“Did she give you any information that might point the finger in another direction? Abbey and Camilla? Will? Emily?”
“Her timing is interesting. She says she told him—that day we were at the bank—he could have until Friday, January sixth, or she’d go to his wife and the members of the bank’s board of directors. She had nothing to lose since his money had stopped. So I guess she decided to ruin his reputation and hurt his marriage. As you know, he died that Friday night. But we don’t know how she got in unless Camilla helped her. Since Abbey and Camilla are her alibi, it is entirely possible. They weren’t happy with him either.”
“The women are not out of the woods yet.”
“No. And, to make things even more interesting, Lansky was unbelievably angry with him. You remember the scene at the bank. I could see her cut his throat. She’s a strong woman. If she could get into his house—with Camilla’s help—he was a goner.”
“But the three of them swear they were together and drunk that night.”
“Convenient, huh? Maybe they were, indeed, together at the Folgers’.”
“Does this mean you still have the three of them on your list?”
“Definitely. Could have been one or all three or two. But they are viable suspects. You better believe it. Then we have another wild card.”
“Really? More?”
“When I had her in at the station today and laid out the cards on the table, she went into a tirade about Will Folger. Evidently, he has been out of sorts, cranky, and angry at his brother. Could be any of a number of reasons, but it was enough that Conrad was increasingly annoyed, and then anxious about whatever was between them. She mentioned some kind of party started it off. But she thought there was more to it than that.”
“Oh,” said Grace. “Emily Folger said something about it, too. She said Conrad and Will had several tense conversations in the kitchen the night of the murder. Do you think Will has it in him to kill his brother?”
TJ sighed and took another gulp of beer. “Here’s the thing. The last two conversations I’ve had with Will—at the bank—were curious. He was secretive, anxious, and acted furtive, choosing his words with care. Body language said lying. Overall, not the pleasant, kind, non-confrontational guy some people have described to me. Not sure what’s going on there, but he’s next on my list to check out. I have to do some interviews at the bank anyway.”
“You know,” Grace said, tapping her lip with her finger, a habit she had whenever she thought hard, “you have at least two people here with serious motives and passions. I always think of killers as people who are moved by passion. Either that, or they are cold-blooded people who simply have no feelings at all and can kill without conscience. But both of those are on either end of a wide spectrum. I keep hearing in my head that Will was passed over again and again by his father. Remember what Jessalynn Folger said? Conrad constantly degraded his older brother and got his job. And then you had some secretive something happening at the bank. You have Will, who screamed at Sandra Lansky in the parking lot behind The Depot. You have Sandra Lansky, who gave Conrad an ultimatum and was increasingly desperate about money. She confronted Conrad and threatened him with disclosure. All of these elements came together about the same time—the night Conrad Folger died. Sounds like some good possibilities to me. And notice—my Emily is not on the list.”
“Oh, yeah. ‘Your’ Emily. I have to admit, the pressure has receded on the wife. Too bad they don’t have a butler.”
“I suppose the problem is you don’t have physical evidence to tie them to the crime.”
“True, Grace. I’ve trained you well. I think I need to go back over the notes from the scene of the crime. But first I’ll have Will Folger in for a chat, or, rather, I’ll go to the bank and talk to him and a few other people.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
It was quiet for a moment, and they heard only the loud volume of the television on in the office where Lettie was surprisingly subdued.
“I have to swing around and see Charlie Sims.”
“Charlie Sims? What’s a retired farmer got to do with this?”
“While I was in Chicago, he left a message for me to stop in. He’d been gone on a vacation after the murder happened, and he’s only been back a few days—long enough to hear the details from people. He seems to think he might have some information for me, so this could be a good time to check that out.”
“Oh, I wish you could take me with you. In fact, could I go live at your house until Lettie is on her feet again?”
TJ laughed and started to walk toward the front hallway. “Nah, Grace. This is the price you pay for a wonderful sister-in-law who can cover up for your shortcomings in the kitchen. Speaking of cover-up, what is this I hear about Jeff Maitlin possibly leaving town? Did you scare him off? Did he find out you can’t cook? I think that would be a deal breaker for me.”
“I would love to tell you I have an answer. First he kisses me, then he leaves me. And, he’s so secretive about it, I have not a clue what’s going on. Deb’s right when she says he’s a mystery man, and I’m not sure I want to deal with these mysterious goings-on. Why he won’t talk to me about whatever it is, I don’t know. But I’m tired of it.”
“Want my advice?”
“No.”
“Well, all right then.” She started to walk toward her coat, which hung over the banister of the stairway.
“I may have to run away. Flee back into the Olivia diary,” Grace said.
“Somehow I don’t see you back in 1893. You wouldn’t like corsets, and you’d have to know how to cook.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
By Sunday afternoon, Grace was restless and still thinking about Jeff. Del had taken Lettie for a car ride to get her out of the house. Grace was so bored, she considered counting suspects for TJ and prioritizing them. Will Folger was near the top of the list; then there was Sandra Lansky, who seemed to have a great motive and a suspicious alibi; Camilla had all the skills and the anger-management problem; Abbey couldn’t be dismissed since she had blue paper, black ink, and a motive for hating Conrad; and who else? Maybe I’d better add Darlene since she and Will are a couple, but she seems more social climber than murderer. Emily brings in the bottom of the list because I don’t believe she could murder anyone no matter how much she hated her husband for his abuse.
Always she came back to two questions: Where is Jeff and why hasn’t he called? Stop it, Grace. He’s only been gone a few days. As usual, patience was not one of Grace’s strong points.
After pacing around the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, and the hallway, she threw her hands in the air and went upstairs to get Olivia’s diary. Maybe it would take her mind off this boredom. She settled in on the sofa in the living room and tried to remember where she had left off with the diary. Oh, yes, Olivia finally told Tyler Quinn she was marrying the judge. I have a feeling things are not going to be so happy from now on.
10 September, 1893
My parents have come and gone back to Anthem. They were closeted for some time with Judge Lockwood, and my mother said he assured them he could provide for me with his wealth, and I would want for nothing. My mother explained to the judge that I had been reared out of society in a gentle world, and I might be overwhelmed by his expectations of my housekeeping skills and understanding of my duties in society. He convinced them this would not be a problem. As he had servants who were well trained, I would not be expected to do many of the household duties that women often must perform. He also assured her, with my quick mind and lively nature, I would learn about social duties quickly. And so, my parents spent a day to reflect and discuss his proposal and, in the end, decided my future would be secure with this marriage.
Did they ask me about my feelings? Yes. Everyone seems to believe this is the best offer I could have, and I know my parents would worry less if my future were assured. So it is done. We are to be married later this month. That will not allow me time to go back f
or a visit to Anthem, a prospect I hoped to do so I could see my brothers, the farm, and my horse. My parents will stay in Endurance a few days so Mother and Aunt Maud can consult about my trousseau. Then Mother and Father will go back to Anthem and return for the wedding on September 26. I am so excited I will be married and have a huge house and a place in society. I am sure once I get to know the judge better, he will be a considerate and pleasing husband.
20 September, 1893
I have heard nothing from Tyler Quinn. Inside my heart is a hollow place, for I am sure he has heard of my betrothal to the judge and is not pleased. I have thought about this for a considerable time. When a person makes a decision, that decision often eliminates other possible thoughts.
The last couple of weeks have been a flurry of activity as we deal with my trousseau. The milliner and the dress-shop owners have had to add additional help to make all the dresses and hats so quickly. The judge, of course, took care of all the bills. Aunt Maud and I made our last social calls and delivered some of the wedding invitations ourselves.
We are to be married at Lockwood House with a dinner and dance afterward. The Rev. Jeremiah Hughes will officiate. My dress is white silk with several flounces, and the veil is all lace and tulle. White roses and orange blossoms make up the wreath for my veil and the bouquet of flowers I will carry. We have already received many gifts—a sugar bowl, cake basket, and several sets of napkin rings. The most beautiful gift, by far, is my engagement ring—a family heirloom with a ruby set between two pearls. My wedding band is a matching gold.
We are to travel by train in a private car to the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago. Imagine! I will ride on a train, and see that great city I have only read about. I am so excited I can hardly eat or sleep. The judge smiles at my childishness. I am sure this is nothing to him since he has seen so much of the country, but this will be my first trip to a big city. I have read of the Columbian Exposition and World’s Fair in the newspaper, but now I will be able to see it.
9 October, 1893
I am writing this entry over several days after we returned from our honeymoon. It was such a beautiful night, and I met so many of the judge’s friends. We were married in the front parlor, and only my family was present. It was wonderful to see my brothers and hear of their adventures while I have been away. Then we had dinner with everyone and a dance in the ballroom. The house was decorated with lovely flowers, some of which came all the way from Chicago by train.
My mother talked to me about a wife’s duties, beginning with her honeymoon. I suppose I was not surprised since I grew up on the farm and watched the animals in the barn. I dare not write my thoughts about this.
We left for Chicago and the judge—my husband—rented a private Pullman car with electric lighting and even a water closet. We traveled to Chicago in six hours. I am amazed when I consider that my trip to Endurance took four days and was only about sixty miles.
But first, our train trip. We had a parlor car all to ourselves. The walls were filled with landscape paintings, and the woodwork was polished rosewood; the porter said it was hand-carved in Germany’s Black Forest. I looked out the windows and watched the various landscapes of Illinois pass by while my husband read the newspapers.
Chicago is the biggest city I have ever seen, and I have only seen a small part of it. We stayed at the elegant Palmer House Hotel. I learned from the information in our room that it was built in 1871, but burned in the Great Chicago Fire. Then it was rebuilt two years later, and it sits at State and Monroe Streets in a district called “the Loop.” During our first dinner in at the hotel’s dining room, I was delighted by a confection made especially for the hotel during the World’s Fair. It is called a “brownie,” and it consists of a lovely chocolate cake with an apricot glaze and walnuts. I fell in love and hope I can get our cook to make such a dessert. Each night, if we ate at the Palmer House, I had a delicious brownie.
Every day we would have breakfast at the hotel and then travel by horse and buggy to the World’s Fair. The Columbian Exposition was a sight to behold, and the judge told me it covered 633 acres. Each evening we returned to our hotel exhausted. We could not see all there was to see in only two weeks, but we did observe many displays, which took my breath away. I can only mention a few. The judge knows about the world far beyond my experience, and he explained many of the sights to me.
My first glimpse explains why people call it “the White City.” It is filled with huge, neo-classical buildings that house exhibits, and each edifice is painted white. We attended a few of the exhibit halls, and I was astounded by the electrical devices. The judge said someday we will have electricity in our house. We also saw a most amazing projector called a “zoopraxiscope,” which shows pictures that move. The Krupp pavilion of artillery had a huge gun from Germany that weighed 122 tons. I cannot envision what something like that would have done in the Civil War, nor what it might do in wars to come. We also walked on a moving walkway, an invention I could never have imagined.
The Midway had attractions and carnival rides and sideshows. It was my favorite part of the World’s Fair. We heard many musicians, but my favorite was a black man named Scott Joplin who played the piano. My husband humored me, and we rode on the Ferris wheel, an astonishing ride, which is so high we could see all of Chicago. At first I thought I might faint, but then I got used to the height. How huge Chicago is!
We sat in on a number of lectures, and my favorite was by a man named Frederick Jackson Turner, who talked about the frontier. I liked him best because the frontier is close in description to my rural life in Anthem. After his lecture, we had a box lunch and a new drink called “carbonated soda.” We also bought some souvenirs both financial and postal: a quarter and silver half dollar, and picture postcards, a new invention of the post office.
In the late afternoon we often napped and then dressed splendidly for dinner. Some evenings we ate at the Palmer House, and other nights we went to various dining halls in the area. I was overwhelmed by the many foods and places to eat that we have seen and patronized over our two weeks at the Fair. In short, this whole trip—the train, Chicago, the World’s Fair—is something I could never have visualized or even foreseen from my little farm in Anthem. Now I know what my mother meant when she said my life in Endurance might lead to further adventures in the greater world. The sights I have seen on this trip leave me breathless for what the world will become in the next century, only seven years away.
I feel I must write about one incident, which has left me puzzled, anxious, and a little fearful. Near the end of our trip, we came across some beggars just before we entered the Exposition. I asked my husband to give them some change, and he said, “Nonsense.” He took my arm and pulled me past the poor people who begged on the street, many of them Civil War veterans. When I tried to explain they were hungry and in much worse condition than we are, he gave me a menacing look and did not speak to me most of that day. His silence was fearful.
Later, when I questioned him about those poor people, he seemed irritated, and finally told me I was never again to question him like that in public. I am sure he is right. I should be quieter and more ladylike, and not question his decisions. After dinner at a lovely restaurant, he left me in our hotel room, saying I must be tired, and he thought I should rest. He wanted to go out and see if he could find a game of poker.
I am puzzled and not a little distraught at the events of the past day. The judge has gone down to pay our hotel bill before leaving, so I have a little time to write. I do not know what to think about the judge’s actions. Perhaps I have misunderstood the nature of marriage and love.
The last night, after the judge went in search of a poker game, I packed some of our clothing in anticipation of our impending departure. Then I went to bed and fell asleep. Sometime during the night, I was awakened by the judge’s return. He had been drinking, heavily I believe, and he tore the covers off the bed and . . . I cannot describe the horror. He was no longer my cons
iderate husband, and he smelled of liquor and tore my nightgown. Afterwards, I was hurt and cried. I sat up much of the night while he snored in a drunken sleep. Why? Before he fell asleep, he did not talk to me except to say I must never, ever contradict him in public again as I did outside the Fair. If I do, I can expect to be subjected to more of these nights.
The following morning I was sore and bruised. The judge acted as if nothing had happened when he woke up. In fact, he whistled as he dealt with his tie and assembled his hat and cane. I simply did not speak, thinking a quiet wife might be his desire. But, on the way to our last day at the Fair, he stopped at an elegant store and bought a fur-lined cape and jewelry for me, having the proprietor wrap and ship them to Endurance. I am bewildered. Why? Why would he hurt me so and then act as if his actions had not happened and shower me with expensive gifts? I do not understand.
Grace closed the diary and thought the life of Olivia Lockwood and her new husband had changed in ways the young girl could never have predicted. The judge seemed to behave like Conrad Folger: abuse followed by gifts. Total disregard for what he had done. Like Emily Folger, Olivia married quickly to a man she believed would love and protect her. Did she recover from his abuse as Emily appeared to be doing? And did that figure into the judge’s death somehow, a puzzling and rapidly approaching demise Grace hoped would be explained before the diary ended.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was unusual for Grace to work on a Sunday evening, but Lettie had taken up a great deal of her time so she had to catch up. Fortunately, the aggravating patient now got around well on her crutches with the promise of a walking boot soon. Grace had no compunction about leaving her at home with a cell phone so she could call Grace if she had an emergency.
She looked up from her computer and brooded about Jeff Maitlin. She played over in her mind their last conversation. He was anxious. “I promise I’ll tell you all about it when I get back,” he had said. “For years I’ve pursued details of an incident from my past, and, without much resolution, I’ve been hesitant to talk to anyone about it. But this time it looks like we might have a breakthrough, so I have to be gone for a week—maybe two—but I promise I’ll be back, and then I’ll explain everything. You understand, right?”
Marry in Haste Page 19