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

by Susan Van Kirk

  Grace watched as Marilyn’s hands balled up into fists. “I hate her, and Seth was so angry. I’ve never seen him so out of control. He swore he’d kill John and then come back and take care of me.

  “Sunday morning he was on the phone, and when I walked into the room, he looked really guilty. Whoever he was calling was someone he didn’t want me to know about. We had a huge argument and I left for school. He taunted me all the way out the door, saying he’d deal with John Hardy, I’d better believe it. I don’t know what he did all that morning, and he wasn’t home when I got home from school because of the storm. He didn’t come home all that night.”

  “Have you talked to him since about it?”

  “No. He’s not talking. He comes home late at night and doesn’t speak to me. Just leaves the next morning. I’m so worried that he might be involved in all of this—this—John’s death.”

  “Why? How could he be involved?”

  “He’s been in the pharmaceutical world for twenty years. I know he has all kinds of contacts with drug companies and pharmacists. Don’t you see?”

  “No, I’m not sure I do, Marilyn.”

  “Drug companies. Pharmacists. If anyone can find out how to get his hands on poisons, Seth could.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grace glanced over at Deb O’Hara, who was busy entering data into the computer at the Endurance Historical Society. Twenty years earlier, the town had converted an empty grocery store into an archive for the history of their area, and a group of residents started a foundation, buying the old brick building and manning it with volunteers. Now it was filled throughout several rooms with local newspapers, microfiche, city directories, census records, genealogy magazines, files, and folders. The Stark County Newsletter, the Woodbury Sentinel, and the Endurance Register were amply represented in its databases.

  In the research room where Grace was working, old yearbooks from area school districts took up one wall. They weren’t worth much these days, but people who were looking for genealogy records sometimes glanced through them. Grace was thumbing through various copies from the last thirty years, checking on which plays had been done at the high school. Since she was preparing an article about the current dramatic effort, she thought it would be interesting to research some background history of the theater at the high school. She kept coming upon pages with intriguing photographs, and she felt compelled to read every caption and article. After subbing all day, she was tired, but her curiosity kept her going.

  Her interest was rewarded when she came across renovation information she didn’t know about, since she hadn’t been teaching yet at the school. It was intriguing, and even though she was researching for background on the play article, this looked like she might want to use it for a future history column for the newspaper. In the 1975 yearbook, she perused an article about burying part of the school building. The work was done in the late spring and all summer so it didn’t disturb the school year any longer than necessary, but the yearbook staff evidently could go in and take photos.

  The reason for the work was not one hundred percent clear to Grace, but it sounded like engineers had been concerned that this part of the school had foundational problems. At that time, the high school stage was raised considerably. This put what today would be the theater director’s office a few steps below the new wing area backstage and between the lower level and the main floor of the building.

  Then they constructed a new floor that covered the old auditorium seating and an orchestra pit that had been in front of the old, lower stage. This had the effect of lifting the stage and its wings—the areas in the back and on the sides of the stage which couldn’t be seen by the audience. In 1975, two dressing rooms and storage rooms were under the stage, but they were sealed up by the engineers and workers after putting in structural supports. It looked like a door to that whole area was placed in the director’s office, with stairs leading down to the old auditorium. Grace assumed that the door was currently sealed up. Now, the actors used classrooms for dressing rooms, putting dark paper over the door windows.

  Grace examined the photos with a magnifying glass, enthralled by the old lighting fixtures, probably from the very early 1900s when the building was constructed. The black-and-white photos hinted at some of the original early 1900s architecture. Workers in blue jeans and work pants with lights on their helmets stood at various angles with tools while several others held boards and boxes. These little hallways and rooms must still exist beneath the current stage, but because of the way the construction was done, no one today really knew about them, well, unless they were around back then.

  In a later yearbook from 1990, Grace saw the work they commissioned at a time she was teaching at the school. A new system of flies—a space above the stage to suspend, lower, and raise scenery—was put in, and the catwalk over the top of the stage was made more structurally sound. But it appeared to be a very small job compared to all the work from earlier.

  So on to her real research. Arsenic and Old Lace had been done twice before at the high school, once in 1949 and a second time in 1972. Grace had seen the play in other theaters on a couple of occasions, and knew it had been made into a movie. It was the story of the two elderly Brewster sisters, Martha and Abby, who lived in Brooklyn with their nephew Teddy, their brother’s son. Because the Brewster sisters came from a long line of mentally ill ancestors, they indulged in poisoning older men who were alone in the world and stopped at their house to rent a room. Their nephew, Teddy, believed himself to be Teddy Roosevelt, so not only did he dash up and down the stairs yelling “Charge!”, but he also buried “victims of the yellow fever” in the Canal, which translated loosely to poison victims in the basement. Boy, thought Grace, this is a comedy? Strange what people thought was funny in the 1940s.

  She was jarred from her research by Deb O’Hara’s voice. “Hey, what’s TJ doing today?”

  Grace decided to take a break, and she stood up and walked around, bending and stretching, feeling the creaks and stiffness. Remembering Deb’s question, she said, “I’m not sure. She’s been so busy it’s hard for me to keep track of her. I know she’s interviewed Marilyn Atkins and Liz Hardy.”

  “Liz Hardy. Now that’s a tough nut to crack,” said Deb. “Funny how marriages go, isn’t it? No one seems to be able to figure how they ever fit together. He was so kind and patient, and she’s so nasty and distant. I hear people in town are putting their money on Liz Hardy as the black widow killer.”

  Grace hesitated, pondering what she should say. “Oh, I don’t know, Deb. Who really knows what goes on in other people’s marriages?”

  “I suppose you’re right. Poor Marilyn Atkins. She looks terrible these days. I hear Seth has moved out, and they’re doing a trial separation. He took the affair pretty hard. I guess I can’t blame him.”

  “You are beginning to sound more and more like Lettie. How do you come up with all this information about what’s going on?”

  “You never know what women—or men—will do for love or revenge. You read about it—all these passionate crimes, but you don’t connect them with people you know.”

  Grace had been standing by the window looking out at the traffic slowly wending its way down the street. Now she turned and said, “Not sure I’d call that love.”

  Deb sighed. “You and I were lucky, Grace. We didn’t have to worry about John or Roger cheating. They were those ‘till death do us part’ people, raised with that value and willing to commit to it for life. Of course, your Roger didn’t get a very long life, but I’d put my money on his staying faithful to you even if he were still with us.”

  She slowly nodded her head. “True. I don’t see either of us having affairs. We were both people who believed we made our vows before God, and we certainly thought of those vows as a lifetime commitment, come hell or high water.”

  “I think Jeff Maitlin would have been the same. Listen to me, speaking in the past tense. He is conservative in his personal life, people
like him, and every so often I hear of some act of kindness he’s done, especially in his work at the newspaper. I wish you knew what was going on there. When you told me about his phone message, I was shocked.”

  “Me too, Deb. Me too. Sometimes I almost pick up the phone to call him, but I know it won’t do any good. He thinks his father’s bad decisions resulted in him being tarnished too. It just isn’t so.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “You know, in some ways his ideas about his parents are like the crazy play about arsenic. People then believed that mental illness was passed on, just like the actions of parents passed down to their children. But we know better today. I’ve been thinking about what to do. Maybe I’ll text him.”

  “Really? And say what?”

  Grace knew Deb was a romantic soul, so her excited voice made Grace smile. “Just that I know about his parents, and it doesn’t matter.”

  “In this age you’d think he would realize you have the entire Internet at your disposal, and he can’t keep much secret for long.”

  Grace glanced at her phone lying on the table next to her laptop. “I don’t believe it would ever occur to him that I would check him out.” She sat down again. “However, I know someone I should research, and that’s Ellen Terry. I think when I go back to the office I’ll do that. She is really unusual for someone who has completed all the hoops you have to jump through in teacher prep.”

  “Before you do that, I think you should text Jeff Maitlin.” She rubbed her hands together, watching Grace.

  “And say what?”

  “Just say something like, ‘I know about your parents’ deaths, and I still love you.’ Or, let’s see. I should be able to do better than that. How about, ‘I love you Jeff, and I don’t care about the past.’ No, then he won’t know you already know about his parents. I think that is key to his deciding to get back to you.” She crossed her arms and Grace noticed a frown on her face. “It can’t be any worse than his leaving you a good-bye message on your answering machine.”

  “I know that sounds awful, Deb, but if you could have heard his voice. He is really going through agony, and I don’t know exactly what’s caused that. I feel so awful.” She considered her friend’s plan and thought maybe Deb was right.

  “All right. I will…text Jeff. Much good it will do me, but at least it will give him something to think about. Right now, in fact.” She picked up her phone, typed his name in the address, and wrote, “I no @ yr parents’ deaths, and I still love you. Come home.” Then she paused before touching the send button. “I don’t know.” She let out a deep breath. “He hasn’t answered me in two weeks. I’m beginning to forget what his voice sounds like.”

  Deb walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Now or never. Send it off. He can’t possibly ignore you after this. Now. Go. Send it!”

  Grace hesitated, so Deb reached over her shoulder and touched the send button.

  “Whoopee! Sometimes you just gotta go for it, Grace.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Grace was exhausted after subbing for Evan Harrington and then researching. She didn’t understand why since the day had been rather uneventful except for Marilyn’s story. That added to her energy drain too. On the other hand, she loved the familiar feeling of being back in a classroom and seeing students she had missed. As she pulled into her driveway on Sweetbriar Court, she saw Ginger once again walking Stella for Ms. Brantley. She waved, rolled down her window, and invited Ginger to stop in after her dog-walking.

  Taking off her coat, she checked the mail, all the while listening to Lettie whistling in the kitchen as she cooked. A few minutes later, Ginger was at the front door.

  “I didn’t see you at school today, even though I watched for you,” said Grace.

  Ginger, her face flushed from the February cold, said she had been quite busy since she had play rehearsals again after school. It was important that she get her homework done during her study hall because it was sometimes late when she got home from play rehearsals.

  “So how did you like being back at the school, Ms. Kimball?”

  Grace sat down across from Ginger. She wrinkled her forehead, considering the question. “It seemed strange, like I should be there, but it wasn’t quite the same. I could tell time had elapsed since I left, and other people were around, people I didn’t know.”

  Ginger nodded her head, a serious look on her face. “All the fun has been taken out of school lately. I keep hearing crazy rumors.”

  “Grace, is that you?” Lettie’s voice came from the kitchen. Then the rest of her body came through the hallway, observing Ginger and Grace. “Oh, didn’t know we had company. How about some hot chocolate?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” said Ginger.

  “Sure, Lettie. That sounds good. Ginger stopped in with a school play report.”

  After Lettie left, Ginger said, “The kids at school are talking all the time about Mr. Hardy and Mr. Harrington. They say Mr. Harrington killed Mr. Hardy because he was afraid he might lose his job. Then Cecelia Lucas said Mr. Harrington wasn’t married, so he was probably gay. Now, that’s just dumb stuff. Third hour in PE, I heard Mr. Harrington was having an affair with a student, and she pushed him down the stairs. She leaned forward, her eyebrows furrowed. Where do these ideas come from, Ms. Kimball?”

  “I think they are making things up to try to sound important, like they have the inside track.”

  “I always thought Mr. Harrington was a nice man, so it seems unkind to say such stuff.”

  “You’re right, Ginger. Maybe it’s like people long ago who didn’t understand why volcanoes erupted, so they made up stories to explain what didn’t make sense.”

  “You’re being too kind, Ms. K. I have my own theory.”

  “Oh? And it is?”

  “I think one murder caused the other. I think Mr. Harrington knew something, something that got him killed.”

  “Not a bad theory, Ginger.”

  “Jim Blender told me Mr. Harrington’s chemical cabinet key was missing. What would TJ Sweeney make of that?” She raised an eyebrow, a quizzical look on her face.

  “Perhaps she already knows. I think she’s working on all of this, but she’s been so busy I haven’t seen her lately.”

  Lettie came back into the living room with a tray carrying two steaming cups of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies. When she left to finish cooking dinner, Grace changed the subject.

  “How’s the play going?”

  “It’s fun.” She reached for an oatmeal cookie. “I think you should come to a rehearsal and take pictures for the newspaper. Could you?”

  “If Ms. Terry says I can.”

  “We have all the blocking done and are supposed to have our lines memorized in two days. I’ve got a lot of lines, but so far I’m in good shape.”

  “How are you getting along with Ms. Terry? She stopped in at the newspaper to put some ads in for the play. She is quite a character, isn’t she?”

  Ginger laughed. “Boy, you can say that again. One of the boys on the scene construction group swears he could smell weed—you know, pot—when he got to practice the other night. Ms. Terry was very silly and giggly at rehearsal. She was running around in her bare feet making strange jokes, expecting us to laugh. Really weird, Ms. Kimball. It’s hard to think of you and her both being teachers. You’re so different.”

  Grace took a sip of her hot chocolate, thinking carefully about what she should say. “Maybe it would be a good idea to come take pictures of a rehearsal. Then I could see your director in action.”

  “Oh, would you?” She grinned widely and then glanced at the clock on Grace’s fireplace mantel. “Gee, I have to get moving.” She walked over toward the hallway, calling out to Lettie to thank her for the hot chocolate and cookies.

  After Ginger left, Grace walked out to the kitchen. Weed! Grace shook her head. Maybe Bob Godina was right about standards slipping.

  “Well, how’d it go?” asked Lettie.

  Grace took a deep breath,
counting to five in her head. “School? It was fine. Not really like being there as a teacher, but Alex Reid says they have someone to replace Evan, so I can get back to my newspaper writing.” She decided it was for the best, but it would be difficult.

  “Lots of people talking about the murders.”

  “I can imagine, Lettie. The high school kids are all speculating too. Getting hard to tell what’s true and what’s wild rumor. I had a chance to talk to Marilyn Atkins today. She seems to be in the thick of it all.”

  Lettie’s eyes widened, and she sounded skeptical. “Marilyn? She’s kind of nasty, but she doesn’t seem like she’d hurt a fly.”

  “Oh, no. It isn’t that anyone is accusing her of murder, but she knows a great deal.”

  Lettie stared at her, waiting for her to continue. When Grace didn’t, Lettie filled the void in the conversation. “Gladys at the coffee shop says she’s heard the grieving widow is spending the inheritance before her husband’s body is even cold. Humph! Sounds like Liz Hardy. She always did put on airs. I thought them an odd couple: he was so likable, and she was so cold and uppity.”

  “Is this Gladys’ assessment or yours?”

  “Quite a few people were talking about it at the coffee shop. Seems like the merry widow was in Woodbury buying a new car, loaded with lots of those blue-in-the-teeth things.”

  “Bluetooth?”

  “Is that what you call it when you can talk to the car?”

  “Yes. What else did your jungle network tell you?”

  Lettie put her hand up, pointing at nothing. “Rumors Hardy was having an affair with someone on the high school staff, and Liz, the Frost Queen, found out about it and took him out.”

  “I think people have been watching too much reality television. Eventually it rots the brain.”