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

by Susan Van Kirk

  TJ grabbed the keys to the police car parked behind the station and left for the high school. On the way, she thought about how Amy Deffly and Ellen Terry might have met. She vaguely remembered the principal’s comments about Ellen Terry being an orphan and something about foster homes. Deffly’s profile mentioned foster homes and vagrancy. The two women were different, however. Of course, she’d never met the real Ellen Terry, but the principal’s assessment caused TJ to wonder how these dissimilar people would have been rooming together. Well, she’d find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Grace’s stomach had been a little queasy as she walked up the aisle, heading for the back door. TJ was coming to the play, but she hadn’t seen her yet. Probably a good thing, she thought, because TJ would scold Grace about taking this step. Maybe her stomach was acting up a bit, too, because she thought about confronting Ellen Terry in her office. That would not be a pleasant experience.

  She closed the back door of the auditorium softly, smiling at the young high school girl at her ticket-collecting station. Grace didn’t know her, but she smiled and spoke to her, figuring she could be a freshman.

  She looked down the second-floor hallway, trying to keep a low profile. In the distance, she could see several students in their costumes at the far end of the hallway, waiting to go on stage. Creeping down the next flight of stairs, she figured she wouldn’t come across students on the first floor. She’d have to circle below the auditorium and go up the stairs and then down a small flight to Terry’s office again. Lettie was right, she thought. This building is a little scary at night. Except for tiny night-lights, the entire lower hallway was dark and shadowy. It was cold, too. In an old building like this, the lower floor would be the coldest. She put her hand on her pocket, feeling the security of her LED light. Staying by the side of the hallway near the wall, Grace stopped every few yards, listening for anyone else in the vicinity. Nothing. Her stomach muscles were tight, a familiar symptom of high anxiety. She could vaguely hear the play going on above her.

  The door to Terry’s office was just ahead. Grace climbed up the stairs and could clearly hear the play going on. Stairs came down to the office from the upper floor, a possible flaw to Grace’s plan. Someone could come down those steps quickly and enter the office behind her, just like Terry did at the rehearsal. Well, nothing for it, she thought. This is the best time to go in, check out those magazines, and see if Terry was the mad warning writer. She came up to the office door, stopping again to listen for footsteps behind her. Now the actors’ voices were louder; occasionally Grace heard laughter from the audience.

  She touched the doorknob, thinking it might be locked. It turned silently, but the door hinge could do with some oil. The minute she heard the creak of the door she stopped, waiting again for anyone who might have heard it too. Nothing. Then she opened the door in tiny increments, satisfied the screeching hinge stayed quiet. Quickly, she slipped through the door, closing it behind her, inch by inch.

  She was alone in the darkness. Remembering how cluttered Terry’s office was, Grace didn’t move until she found her small flashlight and turned it on. The door had a window in the top half panel, so she couldn’t let the light show to anyone in the hallway. She put her hand around it, shielding it from the window. Stealthily, she tiptoed to the table where she’d seen the magazines and scissors. She gasped. They were gone. Nothing. No magazines on the table, no scissors. Did Terry see them on the floor and figure out what Grace was doing? If that was the case, Terry would be on the lookout for Grace, keeping an eye on her every move.

  Training the light on the floor, she recalculated her plan, circling around the desk. Softly, she opened each drawer, shining her light into numerous piles of papers and rubbish. She rifled through the papers with her spare hand. Nothing. When she reached the third drawer, her patience was rewarded. The magazines and scissors were hastily thrown into the drawer with two boxes of staples and a book on top. She pulled the top magazine out of the precarious pile, laying it on the floor. Keeping her light on the magazine, she opened it and found—nothing. No pages had holes where Terry might have cut out letters or words. She kept turning the pages until, finally, she came to places where entire words were cut out.

  Grace sighed with relief. Not a wild-goose chase. Ellen Terry was the one who had sent her the warning, and possibly she had sent the letter to Liz Hardy about her husband’s indiscretions. Finally, Grace had the goods. Should she take this with her? No. TJ’s lectures about chain of evidence came pounding back into her head. Leave it here, but have TJ find it so she could use it to nab Terry. Grace could hardly believe it. The woman was a little eccentric, but a killer?

  She put the magazine back, carefully laying it between the book and the other magazines in the drawer. Then she softly closed the drawer again. She realized, as she stood up, that her stomach was less tense now, and she only had to slip back out and up to the auditorium. TJ would be showing up any minute because she’d been working late at her office. Grace would tell her about the magazines. She cautiously walked around the desk, feeling her way and leaving the light off so no one would see it through the window.

  Grace’s stomach lurched and her legs trembled. The window. She stared at a black looming shape in the door window, the hall lights behind it. Ellen Terry. Flee or hold her ground? The door opened. Before Grace could even say a word or find a place to hide, Ellen Terry came through the door, flipped on the light switch, and faced Grace, a weird smile on her face. Grace looked down and saw a gun in her hand.

  “Well, Grace Kimball, as I live and breathe. Hmmm. What might you be doing in my office?”

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe I’m searching for a lost earring,” Grace said, forcing a smile on her face.

  “No, Ms. Kimball, I wouldn’t.” Terry closed the door behind her, keeping her eyes, and the gun on Grace. “You have been the proverbial thorn in my side, Grace. I’m tired of your constant interference in my life. Right now I don’t have time to deal with your silly detective playtime, but I will have to deal with you later. For now, I simply need a spot to put you in safekeeping until I’m not quite so busy.”

  Grace watched the drama teacher’s eyes move to the padlocked door. Thinking quickly, Grace kept her hand away from the flashlight in her pocket. No reason to let Terry see she had anything in her pocket. Her cell phone? Had she brought it? She concentrated on the pockets of her slacks, feeling her phone on the left side. As she watched Terry walk over to her desk, Grace knew she couldn’t turn on the cell phone or hit 9-1-1. That would be way too obvious. So, she waited.

  Terry reached into her desk drawer and drew out a small key. “Here,” she said, and tossed the key to Grace. “Over there.” She used her head and the gun to gesture toward the door to what she had earlier called “hell.” Then she motioned again to Grace repeating, “Over there. Open the padlock on that door.”

  Grace moved across the room, keeping an eye on Terry as she did. She didn’t see any way to get past the woman to escape out the office door, so she walked over, turning the key in the padlock.

  “Now, give me the key, Grace, and open the door.”

  “Please don’t do this, Ellen. I don’t like confined spaces. They give me claustrophobia.”

  “You won’t be there for long. I have plans for you. I repeat, open the door.”

  Grace opened the door, feeling a cold draft encircle her legs. Oh, this is not good, she thought. She didn’t make a move to go through the doorway because she could see it was pitch black.

  “In,” said Ellen Terry. “Be gone with you for now. Don’t worry. No dead bodies down there, only spiders and probably some mice. I won’t tell you again. Move!” She used the gun to point toward the door.

  Grace stepped through the doorway, shaking, and could see stairs with just enough light from the office. As soon as she put her foot on the first step, Ellen Terry slammed the door shut, hitting her back and knocking her down the steps. She fell, head first, down mayb
e three or four steps, landing on a cement floor, and holding her hands out to slow her fall. Knocking the breath out of her, the fall scared her momentarily, but not as much as her fear when the light went off in the office. She was in total darkness.

  Checking to see if anything was broken, she tried to get up slowly. Well, she thought, at least I have that going for me: nothing seems to be broken or sprained. Thank you, lots of milk and calcium supplements. She winced as she took in a breath. I take that back, she thought. Maybe a bruised rib. She felt a wet, sticky spot on the right side of her forehead where she had hit the floor. Taking in a deep breath, she put her hand in her pocket, and pulled out her flashlight. At least she’d have a little light. She switched it on. Nothing happened. Feeling the end of it with her fingers, she realized her fall had broken it.

  Distant laughter revealed the play going on overhead. She realized, from having read the article in the high school yearbook, that the audience was sitting above the ceiling over her head. But no one would be able to hear her. All she could see was darkness, but she did have the wherewithal to check the door and see if it was locked. It was. The whole area smelled musty, closed for years with no light or activity. Standing in the dark, she couldn’t figure out how to let anyone know where she was. Even if TJ, Deb, or Jeff realized she had been gone too long, they wouldn’t know about this area below the stage. Did she tell Deb about it when she was reading the article at the Historical Society? She couldn’t remember.

  Then she realized she had her cell phone in her pocket. She could call 9-1-1. TJ, Deb, or Jeff would probably have their phones off if they were upstairs in the audience. She pulled out her phone, figuring she could raise Myers with a 9-1-1 call. Hitting the button brought some light, making her feel less afraid. She punched 9-1-1 but nothing happened. Checking the battery, she saw she had at least 45 percent left. It should work with that much juice. She looked at the bars at the left corner, suddenly felt sick, and couldn’t stop herself from gasping. She was underground, after all—the bar area said “no service.”

  Her heart began to pound in her head. Oh please, she thought. Don’t let me be buried alive here and die.

  TJ was almost to the high school when she glanced at the clock on her dash. The play was supposed to start at 7:30. It was already 8:30, so it must be in high gear. Might be better to cuff Terry/Deffly after it was over rather than take her out in front of the kids. Well, we will see what is possible, thought TJ.

  The parking lot of the high school was crowded. Lots of people here for Arsenic and Old Lace. She pulled her vehicle up in front of the school, parking near the door, but not right in front of it. If she had to take Terry out, it would be easier with the car parked in front. The audience might think she was there for crowd control.

  Entering the school, she flashed her badge at the adolescent in the ticket office whose eyes got big, and then she wandered down the hallway to the auditorium. Quietly opening the back door, she slipped in, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness in the house. She knew her friends had tickets for seats down near the front because Grace wanted to be sure and see her neighbor, Ginger, after the show. Standing at the back, TJ scanned the front seats in all three sections. Then her eyes lighted on Jeff Maitlin, since he was tall enough to pick out in a crowd. She could see an empty seat next to him, then Deb O’Hara.

  What the heck? she thought. Where is Grace?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Grace sat on the steps she had just fallen down. Calm, calm, she said to herself. She needed to catch her breath. Take deep breaths. Don’t get anxious. Use your brain. Stop. Think. First, was she hurt?

  She moved her hands up her legs. She had a tear in the right leg of her pants, but couldn’t feel any blood under it. Her right knee also had a huge tear, and she could tell the knee was scraped, some loose skin hanging from where she had hit the edge of the stairs. Her right side must have taken the worst of the jolt. On her right side, she had a pain when she breathed, possibly a rib. Otherwise, she was unbroken. Listening for any movement like mice, she heard nothing and decided she was alone.

  Why hadn’t she brought a sweater? Her arms were cold, and she was feeling shaky, partly from the fall and partly from the cold. Taking a deep breath of cold air, she decided she had taken stock of her injuries, a rational thing to do. So, what to do next? A plan. She would need a plan to get out of here before Ellen Terry showed up again, putting her out of commission forever.

  The photographs she’d seen in the old yearbook article about the building renovation were still vaguely in her memory. She recalled two aisles leading to the back of the auditorium beyond the orchestra pit where she must be now. Some of the auditorium rows of seats were gone; still others were battered and heaped into piles. But even if she managed to find her way to the back of this underground maze, what guarantee did she have she could ever get out? Maybe the doors at the back were sealed shut. The workers had been cautious about having students get injured by ever coming down into this area. Even if she could get out of a door, where would it lead to on the other side?

  She checked her time on her phone, being careful not to leave it on for long. It was stuck at forty-five percent. That’s right, she thought. “No service.” How long had she been away from the play? Maybe a half hour? Even if TJ was looking for her, she wouldn’t have the slightest idea about this abandoned storage area. So, Grace thought, time to figure it out myself. Which aisle should I try first? Right-handed. Let’s try the right side since I’m right-handed.

  She turned her cell phone on again, using the light from the screen for a dim flashlight. Walking through the debris was a cautious job, and she hadn’t charged her cell since she left work. Grace had no idea what she might find. She kept the light close to the floor, moving carefully up the aisle. It was dark, musty, and freezing. Occasionally, she came on some ice on the floor, evidently seeping up from wherever. No wonder she was shivering.

  She thought she was making good progress, staying close to the floor, when suddenly she walked into something—she almost screamed, but then realized she needed to shut her mouth or swallow whatever it was. She dropped her phone. It must have landed screen-down, so now she was in total darkness. Grace decided she had walked into a giant spider web, reaching across the aisle from one pile of trash to another—it was all over her face, hair, and arms. And sticky…it was so sticky. Who knew what was in it? Ugh! Oh! This was awful! Probably lots of dead stuff. She tried to pull it off her face and hair, and then it got stuck on her fingers. Using her pants to wipe her hands, she managed to get part of the sticky stuff off, but she was still covered in it.

  My phone, she thought. She got down on her haunches, feeling around for her cell phone. Touching the loose debris on the floor, Grace winced as she thought about what she might be touching—mouse feces, mildew, dirt, and who knew what else from decades ago? Finally, her left hand landed on her phone. Oh, thank God, she thought. Please let it not be broken. She pushed the button again, saying, “Let there be light,” and a dim glow came on. Time to try to find the end of the aisle once more.

  She estimated she had walked twenty yards at least. Let’s see, how long might the auditorium be? Thirty? Forty yards? must be at least halfway there. Willing the battery to stay on, she kept her phone close to the floor. One foot in front of the other, she thought. Was the light in the phone screen dimmer? Oh, please, don’t let me be left in the darkness, she thought. Then, since she was walking bent over with her eyes on the floor, her head hit the wall at the end of the vast space. “Ouch!” Geez, spider webs were bad enough; she didn’t need a concussion too.

  The door was in front of her; an old-fashioned metal bolt armlock reached across the door on the left side and through brackets. It felt like it was at least two inches wide, very long, and freezing metal. They must have put it in when they closed the area. How long had it been since anyone opened it, Grace wondered. She stuck her phone in her pocket, and using both hands to feel the metal, she tried to move t
he bolt to the left, hopefully unlocking the door. Of course, she thought, I have no idea what’s on the other side. It wouldn’t budge. She stopped, and gathered another deep breath, trying it again. She thought it moved slightly.

  Then, what she had dreaded came to pass. She heard the door in Ellen Terry’s office open. Terry’s voice called out, “Grace, where are you?” in the tone of a children’s game. It sounded as if she was saying, “Yoo-hoo.” Grace’s hands were shaking on the bolt, and she felt chills travel down her spine. Looking back, she could see the beam of a flashlight, maybe forty yards away. Her own cell phone was in her pocket, which meant Terry wouldn’t see any light where she was. As the light came toward her, she felt her way behind a pile of trash and debris.

  “Grace, I’m coming to find you,” said Ellen Terry’s voice, in a singsong, lilting tone.

  Grace felt the wall to her left; it was smooth and, of course, covered with dust. Moving to her right, she found herself between a pile of trash and the back wall. Reasoning that Terry might shine her flashlight up the aisle, Grace stayed put, barely breathing. Once again, she heard the killer’s voice, a light shining down the aisle where Grace had just been.

  “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo, which way did our dear Grace go?” Then Grace saw the beam of light disappear. Terry had evidently gone down the left aisle, which gave Grace some camouflage with piles of old chairs and debris between them. Grace moved back over to the door and pulled once again on the locking bolt. In the distance, she could hear Ellen Terry’s voice, but it was faint now. She must be down the other aisle, but when she didn’t find Grace, she’d try this area next.

  She had to get out of here. She whispered quietly, “Come on Grace, push that bolt!” The rest of her was shaking, trembling partly from the cold but mostly from the prospect of Terry shooting her and leaving her body buried under the school. This wasn’t really where she wanted to end her life, as much as she’d loved her job. She put her hand in front of her mouth to keep from laughing hysterically. She bit her lower lip hard, and reached for the bolt again.