Questionable Results

  Questionable Results

  A Glennon Normal School Historical Mystery

  R. A. Wallace

  2020

  Book Seven

  Author’s Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Material in this book is not intended as a substitute for medical advice from qualified professionals. The author has no connection to any product, book, or website mentioned.

  © 2020 R. A. Wallace. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Brandi McCann www.ebook-coverdesigns.com

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Further reading

  Coming Soon

  Chapter One

  Delia Markham dressed for her day quickly. It wasn’t the slight chill that hurried her along. It was the eager anticipation of enjoying her morning in her new apartment. Though somewhat small, it had everything she needed including a separate bedroom, her very own bath, and a living room area. It also had the object of her most current interest, an all-electric kitchen.

  She smiled at the perfectly sized coffee percolator as she plugged it in. It only made four cups. She could have her fill on special mornings without feeling guilty for any waste. Her eyes went to the new toaster. It was the flip-flop kind that automatically turned the toast. The only thing missing was her morning newspaper. Reading it was a luxury that had quickly turned to necessity. It helped to orient her to the town of Glennon where she now made her home. It also kept her up to date on the many extracurricular activities she’d been involved in since beginning her new position as typewriting teacher.

  She wondered if there might be newspapers delivered to the entrance of the dormitory. It was worth the time it would take to check. Until now, she’d been too busy with both her work and her sleuthing to look into it. Delia pocketed her key before leaving the apartment. As she stepped into the long hallway, she looked both ways out of habit. One direction led to a side exit of the building. From what she could tell, she was one of the few to ever use it. Her rooms were the closest to that exit. She moved in the other direction toward the main entrance.

  As she walked down the hallway, she eventually encountered others. She had to dodge the active residents who were in various stages of readiness for their day as they darted between dorm rooms and elsewhere. Although a few of the girls were fully dressed as she was, most were still in their nightclothes. Delia heard snatches of conversations as she made her way through the hall.

  “I wish they could turn on the heat.” The young speaker juggled makeup and other morning necessities as her slippered feet quickly moved her toward one of the shared bathrooms on the first floor. Her full-length flannel nightgown was covered with a kimono which was required, along with the slippers, whenever the girls weren’t fully dressed outside of their rooms.

  The girl behind her wore a union suit under her kimono. The presence of wool in the one-piece garment told Delia it was not from the current season. Saving the available wool to serve the needs of the soldiers meant ribbed cotton would be used at home instead. “My cousin works in a coal mine. I heard they have the miners working six days a week as it is and they still can’t keep up.”

  “It will warm up later today,” a third said with forced cheer.

  A fourth girl tucked her electric curling iron out of sight when she spotted Delia. Use of them was forbidden in their rooms. “I wish the miners worked seven days. Maybe then we could be warm in the mornings.”

  Delia lifted her brows as she passed by them. The other girls were more vocal in their responses.

  The fourth girl muttered an apology, but not for the possession of the curling iron. It was her thoughtless comment that earned her admonishments from her classmates. Those in the mines were working extra hours hoping to avoid the shortages of coal suffered the previous winter. The girl ducked into the pressing room a moment later.

  Delia pretended not to notice the large number of residents inside the pressing room as she passed the open door. Because the room was set up for the use of electric clothes irons and other electrical devices, the girls made use of the outlets to style their hair.

  “Are you okay?” A voice asked. “You look sick.”

  “I’m teaching an orthography class at the Model School today,” came the muttered response.

  “For the eighth grade exam? You’ll do fine. I have to cover what led to the settlement of Pennsylvania.” The comment was made by a girl tying a neckerchief.

  “What if I don’t teach well enough and the students fail their exam in the spring? They’ll never go on to high school.” The concern in her voice was evident.

  “The master teacher is with us the whole time. She will never let us fail in our duty.” The neckerchief was adjusted into place and the girl disappeared into her room.

  Delia neared the main entrance just as another group of girls headed for the pressing room.

  “I heard that if you kiss through a handkerchief, you won’t catch the influenza.” The statement evoked a great deal of laughter.

  A young girl picked at her kimono as she darted around Delia. “I can’t get the marshmallow off from the roast in the living room last night.”

  Several pairs of eyes shifted toward Delia. After passing around her, the girls giggled loudly. When Delia finally reached the main entrance, she discovered two newspapers waiting. After grabbing one, she turned and made her way back to her room. She made a mental note to ask the dorm matron, Alma St. Claire, if the newspapers were meant for anyone who wanted them.

  A few minutes later, she was sitting comfortably in her kitchen with her toast and coffee as she read the front page of the paper. The largest headlines were updates about the actual fighting. How well the men had done the day before. How many prisoners were taken. How much land was recovered from the enemy as they were pushed back. How many fatalities and wounded were added to the total count in the process. She knew somewhere on the pages inside would be another article listing the names of those from the area.

  There was a short article discussing the need for more women in industry to backfill the vacancies left by men. The small mention that captured her attention was several pages in. It was another report of someone suspecting an enemy wireless station on the coast. Many such reports were made by members of the community all along the country’s shores. It meant that the enemy was among them. That they were gathering intelligence and transmitting it back to their home country. It was but a single example of the reports that both the Army and Navy Intelligence received on a regular basis.

  Delia knew from personal experience that all of the suspicious activities reported by the community would be investigated, many by naval intelligence officers. Her fingers moved reflexively from the tactile memories of typewriting hundreds of documents detailing the results of those investigations when she worked as ama
nuensis to the admiral. There were even times when she actively participated with some of the investigating.

  That was all before her move to Glennon, of course. Before the incident that ended her career in the Navy. As if to remind her of the fateful event, the scar from her knife wound began to itch. She ignored it as she thought about the admiral’s request to relocate to Glennon to investigate a member of the town’s founding family.

  True, it was convenient that her last remaining relative lived in Glennon. And she was qualified to teach typewriting courses. Both excuses supported her apparent choice of a new life after leaving the service.

  But the admiral had another reason for his request. Wesley Glennon, current principal of the Glennon Normal School, was under suspicion of treason. It was her job to determine if his actions during battle warranted punishment. Given that the penalty was death, the responsibility weighed heavily on her.

  She stood quickly and finished her preparations to begin her workday. Within minutes, she was leaving the building through the side exit. After reaching the walkway in front of her dormitory, she joined up with one of her students. Lottie was walking in the same direction.

  Delia pointed at Lottie’s feet. “You’re wearing your tennis shoes again.”

  “I’m planning to play basketball with some of the girls later.” Lottie shifted her books in her arms.

  “I’ve been thinking I might adopt your idea.” Delia nodded a greeting as they passed a cluster of students having a conversation in the middle of the walkway. “It would be much easier to get around the campus, I think.”

  Lottie grimaced at her feet. “I’m not sure that wearing tennis shoes on a regular basis will ever catch on in fashion.”

  Delia chuckled. “You are probably right.”

  She could hear the wistfulness in her own voice. It occurred to her that she hadn’t been running. Not since her injury. It was something she used to do on a fairly regular basis. The ability to run away from a potentially dangerous situation was but one of the skills in her spy toolkit. It had saved her more than once.

  When they reached a crossway in the walk, Delia split away from Lottie. Another article in the newspaper had caught her eye. It was about the number of illnesses from influenza in the military camps. It made her think about Blanche Noble, the campus nurse. The practical woman was very quiet of late. Delia worried that it was partly her fault. Every time Blanche tried to discuss the subject of influenza within their group at the midday meal, her comments were quickly discarded. Delia neither defended Blanche’s views nor asked for her opinions. The guilt for her part in the treatment of the intelligent woman, however unintended, pulled at her conscience.

  That guilt was what brought her to the home nursing class currently in session at the auditorium. Delia stepped inside and looked around. There were a few students practicing how to apply bandages. Others were busy making bandages and rolling them up. Blanche was nowhere in sight.

  “Delia.” Mabelle Neff stopped next to her. “Have you come to volunteer for bandage making?”

  Delia scanned the room again. “I thought the class was designed to teach home nursing skills and first aid?”

  “In case such skills are needed to fight the influenza. Yes, I know.” The domestic science teacher made a face then waved around them. “I thought the students’ time would be better served by making bandages for the war effort. Of course, that would be much easier if some weren’t hoarding gauze for whatever reason.”

  Delia opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She knew Mabelle referred to the school nurse.

  “Blanche has been too occupied to participate, of course.” Mabelle lifted her brows briefly.

  “I am certain that Blanche must be very busy,” Delia murmured.

  “We all know that the influenza makes an appearance every year,” Mabelle said dryly. “I simply wonder if Blanche isn’t perhaps making too much of it this year.”

  Delia wanted to argue but realized she didn’t have the facts to do so. She excused herself a few minutes later. She debated going to the infirmary but, in the end, the decision was made for her with the appearance of her students midway.

  “Miss Markham.” Gladys held up some rolled papers in her hand. “I was just talking about you.”

  Delia glanced at the papers. “Working on the next article about the normal school for the town newspaper?”

  “I am.” Gladys bit her lip as she turned to her companions. Rose was staring at Claude. The young man standing between the two girls gave Delia a fleeting smile.

  Delia didn’t have to ask the reason for the stricken faces of the girls. “I saw your name in the newspaper.”

  “We all knew there was a good chance I’d be called up,” Claude said.

  “I just didn’t expect it so soon,” Rose mumbled. “To be among the very first one hundred numbers drawn.”

  “The newspaper printed all of the local names,” Gladys said in the silence that followed.

  Delia nodded. According to the paper, a dozen names from the Glennon area corresponded to serial numbers from the initial one hundred drawn.

  “There are still seventeen thousand numbers to be drawn,” Claude said. “Each of those numbers also matches multiple names all over the country depending on the serial number assigned to their draft card. My odds were good either way."

  “Is that what you were planning to write about?” Delia asked Gladys.

  “No, uh.” Gladys had to tear her eyes away from Claude. “I’ve been interviewing some of the new military students.” Gladys’s voice gained enthusiasm. “They’ve come from all over western Pennsylvania, as you know. With the military training that started in schools all over the state, the boys get a chance to start training for war before they’re called up.”

  Gladys’s eyes shot back to Claude. He offered a wry smile then looked over Delia’s shoulder.

  She turned to find Otis. “Good morning.”

  Otis nodded politely to the students. The threesome returned the greeting before moving away leaving Delia alone with the principal’s manservant.

  “There’s been an update,” Otis said quietly. “They’re asking for you at Glennon House.”

  Chapter Two

  “He’ll make a fine soldier.” Otis’s voice was quiet but firm.

  “You would know.” As they passed by the location where Otis had dropped Delia to her knees one recent night, she remembered his words in her ear.

  I trained hundreds of men to make the exact same moves you just tried on me.

  She told him at the time that she should have had him. It was bravado speaking, of course. She knew full well she was no match. Even with his injury, the man was obviously a master in the art of self-defense. It was a level that a rare few should possess. While the Army offered close quarters combat training for the trenches, the majority of the fighting was done with weapons.

  They weren’t the only words that stung her that night. His next observation after releasing his hold on her demonstrated to Delia that Otis was a formidable opponent indeed.

  You protected your side just now, Yeoman. That was your mistake. You showed your weakness to your opponent. Is that why you quit the service? Because you’ve lost your nerve to fight?

  “You cannot protect him,” Otis continued.

  How well she knew. She opted to change the subject. “How did you meet Captain Glennon?”

  “I would think that was obvious.” Otis sidestepped around a cluster of students.

  Delia persisted when they met up again on the other side of the students. “In the war, yes. That much I know. I was asking about specifics.” She glanced at her companion.

  Otis was looking straight ahead as they left the main part of the campus behind them and made their way along the private walkway to Glennon House. There was a long, high privet hedge that offered some seclusion to the Glennon home from the school. It also buffered the property from the noise. On the other side of the hedge, it was eas
y to forget that there were hundreds of young people going about their day on campus.

  “You served for… how long?” Otis shifted unreadable eyes toward her. “Over a year, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She knew he was trying to turn the tables on her. She locked eyes with him. “And you?”

  His smile was polite but gave little away. He opened the door for her when they reached the house allowing her to pass inside first.

  Delia slipped her jacket from her shoulders and handed it to the waiting maid. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, thank you, Martha.” Otis nodded to Delia indicating the direction of the sitting room. “In there.”

  She found the others waiting for them. Virginia Gray and her brother were seated on the davenport. The look on Wesley’s face made it obvious that he was impatient to begin. Judson Heath sat in an armchair across from them. Delia nodded a greeting at the police chief as she took the matching chair next to him. Otis closed the door to the room then crossed over to stand near the fireplace. It offered him a good view of the other four in the room.

  “Now, Judson.” Wesley lifted his brows. “You were saying that you learned something new?”

  Judson glanced briefly at Virginia before focusing on Wes. “It’s about Luther Killian.”

  Wes’s head swiveled toward his sister.

  “Do not even think about sending me away,” Virginia said evenly.

  Wes’s gaze shifted to Otis briefly before he turned toward Judson again. After a deep breath, he nodded once.

  Judson took the nod as assent to continue. “The man you claim shot you in France…”

  Judson was interrupted by two voices.

  One belonged to Wesley. “Did shoot me.”

  The other belonged to his sister. “Wesley?”

  Judson continued as though uninterrupted. “Has been ordered to an internment camp.”

  Wes pitched forward in his seat. “What?”

  Otis took one step closer. “Why?”

  “Aiding the enemy,” Judson said.

  “You found something.” Delia wasn’t asking a question.