Three May Keep a Secret (An Endurance Mystery)

by Susan Van Kirk

  A steady music beat escaped from wall speakers and black boxes hanging from the ceiling pipes. The music—Rod Stewart singing “As Time Goes By”—wasn’t overly loud, but it still competed with the hum of conversations. She focused on the tables and booths but didn’t see anyone wave at her. Grace was meeting the new editor of the newspaper—that was the phone call—and he wouldn’t be a familiar face. However, she was early, so she decided to go to the bar and talk with Bill Tully.

  The hostess asked her, “How many, hon?” and Grace replied that she’d go back to the bar while she waited for a friend. She strolled beyond the heavy plastic partition and looked at all the changes Tully had made to the bar area. Gone were the booths with seats that had begun to show wear and gone was the poor lighting. She saw in their place neon signs that advertised Budweiser, Amber Bock, Blue Moon, Corona Extra, and Miller Lite, with race cars and faces of drivers Grace didn’t recognize. As she moved toward a bar stool, Bill Tully saw her and walked over.

  “Hey, Grace, I hear congratulations are in order. Finally hanging up the pencils and red pens, huh?”

  Grace sat down on a bar stool and said, “Definitely no longer setting my alarm clock. It’s good to see you, Bill.”

  “Lot of people are gonna miss you up at the high school. But now you can come here more often.”

  “And I’ll miss a lot of the people. But it’s time.” She looked around at the bar. “Say, I really like what you’ve done to the place. Looks like you put your life’s savings into all this redecoration.”

  “Yeah, well, people want sports bars these days, and it was worth the time and money to close up long enough to give ’em what they want. The scoreboard over the kitchen doors explodes if people ask me to hit the button. Makes a shitload of noise—oh, excuse the term, Grace—when it goes off so I don’t do it very much.” They both laughed.

  Tully stretched his arms, his hands holding the edge of the bar. “What can I do you for?”

  “Meeting someone for dinner but it looks like he isn’t here yet. An amaretto sour?”

  “On the rocks—see, I still remember. One amaretto sour coming up!”

  She watched as he went over to the sink and grabbed some bottles, a glass, and ice. Grace didn’t know exactly how old Bill was. In fact, when she thought about it, she didn’t know much about him at all. He was a burly guy, probably an inch or two short of six feet, and he had a way of moving quietly for such a big man. He kept his black hair short, but it was thick and wiry like his beard and moustache and flecked with bits of gray. His blue eyes seemed tiny because of his bushy, black eyebrows.

  He set down Grace’s drink. “When your friend comes in we’ll get you a table or you can eat in the bar if you’d like. And, Grace, it’s on the house. Happy retirement!”

  “Thanks, Bill.”

  He moved away to wait on another man who sported a baseball hat and a red T-shirt with a Cardinals logo on it. Grace glanced at his profile. Jimmy Dolan. He must be in his forties by now. I remember he gave a speech on the history of condoms, hoping to shock me. I think he has six kids. What does that say for the old axiom that knowledge is power?

  Grace noticed the music switch from Rod Stewart to Lady Gaga. She checked the time: 7:10. Mr. Maitlin was definitely late. She was sure he had said seven on the phone. Maybe some unexpected problem had come up at the newspaper. Over Lady Gaga she heard the familiar strains of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted, Dead or Alive” and realized she’d forgotten to turn off her phone. She grabbed it from her purse and hit the keypad to answer TJ’s call.

  “I can tell he’s late because I just saw his car leave the parking lot at the newspaper.” TJ never wasted time with “Hello.”

  “Do you have him under surveillance?”

  “Definitely not. Happened to be going by on a routine drive and remembered you were meeting. Have a nice dinner, Grace.”

  “Thanks.” She hit the “end” button. Exasperated, she realized how rapidly her phone conversation had spread among her friends. Lettie, of course.

  An abrasive voice slashed through her thoughts. “Double Scotch on the rocks, Bill,” and Brenda Norris plopped down next to Grace. “It’s been one hell of a day and I definitely deserve this!” Turning, she added, almost as an afterthought, “Hi, Grace.”

  Grace swallowed a sigh. “Hi, Brenda. Sorry to hear your job isn’t going so well.”

  “Tracking some town history for the anniversary celebration. You know, there’s a lot I didn’t remember about this place.”

  “Is this a series of articles or are you writing some kind of special edition for the celebration?”

  Before Brenda could answer, Bill Tully showed up, poured her drink, and casually joined the conversation. “Working hard, Brenda?”

  “You can’t imagine. Not only am I writing articles for the paper, as usual, but I’m still working on that special assignment for the town celebration. This was something the editor cooked up before Maitlin took over.” Her eyes narrowed. “I was about to say ‘May my former boss rest in peace,’ but after this job he left me, I hope he’s roasting.” She pulled a cigarette out of her purse and Tully pointed to the “no smoking” sign over the bar. Resigned, she put the pack back. “I hate this new, healthier world,” she announced. “It tramples on my right to kill myself.”

  “I’m curious about what kind of stuff you’re researching,” Bill said as he grabbed some glasses from a sink and began to wipe them with a dish towel.

  “Besides the changes in buildings and various scandals, I’ve found some police cases I’m checking out too. Some are really old.” She took several huge swallows of her drink and set it down. “Whew. That helps.”

  “Old? I’ve only been here since the early nineties. How old?” Bill asked.

  “Oh, much older than that. A murder in the twenties, an embezzlement case in the thirties, and some fire deaths in the early seventies.”

  Bill set down a glass. “Ya don’t say. Didn’t realize the town had such a colorful history. The decorator put up some photos of local events, but she knew more about them than I do.” Grace felt herself rocking and noticed Brenda’s legs were crossed and her foot was rapidly moving back and forth.

  Grace used her drink napkin to mop up a few drops of water that had condensed on her glass and dripped on the counter. “I’ve heard rumors flying around town. Is it true there may be a lawsuit against you about one of your stories?”

  Brenda snickered. “Not officially, but I’ve heard Mike Sturgis is madder than hell and talking to a lawyer. Figures! I can’t imagine he wants to drag it into court—what he does in his construction business. I said it all in that story, you know. I exposed his shoddy practices.” She drained her glass and added, “Hit me with another one, Bill.”

  Grace took a sip of her drink and considered how to phrase her next sentence. Then, “Brenda, maybe you should worry about what people think of your reporting.”

  “Why the hell would I care? I’m just doin’ my job. You wouldn’t believe, Grace, the things I’ve had said to me. The phone calls, especially in the middle of the night. Dead stuff left in my front yard or my mailbox. But, you know, it all comes back to freedom of the press.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked straight ahead at the mirror over the bar. “And, don’t worry. I’m going to show them.” She grabbed another drink from Bill Tully’s hand and took a couple of swallows. Grace glanced at Bill and he raised his eyebrows.

  “Sounds like an intellectual conversation about journalism,” an unfamiliar voice boomed from behind Grace. “Sorry I’m late. Problems downtown. Hi, Brenda.”

  Without turning around, Brenda said, “Hi, Mr.-New-York-editor guy.”

  “And you must be Grace Kimball.” Grace turned and saw an attractive man, a little over six feet tall, slender, with thick, dark brown, silver-threaded hair that fell in a slight wave behind his ears. He was dressed in a light, cream-colored linen shirt with the top button open. Kind of sophisticated for Endurance, was her first thought. Grace
shook his outstretched hand.

  “I’m Jeff Maitlin. New editor at the paper. Well, at least part-time editor since it only comes out three times a week. Retirement job.”

  “Pleasure to meet you. And this is Bill Tully.”

  “Welcome,” Tully shook his hand. “Hope you’re enjoying the small-town atmosphere. Not exactly like New York City.”

  “True.” He smiled and Grace took in a set of straight, white teeth and a look of pleasure. “I just noticed a couple of teenagers skateboarding down the middle of Endurance Avenue past the college, and there wasn’t a car in sight. Don’t see that much in the city.”

  “Hope your new job works out.” Bill raised his hand to Ronda Burke, the floor manager, and made a sign that she should find them a table. “Ronda will take care of you two, and enjoy your dinner.”

  “Perfect.” As she rose to follow Jeff, Grace whispered, “Watch yourself, Brenda.”

  “Hey, Ms. Kimball. I can find you guys a nice booth right over here,” said Ronda Burke, her face beaming. A bit over five feet tall, Ronda resembled a leprechaun who radiated efficiency.

  “Don’t you think you can call me Grace now?”

  “Nope. You’ll always be ‘Ms. Kimball’ who helped me overcome my speaking jitters.”

  “By the way, Ronda, this is Jeff Maitlin. He’s the new editor at the Register. Jeff, Ronda usually knows everything going on in town. If you cross her palm with silver she’ll spill her guts.” Ronda laughed and strode back to the bar.

  Once they sat down, Jeff opened his menu. “It seems like everyone knows everyone in this town. Sorry I was late. Not used to being a jack-of-all-trades at a small newspaper.” He ran his fingers through his hair and turned off his cell phone. “There. Now we won’t have any interruptions.” He looked up at Grace and smiled.

  “How did you happen to move to Endurance from the East Coast, Mr. Maitlin?”

  “Please, call me Jeff. Friend of mine happened to see an ad through a website that focuses on journalism news. ‘Part-time job in a small town’ was on the list and I wanted to wind things down, you know, find something to keep me a little busy. Kind of a retirement job, I guess. I must say it has been quite a culture shock, but a pleasant one.”

  A waitress came up to the table and took their drink order. Grace recognized Tonsy Bellis, but it took her a moment since Tonsy had on more clothing than Grace remembered her wearing. Must have been about five years ago. Every time Tonsy leaned over to get books out of her locker you could see her red satin thong and an elaborate tattoo on her lower back. She shook her head slightly. Will I ever stop remembering these dumb factoids?

  A few minutes later Tonsy brought their drinks and wrote down their order. Grace was about to ask Jeff about his first impressions, but her thoughts were interrupted by Brenda Norris laughing from the bar area, her shrill voice rupturing the pleasant calm.

  “Don’t suppose Brenda has a designated driver,” Grace said and she looked at Jeff.

  “Too much to hope for,” Jeff shook his head. “I know she lives out in the country a few miles west of town. Not quite sure what I’m going to do with her at the paper.”

  “You think you might let her go?”

  “I told myself I wouldn’t make too many changes right away. Need to see how the place shakes down. But she’s made so many people angry. I’ve already received two calls from people last week and I just got here. One sounded threatening toward her. Some people take the paper, I think, because they love to read her latest unsubstantiated stories, and others cancel because they’re so ticked off at her.” He leaned over the table and said, “You know, I’ve heard only good things about you as I nosed around town, so I will quietly say that I wouldn’t want this to get around, but it looks like Mike Sturgis is going to sue for libel.”

  “Guess that doesn’t surprise me. She wrote some strongly worded allegations about the way he runs his construction business. He has a lot of city contracts, and she as much as said that he cut corners on materials and did shoddy workmanship. But he gets bids because he’s the lowest.”

  “I don’t know how much of that’s true, but I know the owner, Torchlight Publications, is waiting to see if they get sued along with Brenda.” Again they heard raucous laughter and Brenda’s piercing voice over the music and conversations.

  Grace waited a moment and said, “Mike Sturgis has a powerful temper and some anger control issues. Always has. He’s been in a few very public scrapes with people around town.”

  Tonsy showed up with their salads and smiled at Jeff. “Hope everything’s fine. Just let me know if there’s, like, anything else I can do for you, Ms. Kimball and Handsome Man.”

  After she left, Grace raised one eyebrow at Jeff as if to say, “And now you know the type of students I’ve taught.”

  Jeff chuckled and jabbed his fork into a mound of lettuce. “I have a lot to get used to.” Grace noticed a slight blush spread across his face. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a man blush, she thought.

  “And speaking of ‘getting used to,’ how’s the first course?” Ronda said, appearing out of nowhere.

  Grace looked up. “Great, Ronda.”

  “Mr. Maitlin, how we doing? Ms. Kimball here keeping you entertained?”

  “Definitely, Ronda.”

  “Sorry. I haven’t neglected you, but I’ve been in and out of the bar as I listened to Brenda and Tully talk about town history. Fascinating.” She turned to Jeff, and in a conspirator’s voice added, “I can fill you in on a lot you don’t know about Ms. Kimball. I used to babysit her kids. Stop by and have lunch some time.”

  He smiled, glanced at Grace, set down his fork, and said, “Let’s try a test of your powers. Impress me.”

  Grace looked up at the ceiling, wondering if she could change the topic.

  “Let’s see. Which story to tell?” Ronda pressed her fingers together and also glanced up at the ceiling. “So many to choose from. I know. How about the time she went on a wild rampage and totally TP-ed our house?”

  “TP-ed?” Jeff asked.

  Grace said dryly, “A tradition of small towns.”

  “My brother and a bunch of other guys went over to her house at night, you see, and threw toilet paper up in the trees. It was just because they liked her.”

  “Then they must have liked me a lot. Happened night after night for two weeks and the kids and I got unbelievably tired of cleaning it up.”

  “And it accelerated considerably, Mr. Maitlin. Began with ten rolls and eventually I think they were up to a hundred. Talk about escalation!” Ronda was in her element as she acted out her story.

  “The grocery store was happy,” Grace reminded her, a quiet Greek chorus of one.

  “Finally, she figured out who was doing it,” Ronda lowered her voice, “and decided to get revenge.”

  “It was, oh, probably five years after my husband Roger died and the kids were the right age to teach them how to throw high.”

  Ronda was not to be deterred. “You know there’s a law against that, Ms. Kimball. It’s a misdemeanor—I think vandal-ism—and your kids could have ended up in jail with you.” She crossed her arms and assumed her best indignant pose.

  “Oh, I doubt it, Ronda. By then I’d had some of the policemen in class. A few owed me big time.” Grace wiped her mouth quickly with her napkin.

  “She drove the getaway car and her three kids had a heyday as they threw toilet paper all over the trees at about five houses, including ours. Can you imagine an English teacher doing such a thing?”

  Jeff laughed and Grace rolled her eyes.

  Ronda adjusted the bill pad in her apron pocket and prepared to leave. “Just thought you should know, Mr. Maitlin. Her youngest kid was only about nine or ten at the time. She encouraged them to become juvenile delinquents.”

  “Man, I’ll have to keep that in mind, Ronda.” He smiled at Grace and continued to look at her as he replied to Ronda. “I thought I would hire her to do a job for me, but maybe I shoul
d reconsider or do a background check.” He was about to add another thought when his voice was drowned out by a huge disturbance that roared from the bar, and Brenda’s voice, slurred and belligerent, rose in an ever-increasing crescendo.

  Jeff folded his napkin and slid from the booth. “I’d better go check that out.” He was a few steps behind Ronda with Grace following them. When they reached the bar Grace took in the scene quickly. She saw a lean, muscular Mike Sturgis towering over Brenda as he made threatening gestures—beer spilling out of his glass all over the floor—and shouted at her, “And wait till I see you in court, Norris. You’re gonna wish you’d never been born. I’ll sue you till you have nothing—no house, no car, no job, no money in the bank. You can’t write them damned lies about me and expect to get away with it!” Brenda’s unfocused eyes stared up at him.

  Mike Sturgis had obviously come straight to the bar from work and had been drinking ever since. With a beer in one hand and his other hand pointing at Brenda, Sturgis was an intimidating figure who outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Grace watched uneasily and wondered how quickly this could dissolve into an explosive bar fight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  For a big man, Bill Tully moved swiftly out from behind the bar. “Calm this down, Mike. Brenda here isn’t bothering anyone at my bar. Keep the fireworks for somewhere else.”

  “Yeah,” repeated Brenda, her voice slow and slurred. “Go ’way. Find some else one or else or someone else to har—har—harass,” she sputtered and turned back to her drink.

  Jeff walked up behind Sturgis and put a hand on his arm, and Sturgis spun around as his hand turned into a fist. Jeff ducked just in time.