Marry in Haste

by Susan Van Kirk

  And Grace, being Grace, had said, “Of course, Jeff. It all sounds so cryptic and I’m curious, but I’ll be patient and wait until you’re comfortable enough to tell me about it. Just be careful if it’s dangerous.”

  “Not dangerous, Grace. You’ll see. If I get a chance, while I’m gone, I’ll call. But I can’t promise. I simply don’t know.”

  Tonight Grace was distracted, thinking about what could be so puzzling. A mysterious something from his past? Maybe a horrible event like a death? Could it be connected to why he was able to buy a huge house and renovate it without any deep breathing over the enormous cost? What was in the past of this mystery man? She sighed, and thought about how few answers she had, and she determined that she would get down to the bottom of the matter when he returned. She’d have to be a bit pushier. She broke off that thought and looked down at her screen again. Then she got back to work setting up an article about the history of Jeff’s house.

  Grace’s phone rang, and she wondered who knew she was at the newspaper office. Lettie. She answered it and heard Emily’s voice, actually sounding cheerful. She wanted to stop in and see Grace because she needed to talk to her about some details she remembered from the night of Conrad’s death. Lettie told her Grace was at the office. Emily’s Conrad and Caitlin had a sleep-over with another family who had children in their classes, so Emily was free. Grace told her to text when she was outside the office, and she’d let her in. After the recent goings-on, Grace was more careful about security.

  Ten minutes later they sat in Grace’s office. Emily had brought some cookies and a container of fruit punch. “I thought it might be a bit late for coffee,” she said. “Since we talked last Tuesday, I’ve remembered more about the night of Conrad’s . . . death.”

  Grace crossed her legs and sat back more comfortably on the love seat. “So, have you put these flashbacks into some order, and does it seem to work better after we talk?”

  “Yes. I think maybe my subconscious brings them out after I sleep on the details my conscious mind considers. Does that make sense?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I will call Aiden, my attorney, in the morning and tell him we need to speak with TJ Sweeney. I’m sure the reason I remember so little is that I took that sedative. It really zonks me out. Thoughts come back to me in bits and pieces. But now I remember I went into his bedroom that morning. I think I blocked it out before because it was so—so horrifying—and I saw him there all covered in blood. Oh, Grace, I think I almost passed out. But then I thought he might be alive, and I grabbed him by the shoulders and listened to his chest to see if he was breathing. That’s when I wobbled to my bedroom and called 9-1-1. I didn’t think straight, or I’d have used the phone in his bedroom. As I was talking to the emergency person, I looked down and my nightgown was saturated in his blood. It must have happened when I tried to see if he was breathing. That was when I first screamed because I was shocked at the blood. I went back to his bedroom and looked at him again. I must have cut my foot on that trip because I remember I suddenly realized the pain. We had a glass vase that sat on a table over by the windows. It was gone, so I think the glass on the floor was from the vase.”

  “It makes sense, Emily. But you don’t remember anything after you went to bed and before you woke up and found him the next morning?”

  “Well,” she said, and looked down. “As I told you, I do remember he—he raped me. I somehow stumbled out of his bedroom and back to my own. I know I must have changed my nightgown before I got into bed because I had a different nightgown on the next morning. I just wanted to destroy the hated memory.”

  “I still can’t figure out how your fingerprints got on the piece of glass.”

  “Me either. I know I didn’t pick it up. I think I would remember that. But maybe not.”

  Grace recalled TJ telling her about the torn nightgown on the floor, but she said nothing to Emily. Now, however, it made sense. Then she remembered one of the most damaging pieces of evidence. “The alarm system, Emily. What do you remember? I know it was set when the housekeeper showed up in the morning.”

  Emily looked over toward the doorway as she thought about Grace’s question. She twisted her lips in a grimace, and then relaxed them again. “I’m not sure I can explain that. You only have to set the alarm by pushing a button or pulling this little gadget on the alarm panel in the kitchen. I think my lawyer told me Conrad’s fingerprint was on the button to set it. But it makes sense since he would have set it before he came to bed. Well, maybe he did. That’s just it. He was really drunk—I know he was because he reeked of scotch when . . . he raped me. But maybe he didn’t set it, as drunk as he was. Oh, I don’t know. I can’t explain the alarm still being on. I didn’t kill him, Grace. I couldn’t have. Someone has to have come into the house. But how could that be?”

  Grace shook her head. “I don’t know, Emily. I’m not an expert on those alarm systems. But it’s definitely a piece of evidence needing an explanation. I’m sure other people—smarter than I am—can deal with those alarm systems easily,” she said, and she thought about Camilla. She didn’t want to believe her former student might have murdered Conrad Folger.

  Emily drank the last of the fruit punch she’d brought. Grace was glad to see she had an appetite again. She looked so much healthier in the three weeks since Conrad’s death. No more bruises or cuts, and her eyes had begun to have some life again. Grace figured her children had put the life back in her eyes. Emily was so much better, Grace decided she’d take a chance.

  “You know, Emily, I’m reading a diary we found at Jeff’s house. It was written by a woman named Olivia Havelock Lockwood over a hundred years ago.”

  “Really? Is she somehow related to the house Mr. Maitlin is renovating?”

  “Yes.” And Grace told Emily some details about the young woman’s life so far. But she also mentioned Olivia Lockwood had an abusive husband, and she, too, fell into a hasty marriage.

  “You’ll have to let me know how her story ends,” said Emily.

  “I will. Her story shakes me a bit too,” said Grace. She paused and took a deep breath. “No one knows this except my parents, and they’re long gone now. But I dated a guy I met my freshman year in college in Indianapolis. I was terribly young and had led a sheltered life. I went to college in my home town with my parents not far away. He was older, quite handsome, and I was smitten. I hadn’t dated a great deal in high school. But, as time went by, I began to neglect my college classes, spend all my time with him, and try to be what he wanted me to be. He was a less scary version of your Conrad—he wanted me to spend all my time with him, do what he wanted to do, and arrange my life to suit him. I did less and less with my friends, and after a while he began to get a bit pushier. You know, more physical. I think I lost ten pounds over the weeks we dated, and I worried all the time about pleasing him. Somehow the self-confident me who went off to college had totally disappeared. My grades suffered, and my parents wondered what was going on.

  “One day, when I was home on a break, my mother pulled me aside. She gently probed with questions about my happiness, and I caved in and started to cry. That was a turning point for me. She told me—and I’ll never forget this—one of her heroines, Eleanor Roosevelt, said, ‘No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’ After that we talked and talked. I began to go home on the weekends and managed to get away from Russ—that was his name. But I’ve never forgotten how deeply I lost myself in that experience. I can understand how easily it happens. And I’m so glad to see you’re finding yourself again,” Grace said.

  Emily smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. “Thank you, Grace. I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me think this out. And it is true—about allowing someone to crush you. I wasn’t strong enough. To know something like that could happen so easily to you makes me feel not quite so stupid.”

  “Good,” said Grace. “Now I believe I’m ready to head home. I think I’ve done enough work for one Sunday n
ight when I’m supposed to be home anyway.”

  They both packed up—papers and laptop for Grace and punch container for Emily. Grace locked up the newspaper office and followed Emily to the parking lot. It looked dark and isolated except for their two cars. Tall, overhead lights hardly covered the entire lot. Suddenly, Emily looked down with dismay.

  “Darn. It looks like I have a flat tire.”

  Grace walked over and saw the black rubber flat on the snow. “Well, I’ll have to take you home, and we’ll deal with this in the morning. You don’t have to take the kids to school, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll bet Schreiber’s would come out and fix it right here. Call them in the morning, and if you need a ride in, just call me.”

  “Thanks, Grace.”

  Emily made sure her car was locked and then piled into Grace’s car. Grace warmed her engine up for a few minutes, and then she drove out of the lot and down Main Street, heading toward the county road where Emily lived. It was nine, and the streets were practically deserted on a Sunday night in Endurance. The bars closed earlier on Sundays than on week nights, and city streets had been plowed for several days, so she had an easy time. Finally, the car heater was warming up.

  They talked cheerfully and were almost to Emily’s when Grace first noticed the car lights come up quickly behind her. She had turned onto the county road, which was snow-packed, and they were still a couple of miles from Emily’s. Grace glanced in the rearview mirror and anxiously looked around since they were quite alone on this road. Suddenly, the car behind them hit the back bumper of Grace’s car, pushing her into a spin on the snow-covered road. Emily screamed, “Oh, my Lord, Grace!” and Grace felt her lip bleed after she bit it hard while trying to concentrate on the road. She fought to gain control of the car, desperately focusing on the feel of the steering wheel, and she had almost succeeded when the car hit her again. Emily squealed and braced herself with her hands on the dashboard. It wasn’t a hard crash against the bumper; only a good nudge to make her lose control. In the rearview mirror, Grace could see the vehicle was a dark SUV. She tried to steer into the spin but totally lost control, spun out, went off the road into a ditch, and caught the edge of a tree, causing the air bags to explode and take her breath away. She remembered hearing Emily scream and then she lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Grace slowly opened her eyes. Everything was hazy, and the light hurt her eyes, so she closed them again. Then she heard TJ’s voice, but it sounded all slurry.

  “You’re okay, Grace. You can open your eyes. You’re fine, and you’re in the ER at Endurance Hospital.”

  She opened her eyes again, slowly. Her head hurt, and she could hear her heart pound. The constant throbbing in her head was really painful. Reaching up, she touched her head and decided she had a bandage over her hair. She put her hand down and felt metal railings next to her, and slowly she became aware she was lying in a hospital bed. “What . . . what happened?” she asked. She tried to get up on her elbows, but immediately became dizzy.

  Again, she heard TJ’s unmistakable voice. “You’ll be fine, Grace. Emily, go find a nurse and tell her Grace is conscious.”

  She could see someone move in the distance, and then her eyes began to clear and objects came into focus. First, she saw TJ. “Oh, TJ. What happened? Why are you here? And where is here?”

  TJ put her hand on Grace’s arm and said, “We’re at the ER. You had an accident on the road when you took Emily home; only, as Emily tells it, you didn’t exactly have an accident. Can you remember anything?”

  Grace closed her eyes again. She sorted through her head, trying to make sense of what had happened before she passed out. Then TJ turned as a nurse came into the room followed by a young doctor. John Overmeyer. He was in my class about fifteen years ago. I think I knew he went to medical school. This is good. He aced my Shakespeare final so he’s up to the challenge. Very few students in my entire career did that. Geez, even half dead I remember these dumb facts. Too bad Shakespeare wasn’t on the medical boards.

  “Ms. Kimball. How do you feel?” asked her former Shakespeare expert.

  “I think I’ve felt better, John. Have I been run over by a truck? Why does my head hurt so much, and how come I have a bandage holding my brain in? I feel like I can’t think straight.”

  “You have a mild concussion,” he said. “You were in a car accident, and the air bag went off. You’ll be fine; you got hit pretty hard in the head. I think you may have turned sideways and hit your forehead on the driver’s-side window.” He pulled his stethoscope off his neck and used it to listen to her heart. Then he checked her pulse, and no one talked.

  It was so quiet Grace wondered if she hadn’t survived the crash. Maybe I’ve died and have to do this test to get in to see Roger. Everything was so confusing.

  Dr. Overmeyer looked at TJ and said, “She’ll be fine. She may have a little short-term memory loss from the concussion, but in time she may also remember what happened. We’ll keep her here overnight for observation, but I’m sure by morning she’ll be doing well. I would be more concerned if she had more serious symptoms. She’ll just be tired.”

  “Did you hear that?” TJ said. “No problem. I’ll go and check on Lettie. Fate, with a little help, is picking your household off one by one. First, Lettie sprains her ankle, and then you get a concussion. I’d better keep Eliot Ness away from your house for a while.”

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” said Emily Folger, coming up on the other side of Grace’s bed. “It was scary.”

  Grace stared at her, and strained to focus her eyes. “What happened, Emily?”

  Emily looked at TJ, who nodded to her. “We were in your car—mine had a flat tire—and you were taking me home. A dark, huge SUV came up behind us, but I couldn’t see the driver because it was so dark. The SUV literally knocked us off the road. Of course, that didn’t take much of a nudge since the county road’s still slick. When we stopped in the ditch and I could think straight, I called 9-1-1, and the police and ambulance came out and brought us here. I’m so thankful you’re going to be fine.”

  Grace looked over at the windows and took a deep breath.

  “That does leave a big question,” said TJ. “Who was the target here—you or Emily? Or both of you?”

  The doctor turned toward TJ and said, “We’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Overmeyer. I’ll be back to pick her up in the morning. I think, Grace, we need to put your household on a strict ration of 9-1-1 calls. You are running us ragged. Come on, Emily, I’ll give you a ride home, and I’ll call in to have a patrol circle your house several times during the night. We don’t know what’s happening here yet.”

  “Thank you, Detective Sweeney. Good night, Grace, and get some rest.”

  The following morning, TJ rescued Grace from the hospital and drove her home. The detective had arranged for a tow truck, and Grace’s car was now at Bert’s Collision Shop. TJ looked from the sofa where Grace lay, to the recliner where Lettie sat with her ankle up and her crutches next to her. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. What should I do with you two? And who will do the cooking now?”

  “You don’t need to worry,” said Lettie. “Lettie’s Legions is still on the move and bringing in food daily. Grace wouldn’t be any help with that anyway. But I have to say, TJ, you need to get on top of this. How many more heads and ankles can we break around here?”

  “I’d say four—Lettie’s head and one good ankle, and your ankles, Grace,” TJ said.

  “Very funny. Now Del will have to take a break because Grace cannot sit there and listen to hammers. She has enough pounding in her own head. I’ll just have to try, somehow, to get along without him.” Lettie sighed. “I heard from Mildred that Charlie Sims was in to see you, TJ, and he claims a dark SUV was parked outside the Folger house around two-fifteen the morning of Conrad’s unfortunate demise. S’pose it was the same person who tried to knock Grace and
Emily Folger off the highway?”

  TJ glared at Lettie, a look of consternation on her face. “Where do you hear this stuff, Lettie? Do you have some kind of microphone hidden in my office?”

  Lettie smiled and chuckled. “My sources are my secret. Doesn’t the Declaration of Independence say I don’t have to reveal them?”

  “I think it’s the Constitution, and it usually refers to newspaper reporters, Lettie.”

  “Well, I’m related to a reporter—at least by marriage.”

  “You’ve missed Endurance excitement overnight, Grace,” said TJ. “First of all, Emily’s tire was slashed, so someone wanted you to be on that road. Perhaps together. Someone is afraid you’re closer to the truth, and he wants to scare you off. His tactics must have changed because at first he figured we’d suspect Emily and, of course, we did. But since you and I have begun to dig into the details and interview people, he’s decided we don’t believe Emily did it, and we’re moving closer to him.”

  “Whoever ‘he’ is,” Grace said.

  “A dark SUV narrows the focus to two people we’ve interviewed,” said TJ.

  “Will Folger and Sandra Lansky,” mused Lettie.

  TJ shook her head. “Lettie, we need to have a talk—when you’re better—about your jungle telegraph.”

  “I refuse to testify on the grounds that I have the Second Amendment,” Lettie said, her hand in the air.

  “I think that’s the Fifth Amendment, Lettie,” said Grace. “I may have lost some memory, but I do remember that.”

  They all three jumped when Grace’s phone bawled out “Stayin’ Alive.” Suddenly, Eliot Ness, who had been lying on Lettie’s lap, jumped to the floor and began chasing his tail around in circles.