A Deceptive Homecoming (21 page)

“Ouch.” I'd stuck myself.
That's what you get, Davish, for being so careless.

“So stop being careless!” I shouted to myself out loud.

What would Sir Arthur think if I treated his research in such a lackadaisical fashion? My friends' futures were far more important. I couldn't afford to get careless now. I grabbed the list from the ledger and slipped it into my bag. I picked up the ledger, planning to have it safely locked up downstairs. I locked my door behind me and with it my cares. I took a deep breath and headed out to find some answers.

“H
ello, Miss Davish.”

I'd gone straight to the school and had met Miss Woodruff by coincidence in the hallway. She was carrying a stack of shorthand dictionaries toward her classroom. She was still wearing black.

“I'm surprised to see you. I'd thought you'd headed back home by now.”

Her simple statement stung. This had been my home.

“No, actually,” I said, “I have a few loose ends I need to tie up before I can leave.”

“Oh.” Miss Woodruff pushed her way into her classroom. I immediately recognized it as the same room in which I'd taken shorthand during my time here.

“By the way, have you seen the newspaper headlines?”

“No, why?”

“So you haven't heard that another man was found buried in Frank Hayward's coffin?” She turned to look at me.

“I had heard a rumor but . . . Is it true?”

“Yes, I've confirmed it with the police.” She turned her face away again.

“And Mr. Hayward?”

“Still missing, but now there's hope he's alive.” Miss Woodruff stopped. Her whole body shuddered as she gasped for a deep breath. “But then there's the possibility he's involved with the other man's death. The police suspect murder.”

“No!” Miss Woodruff swung around with such force, the top book on the stack she was holding flew into the air. It dropped with a thud on a nearby desk. “Frank would never hurt anyone!”

“As I said, it's just a possibility.”

“You don't suspect him, do you, Miss Davish? Are those the ‘loose ends' you're trying to tie up?” Her face grew paler with each word.

“No, actually I'm here because I've discovered that someone has been embezzling money from the school.”

Crash!
Miss Woodruff dropped the books and covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God!” She dropped to her knees, unaware she knelt on the spine of an overturned book.

“Miss Woodruff, if you know anything about this, I need you to tell me.” The young woman shook her head, muttering incoherently. “Miss Woodruff, did you steal the money?”

And then I pictured her at the funeral, after the wreath and flowers had been knocked down, her face as white as the coffin, as white as it was now. I hadn't questioned it then; we were at a funeral. But what had made her go so pale?

“Did you hide the accounting ledger?” She jerked her head up and stared at me.

“The accounting ledger?”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. I guided her to the chair behind her desk. “Miss Woodruff, what do you know?”

“I did it.” She hid her face in her hands. “I did it.”

“What did you do? Did you steal the money, hide the ledger, or both?”

She hesitated. “Both,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.

“Why did you steal from the school?”

“Because . . .” Again she hesitated. “Because . . . I needed the money.” Something in her voice didn't ring true.

“Why steal it? Why not ask Mrs. Chaplin for help?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. I didn't think. I was desperate. I thought if I hid the ledger no one would ever know.”

“You could go to jail for this.”

She nodded, finally taking her hands away and looking at me. “How did you find out?”

“The police found the ledger when they exhumed the coffin and then gave it to me. Miss Woodruff, it's none of my business what you needed the money for.” My mind raced considering the possibilities: a brother's gambling debt to pay off, an ill parent's surgery to pay for, a widowed cousin's children to feed. “But you teach shorthand. How did you get access to the books? How did you collect the money? When did you learn bookkeeping?”

“Frank taught—” She stopped mid-sentence, an expression of horror flashing across her face. “I mean, I just did it. All of it.”

“Frank Hayward taught you bookkeeping?”

“No, I mean, yes. I mean, no. Frank had absolutely nothing to do with this. I did it. Only me.”

“Mr. Hayward was an excellent instructor. He taught me as well.”

“He did?” Miss Woodruff's fingers traced the scar on her chin. I nodded as I bent over to pick up the shorthand dictionaries that still lay scattered on the floor. A note stuck partially out of one. I pulled it out and read:

“Is this your handwriting?” I held up the note. She nodded as she knelt down to help me.

“Poor Katrina, I completely forgot. I was supposed to meet her yesterday.”

“But it's in longhand?”

“Yes, oddly enough, I enjoy writing in longhand after spending my day teaching shorthand.” The handwriting was vastly different from that in the ledger.

“You didn't embezzle the money, did you?” She shook her head. “But you, like Mr. Upchurch, think maybe Mr. Hayward did?” She nodded. “But why try to protect him?” She gazed up at me and I had my answer. How had I not seen it before?

“You're in love with Frank Hayward, aren't you?”

She nodded, dropping her head in shame. “Nothing ever happened. He was always a gentleman. It's just that . . . he had a scar. We had something in common, you see.” She hesitated, unsure whether to continue. “You must understand, Miss Davish. I've been taunted and teased all my life. But Frank . . . he said it was beautiful, a mark of distinction. So while he taught me bookkeeping, Frank also helped me learn to live with . . . this.” She traced the raised, red jagged line across her chin. “And I'll love him forever for it.”

“So you were trying to protect him.” It wasn't a question. I knew.

She nodded as she held a handkerchief up to her chin. “What else was I to do? I went to his office before the funeral, to be where he used to be, and I found that ledger in the middle of his desk. I didn't mean to pry, but it was open. I saw right away that something was wrong. But I knew he couldn't have done such a thing.”

“Because of the handwriting?” She frowned.

“Handwriting? No, because Frank's an excellent bookkeeper. He wouldn't have made so many mistakes. Didn't you notice all the pencil marks? He wouldn't do such a thing.”

“Then what did you do?”

“What could I have done? I couldn't have his memory tainted in any way. He deserved better than that. So I had to get rid of it.”

“So you put the ledger in Mr. Hayward's coffin?” She nodded.

“It wasn't easy. I tipped over the wreath hoping to distract everyone.” She shrugged. “It worked, didn't it?”

“Yes, until the casket was exhumed. But why put it in the casket in the first place? Why not burn it or bury it?”

“I did bury it. It was a secret that needed to go with him to the grave.”

“But literally?”

Miss Woodruff shrugged. “I was distressed. I'm still distressed. It was all I could think to do.”

“So why did you go to his office after hours that night?”

“People were still insinuating that Frank had done something wrong. Some were even willing to believe he was behind all the bad things that have been happening at the school lately. I had to go back and make sure there weren't any more ledgers or notes or anything.”

“So that's what you meant by ‘more evidence'?” She nodded. “But you didn't come back the next night and rummage through President Upchurch's office?” I trusted what Mrs. Chaplin had told me about the whist party but couldn't suppress my suspicions.

“Why would I do that?” I had the answer I wanted.

“Why do you think the ledger was in his office, if he wasn't involved?” I asked.

“Someone wants everyone to think he did it, but I know he didn't. I know it!”

But who?
I wondered. Instead, I asked, “Do you know why he stopped doing the bookkeeping?”

“I didn't realize he had.” She suddenly dropped her head to avoid my gaze.

“Have you had any contact with Frank since the funeral?” She didn't answer, turning her face away. “I want to help, but you have to be honest with me. This isn't embezzlement or vandalism Mr. Hayward's accused of; it may be murder.”

“Like I said, Frank wouldn't hurt anyone.” That's what Ginny had insisted too, but love often blinded people to the shortcomings of others.

“But have you heard from him?”

She shook her head. “No, Miss Davish, I haven't heard from him. God knows I wish I had, but no. Oh, Frank, where are you?”

That's what I want to know,
I thought, as Miss Woodruff buried her head in her arms on her desk.

A
fter mentally crossing Mollie Woodruff off my list, I sought out my next suspect. Knowing Miss Gilbert had little regard for me and would have no tolerance for my questions, I was almost relieved when I found her door closed. I peered through the window. The classroom was empty; the typing instructor must be on her break. I tried the door. As I suspected, it wasn't locked. I glanced about me, to make certain I wasn't seen, and slipped in. I headed straight for the desk and glanced over the books, papers, and folders lying in neat piles. Everything was typed.

Ever since I'd searched my employer's hotel room in Eureka Springs for any sign of the missing temperance leader, I've found it easier and easier to examine the belongings, both professional and private, of other people. Identifying a murderer justified the invasion of any person's privacy. But what about investigating an embezzler? Did that too legitimize my unauthorized scrutiny?

It's for Ginny's sake,
I thought, as I opened a desk drawer.

The top drawers revealed nothing. In a bottom drawer I found a notebook filled with typing drills. I flipped through the notebook, musing on the nonsensical nature of drills when I found a sentence scribbled on the bottom of a page:
Pray the red fox feels free as a duck.
The handwriting was very distinct and not at all like that in the ledger. If this was Miss Gilbert's handwriting, as I assumed it was, she wasn't the embezzler either.

I closed the notebook and a slip of paper fell out. It was a list of all of the “incidents” that had occurred at the school. After each was typed an explanation of how they discredited President Upchurch:
shows lack of leadership, questions management style, demonstrates untrustworthy behavior, indicates lack of loyalty.
It even included the most recent act: the burned invoices. I wasn't surprised that Miss Gilbert would document such things. She, like me, had a mind for organization, and it was well-known how much she disliked and envied Mr. Upchurch. But something struck me as odd about the list. Not all of the items had occurred.

Yet,
I thought.

“What are you doing?” Miss Gilbert stormed into her classroom. Her face was red as she stomped across the room and slammed the drawer shut. “How dare you! You have no business being in here, let alone going through my desk.” She opened another drawer, grabbed the piles of papers and books on top of her desk, and dropped them in, slamming that drawer harder than the first. Now her whole body was shaking. She lifted her arm up and pointed to the door. “Leave my classroom at once.”

“Why, Miss Gilbert? Why did you do it?”

“Get out!”

When I didn't move, she shoved me backward. I stumbled, my back hitting against the blackboard. I groaned. The muscles in my upper body hadn't recovered yet. She flinched as if she'd incurred the pain.

“Out! Now or I'll call security!” She stepped aside to let me by, but I didn't move.

“I don't think that would be wise, Miss Gilbert,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath, “considering what your desk drawer contains.”

“I . . . I . . .” she stammered, her fists clenched. She dropped into her chair and glared at me. “What do you want from me?”

“The truth. Why did you do it? The Malinda Gilbert I knew loved this school and loved Mrs. Chaplin. Why sabotage it? What happened?”

“Asa Upchurch is what happened,” she sneered, before chewing on the nail of her left thumb. “I should've been head of this school. I worked here for years and everything I did, I did for this school. But did Mrs. Chaplin recognize my experience? Did she reward my loyalty? No. Instead, Mrs. Chaplin hired Asa Upchurch, who never worked here, or at any school for that matter, a day in his life. What did he know about running a professional school for women? Everyone thinks he's the snake charmer, but trust me, he's the snake.”

“So you did it out of spite?”

“No!” She spat the word out like a bad taste in her mouth. “You of all people should know better. Like everything I've done, I did it out of love for this school.”

“By setting a classroom on fire? By defacing all the new shorthand dictionaries? I don't see how that helps the school, Miss Gilbert.”

“Small distresses for the greater good.”

“Which is?”

“To rid us all of Asa Upchurch!”

“You did all this hoping the blame would fall on him?”

“Of course. I'd tried telling Mrs. Chaplin how bad of a manager he was, how poorly he ran the school, but she wouldn't listen. I sent her the missing shorthand pages, trying to get her to notice what was going on. She still didn't do anything about it. She's listening now, isn't she?”

Miss Gilbert had a point. It had been the incidents at the school that had motivated Mrs. Chaplin to entice me to St. Joseph in the first place. It had been her concern over what was going on that had prompted us to look for the stolen ledger. Yet Miss Gilbert, in her desperation to discredit Asa Upchurch, had left herself open to suspicion. And then I realized what all this meant for me.

“You were the one in President Upchurch's office that night. You were the one that toppled that bookcase on me!” She flinched as if I'd struck her.

“Yes, I overheard you talking to Mollie Woodruff about her nighttime foray into Mr. Hayward's office. It gave me the idea to dress in mourning.” So Miss Gilbert was whom the elderly couple at the Pacific House had seen. “But I never meant anyone to get hurt. I swear on the future of this school. No one was supposed to be here. Even the fire I set was done when no one else was in the building.”

“But I got hurt. You left me under a pile of books and a bookcase.”

“No, that's not true. After I left the office, I yelled for Gus. He never saw me, but I waited to make sure he found you. I truly didn't mean for you to get hurt.”

I remembered how sincerely sorry Miss Gilbert had been, how uncharacteristically sympathetic toward me, the next morning when I came to her classroom looking for the ledger.

“Then why did you do it?”

“I couldn't let you discover it was me, could I? Then all my plans would be for nothing.”

“But your campaign against President Upchurch hasn't worked. I haven't spoken to anyone who thinks these ‘incidents' reflect poorly on President Upchurch.”

“But how could they not? They happened while he was president. He's responsible.”

No, you are,
I thought but chose to keep my judgment to myself. Instead, I said, “You did all of this so that you could be president?” Malinda Gilbert started biting her nails again.

“I admit that was my motivation in the beginning, but the more I saw the school decline the more I was convinced that anyone else as president would be better than Asa Upchurch.”

“But you did want to be president?”

“Of course, I did. I still do.”

“So you could more easily continue embezzling money from the school?” Her face screwed up like she'd bitten into a lemon.

“What are you talking about?” I told her what I knew. “How long has this been going on?” she asked.

“Since Mrs. Chaplin's retirement.”

“And you think I did it?” Miss Gilbert's voice was once again filled with disdain.

“As the most senior instructor, you could have access.”

“Everyone fawns over you, Miss Davish. ‘Helped solve two murders,' they say. Everyone sings your praises. Mrs. Chaplin boasts you're the most successful graduate we've ever had.” By her mocking tone I knew she didn't agree with one word of it, yet I couldn't help blush at the compliments.

“What does that have to do with the ledger, Miss Gilbert?”

“Exactly. You do a good job of hiding it, but you're not very bright after all, are you?”

I bristled at her casual insult and was on the brink of losing my patience. Barely civil to me since the day we met, she'd shouted at me, shoved me, mocked me, and even pushed a bookcase on top of me. And she was the one who had been tampering with the school's property and reputation.

I wanted to shout,
What did I ever do to you?
But I knew it to be childish and completely unproductive. Instead, I took a deep breath and counted backward in French to calm myself down.

“At least you learned something from this school.”

I didn't reply but continued to count. “
Cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un.
If you didn't embezzle the money,” I said, slowly, still trying to keep my anger at bay, “then who did?”

She shook her head. “You're an idiot.” Before I could lash out like I wanted to, she added, “Asa Upchurch, of course.”

“Of course.” I didn't attempt to hide the sarcasm in my voice. “I should've known you'd say that.” Now it was her turn to bristle at my tone.

“It's true,” she seethed. “The school has been in decline since he arrived, which coincides exactly with the time the money was stolen.”

“There are other instructors who also arrived around the same time; Miss Woodruff, for one.”

“Upchurch is the one with the easiest access.”

“With the exception of Frank Hayward.”

“Yes, but with all his extra teaching duties, Frank had to hand over the bookkeeping.”

What?
I thought. This was news to me. No one, not even Ginny, had mentioned an increase in Frank's teaching duties. That's why his handwriting wasn't found past a certain point in the ledger.

“Why was Frank teaching more?”

Miss Gilbert, taken aback by my change in subject, pursed her lips. “Because our good president added bookkeeping as a new focus of the curriculum,” she said, snidely.

“And you think Mr. Upchurch added to the curriculum simply to get Frank Hayward away from the books?” I couldn't keep my skepticism out of my voice.

“You should ask Mr. Upchurch. He'll deny it, of course; but if anyone is stealing from the school, it's him.”

“And that would be convenient for you, wouldn't it? You would rid yourself of Mr. Upchurch, one way or another.”

“What are you implying? That I'm implicating him for embezzlement to get his job?”

“You've already admitted to sabotaging the school to get rid of him. Do you think Mrs. Chaplin is going to think this is any different?”

And with that I turned on my heel, leaving the room and Miss Gilbert, speechless, glaring at my back.