m sorry, Grace. I know he was your friend. You’ve already defended him to me with the loyalty I’ve grown used to hearing from you.” She smiled, leaving out her usual cynical reply. Now her words were tinged with sadness. “If this turns out to be anything but an accident, I’ll admit you were right to believe in him.” She pulled Grace to her feet, looked in her eyes, which were blinded temporarily by tears, hugged her, and told her sternly, “Get yourself together. I must stay with the body, so I need your help. Go find that janitor, and then get home before the emergency vehicles block you in.”

  Grace rolled over in her bed, staring at the clock again. 2:53. Closing her eyes, she tried to get the vivid pictures out of her head. This is useless, she thought, with a heavy sigh. She moved over on her back and studied the ceiling. She had driven through the dark streets, tears streaming down her face. She kept replaying Evan’s call—“You went out of your way to be helpful. I’ll never forget.” That thought switched to his voice asking for help when he had called her only a few hours earlier. She counted it up in
her head. Almost eight hours. He was alive then and needed me. What was it he remembered? Was someone else in the building, someone who overheard him?

  Thanks, Grace. You’re a lifesaver. “Well, I guess I wasn’t,” she said out loud, tears filling her eyes again. She reached for a tissue, wiped her face, and sat up. Her bed was close enough that she could just see out the window. The streetlight shone on the glistening snow, and not a car was in sight. With no wind, the street was perfectly calm. She stared silently out the window.

  3:01. She lay down once again, pulling up the covers. Her legs were restless and her mind wouldn’t shut down. He trusted her. She would never believe Evan could have killed John Hardy. Again, she recalled all the evenings when she left the building as the day was starting to get dark, and Evan was still grading papers in the teacher’s lounge or running off copies. Does a person like Evan murder people? Grace remembered her last year when the Coates boy was having so much trouble at home. Evan let him hang out in his room and listened to his troubles day after day. That’s what Grace meant when she told TJ that often teachers help kids from falling through the cracks. Disappearing into silence. Surely a person like that doesn’t murder people.

  Then she remembered her conversation with TJ about being too trusting. Whom had Evan trusted too much? Had he figured out who took the poison from his cabinet? Had he remembered a significant conversation with someone? What was he going to tell her at the coffee shop? Maybe his death was an accident. He might have slipped on the stairs if his shoes were wet from coming into the school. How long had he been at school before calling me?

  3:10. Grace finally decided she didn’t have any answers, and she wasn’t going to get any sleep. Putting on her bathrobe and slippers, she trod softly down the stairs. A cup of warm tea would do the trick, she thought. Twenty minutes later she was asleep in her recliner, a blanket up to her neck, the tea cooling on the end table, and the television running quietly in the background.