Three May Keep a Secret (An Endurance Mystery)

by Susan Van Kirk

  I guess that didn’t exactly come true, thought Grace. What happened to you, Brenda? You had such promise. Grace remembered meeting Brenda when she had first started teaching at the high school. Brenda had come back to Endurance to take care of her ailing father, who died shortly after her return. Her mother didn’t live much longer, and Brenda stayed on in their house in the country. She had nursed them both and was getting over the strain when Grace showed up, newly widowed the year before. Perhaps misery loved company because they formed a bond that first year of Grace’s job. At the end of the next year Brenda was fired, although the board allowed her to resign. But fired or resigned, everyone in town knew she’d lost her job because of drinking and sleeping around. That summer she got on at the newspaper in a clerical position and later became a reporter.

  Grace broke off her trip through the past and looked at the family photos on the middle shelf. Brenda’s parents stared back at her, standing in front of the farmhouse that Grace had seen in flames on the news. The house had deteriorated considerably since Brenda had inherited it. The picture must have been taken in the late sixties, because Grace saw Brenda’s older brother, Doug, in uniform. He was later killed in a helicopter crash over the jungle in Vietnam. How terrible that must have been for her and her family. Brenda had idolized him. She had never completely gotten over his death. Her younger brother Dan looked to be in early junior high or late elementary school. And now only Dan and his family were left and they lived far away.

  She turned to Brenda’s desk and saw her laptop peeking out from under a huge pile of papers. Several pencils, their erasers chewed down and their yellow cylinders filled with teeth marks, completed the picture. A well-thumbed thesaurus sat open. Above the desk were two framed diplomas on the wall: Endurance High School 1971 and McMichael College 1976.

  Sitting down on the love seat, Grace looked through the papers on the small table. It appeared—as they’d mentioned at lunch—that Brenda was working on some cold-case files from the police department. TJ would know about those.

  She rose and walked over to the bookshelves, pulling down several folders that were wedged into the bottom shelf between heavy reference books. Inside were lots of odds and ends: an advertisement for a sale at Binkle’s Shoe Store that expired in 1990, a baby shower invitation, a bill for a tire rotation at Shreiber’s, and several notes in Brenda’s writing. Between the notes were some photos she had obviously stuck away and forgotten. As Grace thumbed through them she saw a photo of herself and Brenda as they talked in the hallway at the high school. It was a random shot, and she turned it over and saw an inscription on the back. “October 1986, with my friend, Grace.” She stared at the picture, remembering the dress she had worn and the locket around her neck. Brenda had a huge smile on her face. How young they were then! Brenda had kept the photo even though she had squirreled it away with other fragments of her past. Grace felt herself tearing up again. Brenda had given the rookie advice on more than one occasion that year, and Grace had been profoundly grateful.

  She reached in her purse and pulled out a tissue. And then the flood came. She had managed to hold it off for most of the day. Grace stood up and closed the door so no one would hear her sobs. She didn’t know if she cried for Brenda or for her own memories of another fire. There but for the grace of God . . .

  Eventually the emotional wreckage subsided and she considered what a good friend Brenda had been that first year when Grace was in such need of support. She had lost her husband, was dealing with three small children and all the difficulties that went with raising them by herself, and she had this huge job that didn’t stop at the classroom door. Brenda had been sympathetic when Grace rushed to her room after school, and tearfully asked what to do with the Hawkins boy who was making her life miserable.

  Over the years they naturally drifted apart once Grace got her feet firmly planted on the classroom floor. She was busy with her children, and after Brenda lost her job Grace only saw her occasionally in passing. I should have been a better friend to Brenda.

  The photo in her hand stared up at her. Brenda was laughing and pointing to someone outside the frame. Grace was cradling books in one arm, and had a squirt gun in her other hand, aiming it at Brenda. Grace laughed in spite of herself. Then she thought about the catastrophe after the photo. Everything went wrong for Brenda. She had no family support and had lost her job at the school in front of the entire town. Her newspaper job didn’t pay well enough to keep up the house she’d inherited, and her drinking and affairs were just symptoms of a life out of control. She must have hated the town that witnessed her disgrace, and her newspaper articles were a way to get back at everyone.

  Slipping the photo back in the folder, Grace sat down at Brenda’s desk and thought about the last hour. Slowly it dawned on her. She would finish the job Brenda had started. She would research and write the centennial feature and it would be a kind of memorial. Despite what the town thought, Brenda deserved at least one friend to pay her back for her kindness in the past.

  She’d leave Jeff a note in his mailbox and offer to do it. There. That was decided. Then she went to work and sorted through Brenda’s belongings. As she placed the items in boxes, Grace wondered why Shannon had been surreptitiously sneaking out of Brenda’s office. What was she searching for? And why did she give Grace such a nasty look?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  Grace sat expectantly on the bleachers at the Endurance High School gymnasium on Monday morning and waited for the press conference to begin. Looking around, she watched the crowd of a couple hundred people, including ten or fifteen reporters from area newspapers and WHOC. They had positioned their equipment across from a long table where Chief Bitterman, TJ, and the police chief, Stephen Lomax, talked and drank coffee. Grace glanced at her phone to check the time. It was 9:58. Then, hoping not to be embarrassed if her son called and the theme from Caddyshack announced itself to the press conference, she set her cell phone on vibrate and stuffed it in her pocket.

  She heard the hum of conversation and saw familiar faces all through the crowd. Grace turned her attention to people-watching at the main entrance to the gym and noticed Alex Reid walk in, dressed in jeans and a collared maroon shirt, its pocket sporting the Endurance Junior High logo. He was the principal there, and Grace surmised that he was a seasoned expert since he’d tried every trick he could think of when he was in her speech class. He was suspended for three days after a going-away party for a teacher at the end of a first semester. He had spiked the punch with Boone’s Farm strawberry wine combined with some homemade, high-proof alcohol. The principal had passed out.

  Lettie slipped in beside her and Grace figured her sister-in-law undoubtedly had concocted at least three theories about Brenda’s death, culled from gossip around town.

  Up at the table, TJ tapped the side of a microphone and announced, “One, two. Can everybody hear me?” Multiple “yes” answers went up from the crowd and the police chief took the microphone while TJ and Chief Bitterman, the fire chief, sat down. The crowd quieted, a few stragglers quickly taking some seats down in front.

  Dan Wakeley silently slipped in and seated himself at the end of the table. Grace saw Wakeley here and there in town and always thought he was a handsome guy in a rugged sort of way. She broke off her thoughts about the people at the table when it appeared they were about to begin.

  Stephen Lomax spoke into the microphone. “Thank you for coming today. I know there’s been a lot of confusion concerning the recent fire and we thought a press conference would be the best way to disseminate facts. So I will try to tell you what I can, but I must remind everyone this is an ongoing investigation. Afterwards, if you have questions, we’ll try to answer them with what we are able to discuss. The media can interview us separately after we finish,” he said, turning and glancing at the pool of reporters. He shifted again to the crowd, shoulders back, holding the microphone with one hand and leaving his other arm loose at his side.

&
nbsp; “Good morning, folks. As you know, we rarely have press conferences in Endurance, but due to all the inaccuracies floating around town, we felt it might be wise to at least give you the facts we can release at this time.” He cleared his throat. “As many of you know, we had quite a fire on Friday night out at the old Quigley house that was owned by Brenda Norris. She has been positively identified as the victim our fire crew took from the house. Our prayers go out to her family and friends and her brother Dan, his wife Patty, and their children, who are all here with us today.” He nodded toward a small group with three teenagers, a slightly younger boy, and their parents. Grace mainly knew Dan from photos. This morning Grace thought his face looked grim as he listened intently.

  “Family and friends? She didn’t have any friends that I could see,” Lettie whispered.

  “Shh,” said Grace. “I want to hear this.” Lettie snorted and a couple of people turned and gave her dirty looks, wanting her to shut up.

  “I’d also like to thank all the fire departments that responded, the off-duty firemen, the police department, the ambulances, and the power company. All worked together in this effort to save both Brenda and her house. The Endurance trucks were on site in a matter of minutes but too late to prevent Ms. Norris’s death.” He hesitated for a moment before going on and looked down to consult his notes.

  “We are still investigating the cause of the fire, and Dan Wake-ley here is working with the state office to sift through the site for evidence. So at this point we believe it to be a suspicious fire based on witness accounts and what we have found so far.”

  A gasp went up from the crowd and people began murmuring in small groups.

  Chief Lomax raised both of his hands and said, “Please, please, if I could get your attention. As I said, you can ask questions at the end.” The crowd quieted once again and waited for more details.

  “An autopsy was conducted on Saturday by the coroner in Woodbury with Detective Sweeney here attending. Ms. Norris died of smoke inhalation, but the autopsy has led us to believe her death is suspicious.”

  Another spate of talk erupted and this time it took longer to quiet the crowd.

  Then, just as the noise died down, a voice directed toward the front yelled, “So what are you doing about it?” It was Tom Cogburn, a local grocer.

  “Believe me, we have all the resources of the department at work on this as well as experts from the state fire and police offices. I don’t want anyone to panic or worry. We have no proof that someone is planning any future attacks on anyone in town. And, folks, the last time we had a murder—”

  Again a general rustling and talking increased after the word “murder,” and the police chief tried to speak over the crowd. “As I was saying, we’ve rarely had suspicious deaths in Endurance. We had a murder in the 1920s. Since then we had a couple of domestic violence killings where the victim and shooter were married. And we had three fire deaths back in the sixties. Endurance, by and large, has always been a very safe town and citizens don’t need to be worried.”

  Unless you’re married, thought Grace.

  “Just take the usual precautions of locking your doors at night and keeping your eyes open for unusual occurrences.”

  Oh great, Grace thought. Now TJ will get all kinds of crank calls.

  Chiefs Bitterman and Lomax conferred briefly and then opened the conference up to questions. The first one came from Jeff Maitlin in the press pool.

  “Chief Bitterman. Was there any suspicion or evidence of accelerants at this fire?”

  “We’re not sure yet, Mr. Maitlin. Eyewitness accounts would tend to point to the possibility, but we’ll know more definitely in the next day or two.”

  A voice from the back yelled, “What about suspects?”

  Mike Sturgis added, “Will you need to add more police to question that long line?”

  Chief Bitterman glanced quickly over at Brenda’s brother and family and answered, “Folks, please remember Brenda’s family is here today. And yes, we are questioning some people of interest. But that’s all I can say on that score right now.”

  Emily Dunworthy, retired postmistress, asked, “Is there any reason to think this might be the act of terrorists?” That brought some chuckles and lots of noisy reactions.

  “Thank you, Ms. Dunworthy, for your question, but the answer is no. I don’t see Endurance as a target for terrorists. No nuclear plants or weapons caches here.”

  Bill Tully rose and asked, “It seems to me that the first twenty-four hours are pretty important in catching the culprit. What are you doing? I’ve not heard any information about locking up suspects.” He sat down and the audience turned back to the chief expectantly.

  “Bill, we all know how difficult these things can be. TJ Sweeney is on the job and has already questioned a number of people. And police are canvassing for any possible witnesses that can help us with a timeline and with the events of that night.”

  “Well, that’s not enough!” another belligerent voice shouted.

  Then Tully rose again and hollered, “I, for one, want to see someone caught soon. I’m sick and tired of people in town”—and he looked around and added—“you know who you are—speculating it’s my fault this death happened. Yes, Brenda had been drinking at my establishment, probably more than she should have. But I always made sure when that happened that she had a way to get home safely. And I took charge of her car until she came after it. I can’t be responsible for what folks do after they’re back in their houses. I sure didn’t kill her.” And now his voice rose in an angry bellow. “So I’m sick of talk that it’s my fault, both to my face and undoubtedly behind my back. I repeat what I said before: What are you going to do about finding this murderer?” The buzz of conversation picked up again in the bleachers as well as some shouts in support of Tully.

  “I’m afraid I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation, Bill. I can simply assure you we will do all that we can. So if anyone has further questions, we’ll be up here for a while and will try to answer your individual concerns. Thank you for coming and we’ll call this to a close.” He clicked off the microphone and everyone began to stand up and either move toward the doors or stand in small circles talking. Grace and Lettie left to go in different directions, Grace to the newspaper office and Lettie to her garden. Grace wondered what Jeff had found out in his interviews.

  When she got back to her office she noticed a desk drawer was slightly pulled out. Had someone been here? She figured she knew whom to ask.

  She had talked with Shannon Shiveley on Saturday before she left in order to find out where to email reviews. Try as she might, she could tell Shannon would not be a helpful colleague or friend. But she was the person Jeff said to go to with questions. So this morning she marched straight down to Shannon’s door.

  “Shannon,” she said, “have you been in my office?”

  The reporter sat in her chair behind her desk filing her nails. Her dark hair was pulled back with a barrette today and she had on navy slacks and a T-shirt that had a photo of some band called The Day of Doom on the front. As always, her attitude and posture said, “I’m too busy to deal with you right now. Go away.”

  She looked up at Grace and scowled, “Why would you ask such a stupid question? What do I have to do with your office?”

  Grace used her best “teacher” voice. “My belongings have been moved and it’s clear someone has gone through my desk drawers. I saw you in there on Friday when I got back from talking with Jeff, and I want to know what’s so valuable in my office. Maybe I can help you find it and save you the trouble.”

  Shannon unfolded her legs and sat back in her chair, feigning nonchalance. “Well, as long as you put it that way, sure. I was in your office, although it’s hardly ‘your’ office. You’re just here to write some column no one will read. It’s actually my office, or the one I should have since I’m the reporter. And the past occupant—who was hardly a writer—has something I need. Oops. That ‘has’ should have bee
n ‘had.’ ” Her voice dripped with disdain.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re looking for,” said Grace. “Describe it and I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  Shannon laughed, an ugly, arrogant, contemptuous laugh. “It’s a little book—a little black book. And in it she kept some information I need.”

  “Haven’t seen any small black books but I’ll keep a watch out for it. How big is it?”

  “About four by six inches,” said Shannon. “And if you find it, there might be something in it for you.”

  Grace turned and walked back to Brenda’s—her—office. Her blood pressure was probably rocketing. This latest violation of Shannon’s meant that anything she wrote or researched that was private would have to go home with her at night.

  She sat down, calmed herself, and perused a copy of the morning newspaper. Obviously, the press conference and any other information didn’t make the deadline. But Brenda’s obituary was on the records page and Grace silently read:

  ENDURANCE, Ill.–Brenda Anne Norris, 57, passed away June 17, 2011, in Endurance. She was born to Wilfred and Madeline Norris in Endurance on October 4, 1953.

  She was preceded in death by her parents and one brother, Douglas.

  Norris is survived by her brother, Dan (Penny) Norris, of Portland, Oregon, and four nieces and nephews, Allie Norris, Elizabeth Norris, Isabelle Norris, and Dan, Jr., also of Portland.

  Brenda graduated from Endurance High School in 1971 and from McMichael College with her teaching certification in 1976. After graduation, she taught English in the Wamac, Illinois, consolidated district high school, from 1976 to 1980. She worked in several jobs until she returned to Endurance in 1984. Brenda taught English at Endurance High School from 1984 to 1988, and was sponsor of the yearbook and dance squad. After that she worked for the Endurance Register in several capacities, most recently as a news reporter.