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

by Susan Van Kirk

  After listening to the message multiple times, she finally went up to bed. But it wasn’t much use sleeping. She tossed and turned, unable to rid herself of his words. Where was he now? Grace knew him well enough to realize he was feeling heartsick at leaving that message. She should be angry, but instead she was despondent, aching with pity for him and wishing she could tell him she loved him. Her thoughts were not intense like the roller-coaster ride of grief after Roger died. She—

  “Ms. Kimball?” Grace heard a voice and looked up. It was Jim Blender.

  “Yes, Jim,” she said quietly. He sat in the front row. She could see the other students around him were pretending to read, but Grace could tell they were listening in, wondering where this conversation would go.

  “Do you think they will find out who killed Mr. Harrington?”

  The others looked up.

  “Yes, Jim, I do. Also Mr. Hardy. It will just take some time.”

  He sat back in his chair. She could see his slumping shoulders relax, and he let out a deep breath. Then his eyes narrowed and he trained them intensely on Grace. “Why? Why do you think that?”

  “Because TJ Sweeney, the lead detective at the police department, will figure it out. She’s an expert at her job, and I have total confidence in her. She used to be a student of mine right here in this school—a highly smart and determined one.”

  “Well,” he said, squirming a bit in his seat, “I also wonder if they will find someone to take Mr. Harrington’s place.”

  “Yeah,” said the girl who was sitting next to him. “It isn’t that we’re insensitive to Mr. Harrington’s death, Ms. Kimball. We really, really like—liked him. But, you see, some of us are at the end of our search for colleges, and we want to make sure we get this chemistry information. We don’t want to get behind.” She took a deep breath, shaking her head. “I’m planning to be pre-med. It takes a lot of chemistry.”

  Grace smiled. She wished all her students had been this conscientious.

  “Mr. Harrington seemed nervous that Friday before, uh, before his death,” added a third student. “Distracted. He’d never been distracted before. He was always right on focus, with questions you’d have to think about.”

  “Really? Did you notice anything else unusual that day?”

  “I did,” said a fourth student, a boy sitting behind the girl who had talked first. “He kept looking at his watch. His prep period is next hour, so we figured maybe he had something important to do then, because he seemed nervous about it. He was usually laid back, calm, into the chemistry stuff.”

  Grace looked at the clock, realizing she only had about three minutes until the bell. Students were putting their belongings into their book bags. She hated to end this conversation since they noticed quite a bit.

  She picked up the pace, speaking clearly. “To answer your question, yes. I think they will find a replacement for Mr. Harrington. I know you liked him. I taught with him for a time, and I know he was a good man, and he was special. You shouldn’t worry. The superintendent has assured me she is working on it right now. If you happen to think of anything else that would be helpful to the police, you’ll be able to tell them when you see them around the building. I know they’re over here today, working.”

  The bell rang, they all scooted out of their seats, and shuffled out the door to their next classes. Jim Blender turned around, coming back to see Grace.

  “Maybe this isn’t important, Ms. Kimball, but I’m his lab assistant, er, was his lab assistant. Mr. Harrington’s. A week ago, he asked me about the key to the cabinet where he keeps some of his chemicals. He always left it in his office desk, so if he needed to have me get something, I knew I could go in and get it. But I always remembered to put it back. You see, he trusted me.”

  “That’s a good thing to know, Jim. Did he ever find it?”

  “Yeah, he must have. A few days later I asked him about it. He said he had found it in a pocket of his lab coat. It seemed kind of strange to me because he was careful about putting it back in the desk. It shouldn’t have taken a few days to find it. He acted as if he didn’t really want to talk about it, like he was, you know, distracted.”

  “Great. Thanks, Jim. I’ll mention what you said to Detective Sweeney. That’s helpful. If you think of any other details that come to mind, let her know. She’s in the building quite a bit this week, I believe.”

  “Sure thing!” He turned and walked out the door, joining the throng of other kids in the hallway. Grace closed the program on the unfinished story on her computer. She decided she’d head down to the teacher’s lounge and see if she could pick up anything of interest. It was Evan’s prep period.

  Walking through the hallways amid the crowds of students was so familiar Grace could hardly believe she’d been gone. Occasionally, during the time she was in the halls, she’d catch a glimpse of TJ Sweeney or Jake Williams talking to various teachers. She looked at the line of students coming toward her. Every so often one of them would say, “Hi, Ms. Kimball,” and smile. As she reached the teacher’s lounge, she stopped, standing near the wall, watching the faces of familiar high school kids. She was reminded of her sojourn to her classroom at the basketball game. While she felt somewhat like an observer looking out over the hallway and its thinning student groups, she realized how much she missed it. Could her doldrums have something to do with the loss of Jeff Maitlin? Was she hanging on to these memories because her teaching years had helped her loneliness? She saw Alex Reid coming toward her, motioning her into the teacher’s lounge.

  “Grace,” he said, moving toward the coffeepot. “How have things gone this morning?”

  “Fine, Alex. Kids have been good as gold and very cooperative.”

  He filled a coffee cup, turning around. “I’m sure that’s why Johnson wanted you in that classroom. You can sigh with relief, however, because she now has a teacher signed up to finish the semester…some woman who just graduated from the college.”

  “I can get back to my other job then,” said Grace, not knowing whether she felt relief or a tinge of sadness.

  “Sure can. Thanks for filling in for us, Grace. Let me know if you need anything this afternoon,” said Reid. Then he was out the door with his coffee.

  Alan Gladley, a PE teacher and coach, was sitting in a chair looking through his mail. Grace wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him in anything but shorts, a T-shirt, and a whistle. The only exception was John Hardy’s funeral. Alan was in in his mid-forties and in great shape; she could remember when he first came, taking the place of a football coach who retired.

  “Hi, Grace.”

  “Alan. Good to see you again. I’m sitting in for Evan Harrington’s classes. You probably knew that already. Very little’s changed.” She reconsidered, blinking her eyes. “Well, except for the awful deaths. The kids, by the way, told me Evan appeared distracted the last day he taught. Did you notice? I figure you’re in here when he has his prep period. Notice anything unusual?”

  “Ah, Grace,” he said. “I liked Evan, and I’m sure you did too. I didn’t see anything unusual, but, to tell you the truth, I come down here to check my mail during this hour. Then I go back to my office at the gym. I’d hardly seen him before all that happened. Sorry.”

  Grace wriggled her nose as if to say, “It’s all right.” He brushed past her and was gone as quickly as he’d arrived. She looked around. The lounge hadn’t changed much since she’d been here, but, after all, that was not quite a year ago. No one really cared about the place the teachers gathered during their prep periods; it was furnished in cast-offs from various people and places. Somehow it appeared dingier than she remembered. Same coffee stains on the top of the microwave, same refrigerator which probably needed cleaning, same Xerox machine with packages of paper on the shelf under it. Long tables sat in the middle of the room, some of them covered with various papers people had left, dropped, or forgotten. A worn sofa and two unmatched chairs occupied the south end of the room, their covers frayed an
d worn. A loveseat was over by the door on the east wall, its arms threadbare, and the rose pattern barely visible against the rest of the shabby material.

  Grace sat down on the loveseat and put her computer on her lap, thinking to finish the story she’d been working on all morning. She had barely started when a business teacher, Sally Wenstrom, walked in to check her mail. The mailboxes were wooden cubbyholes lining the north wall of the room. Sally was preoccupied and didn’t see Grace until she turned around. Then she visibly jumped.

  “Grace,” she said. “You scared me. I didn’t see you there when I came in.”

  “Sorry. Everyone’s a bit jumpy around here these days. I can see why.”

  Sally said, “Yes, you’re right. We’re going to miss Evan and John. I don’t know what this world is coming to.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I think I’m still in shock.”

  “Did you spend much time in the lounge with Evan this hour?”

  “Oh, some days. Yes. You know, he was an easy person to like, and we all had interesting conversations. Evan was into so many different topics.”

  “The kids in his class mentioned he was distracted or nervous shortly before his death. Did you notice that?”

  “Hmmm,” she said, thinking about Grace’s idea. “I don’t remember. No. But I do remember, late last week, he was looking in his mailbox. Suddenly, he turned around and said, almost as if to himself, ‘that’s it.’ He dropped his mail back into the cubbyhole and left. At the time, I didn’t ask him what he was talking about. He hurried out of the room right afterward.”

  “Well, that is something,” said Grace, almost absentmindedly.

  “It was after John Hardy’s funeral, I think. You know, Grace, so much has happened lately that I’m a bit mixed up on what went on when.”

  “I can understand. Does Ellen Terry come down here much? I know this is her prep period too.”

  Sally shook her head. “Not really. Of course, I usually go back upstairs and grade papers after I look at my mail. Can’t help you much.” She glanced at her watch, grabbed her mail tightly, and started for the door. “Actually, I need to get up and do that now. Nice seeing you, Grace. We miss you up here.”

  “Thanks,” said Grace, smiling again. She watched the business teacher close the door. Then she sidled over to the mailboxes. They were in alphabetical order so it didn’t take long to find Evan’s. She grabbed the papers out of it and looked through them. In the pile were all-school announcements from the week before his death, two ads from textbook companies, a circular announcing the play, a request for homework for a student, and a note from Marilyn Atkins about a curriculum committee meeting. The usual stuff. Then, as if thinking Marilyn’s name in her head could summon spirits, Grace saw the door open and Marilyn Atkins came in, her pale skin accentuating the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Marilyn. Are you all right?”

  Seemingly without stopping to think, she said, “Please, Grace. Much you care about how I feel.”

  “Of course I care. Come over here. Sit down.” She guided Marilyn to the sofa and leaned in to listen. “Can I do something to help?”

  Marilyn fiddled with her purse, put her books and papers on the floor, and pulled out a tissue. She wiped her damp face off with the tissue. “Weird things keep happening. My lampshade disappears and ends up in John Hardy’s office.”

  Grace tried to look genuinely surprised. “Your lampshade?”

  “You remember I have a little area in my classroom with an easy chair, a lamp, and a table, so a student can sit down, relax, and read? It’s kind of a symbolic, cozy reading corner. Often a student will even come in after school and sit there, reading quietly while I’m working.”

  “And?”

  “Well, I just heard. Lots of details are leaking, some of them true, some, I’m sure, not.” She put both of her hands in the air, shaking her head. “This time I heard Mr. Hardy was found with a lampshade on his head.” She visibly blanched, her hands becoming shaky. “Grace, is it true? Do you know if that’s true?” She touched Grace’s arm, accentuating the desperation in her voice.

  “I—I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible.”

  “I’m afraid I did something terrible. I’ve been trying to hide it from people ever since.”

  Grace said slowly, her voice warm and gentle, “You mean your affair with John Hardy?”

  Marilyn began tearing the tissue into small pieces, the picture of anxiety. “Who else knows?”

  “I have no idea, Marilyn.”

  Marilyn bit the cuticle on one of her fingernails. “We grew close working on a project involving the curriculum. One thing led to another. His wife—she, she doesn’t understand him.”

  Grace wanted to shake her. How many men—and women—had fallen for the same set of words from the lips of a spouse on the prowl for opportunities? She quickly chastised herself for being so judgmental. John Hardy wasn’t like that. “Marilyn, did Liz Hardy know about your affair? How long did it last?”

  “Not long. A few weeks. She found out just before his death. So, I’m afraid, did Seth.”

  “How did they find out?”

  “Someone sent her an anonymous note. It was all done up like the movies where a person cuts out letters, pasting them on a paper. She got it in the mail. Then, she was so angry and vindictive she called Seth.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “He’s been on a rampage, arguing with me, yelling at me since the Friday before John’s death.”

  Grace saw Alex Reid open the door, take one look at Marilyn’s face, and back out.

  “Start at the beginning. Calmly. Just concentrate on the facts. What time did you come to grade papers?”

  Marilyn gathered up the tissue pieces, squeezing them into a ball with her hand. “I came around ten o’clock that morning. I parked in the lot across the street and saw John’s car parked behind the building when I arrived.” She took a deep breath. “He had called me the day before to tell me it was over. I don’t know what I felt—anger, sadness, or relief. So, I stayed down in the basement in my room, knowing he was upstairs, but not wanting to talk to him about it. I didn’t—didn’t want to see him.

  “Around eleven, I saw Liz Hardy’s car park next to his behind the building. I know it was eleven because I looked at my watch. She got out of her car with a small sack and a large purse in her hand and went into the building. I assume she has a key since no one let her in. My room, you know, looks out on the parking area behind the school. I was curious, so I waited until I knew she would be inside, and then I crept up the back hallway to the office. I had papers in my hand as if I were going to use the copier.” She put the palms of her hands out. “I don’t know why. I guess I figured if either of them confronted me, I’d look like I was on a mission.

  “Anyway, I could hear them with the outer door closed. The door to his office was slightly open. They were having a huge argument. She was saying something about not confronting him at home because of the children, and his voice was quiet. I don’t know everything they said because some of it was muffled. Sometimes her voice was loud and clear. She threatened him with divorce, saying he wouldn’t want anyone to know what a despicable person he was.” Marilyn turned to Grace, squeezing her arm tightly. “She is a dreadful person, Grace. The things he’s told me about his marriage…just a dreadful person.”

  “Did you hear her threaten him specifically?”

  “At one point, she said she wanted to kill him. But people say words in anger.” She turned away and leaned over, putting her face in her hands.

  Grace sat perfectly still, considering the disaster this was going to be. Then she pulled herself up on the edge of the sofa, asking, “What happened after that?”

  Marilyn swallowed. “I saw Liz Hardy go back to her car around—oh, it must have been around 12:30. I didn’t go back upstairs.”

  “Did she still have the sack she’d carried in?”

  “Let me think a minute.” She closed her eyes as if trying to
picture the scene. “No. No, I’m not sure.”

  “And then?”

  “I talked to Del Novak sometime later. Maybe an hour or two later. I left early because I was so upset I needed to get in my car, drive around a bit.”

  “Whose car or cars did you see when you left?”

  “Del’s truck was in the parking lot a few spaces down from mine. When I left, John’s was still behind the building.”

  “Did he know you were there?”

  “He had to have seen my car out in the parking lot. It’s visible from his office windows.”

  “Did he come downstairs at all?”

  “No. The only other person I saw was Del. Then I left.” She took several long breaths, and then she said, “Grace, that isn’t all of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Marilyn stood up and glanced at the door, but no one came in. She walked around the room as she talked. “It’s Seth.”

  “Seth? Your husband?”

  “Yes. I don’t think you know this, but he has a—an alcohol problem.”

  Grace started to say something like, “You don’t have to tell me, Marilyn,” but instead she shut her mouth and listened.

  “Like I said, Seth’s on the road a lot. He sells”—she took a breath—“he sells drugs for a pharmaceutical company. He hasn’t been happy for some time, and particularly on the weekends he drinks too much.” She stopped walking and sat down in a chair across from Grace.

  “That must be really hard.”

  “Oh, Grace, it’s horrible. He scares me so. It’s not as if he has ever hurt me—he hasn’t—but he threatens to. Sometimes I just need to come over here to the building to get away.”

  “I’m so sorry, Marilyn. I didn’t know.”

  “Why would you? This job is the only thing that keeps me sane.” She shook her head. “I don’t know where he was on Sunday, Grace. He had been drinking steadily since that Friday night when Liz—she is such a bitch—called and spilled it all. She said, probably in her nastiest voice, that ‘in the interest of community morality, she wanted him to know what a slut he’d married.’ ”