DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (12 page)

Fo
urteen

B
ecause it was a school night, I stayed out of bars and did my homework. However, my
mind was not on designing an Atlantis alien home for the doomed romance of singing
sub-aquatics. It remained on the inevitability of my own doomed romance. Like the
aqua-Romeo, Luke clung to hope, making his advances hard to resist.

Maybe I needed a trident.

The following day, I began with a visit to JB Branson’s dealership garage. It seemed
Cody’s last public appearance included a rendition of
“
Take This Job and Shove It,
”
without the musical accompaniment. After suffering a long monologue by Cody’s boss,
who decided to spend his saved Cody harangue on me, I felt anxious to return to school
and focus on rooting out the malevolent phantom messenger.

Much more fun than getting yelled at by my brother’s boss. Or even drawing bubble
homes for fish-men.

Pointing the Datsun northwest once again, I encouraged my reluctant starter to enjoy
the autumn splendor of the tree lined drive dappled in yellow ochres, oxide-red lakes,
and cadmium yellow oranges. The air smelled of fresh cut hay and fallen pine needles.
Claude Monet may have had
Autumn in Argenteuil
, but I had “Fall in Forks County
.
”

We chugged at a pace just faster than a cotton picker, but the beautiful day matched
my mood. The way I saw it, the sheriff had given me further permission to stick my
nose in other people’s business. And I meant to do it. I wanted a list of teachers
who had received messages from our phantom texter. And to see if the texts also intimated
a relationship to Ellis Madsen.

Arriving late, I found a spot in the back-forty, then hoofed my way into the castle-like
edifice. No parent manned the front desk, so I snagged a visitor lanyard and waved
at Amber, still buried in folders. Behind Amber, the office buzzed with chatting teachers,
waiting in a long queue that snaked around the corner to the back offices. I aimed
myself in that direction, figuring the heart of the beast lay in the copy room.

“Hey,” I said to the first group of teachers I encountered. “How are y’all? What’s
new?”

The khaki and polo clad group peered at me, recognizing a stranger in their midst.
I should have bought khakis instead of educational themed wear. My “I Like Big Books”
t-shirt dress didn’t seem to impress them. And I had spent half the night Be-Dazzling
the book covers.

“Who are you subbing for?” asked an older female with dark hair. She grasped a Peerless
Academy coffee mug in one hand while her arm clutched copies to her chest. “You can
leave the teacher’s mail in their box. Lock their grade book in their desk, though.
We’ve had a rash of grade book burglaries.”

“Instead of using your attendance book, you should enter the grades immediately in
your computer,” said her bespectacled and mustached colleague. “Then the students
couldn’t fiddle with their grade.”

“If you think a computer will stop them, you’re wrong,” an older woman in a Peerless
polo replied. “At least a record book is somewhat alien to them. If a keyboard or
touchscreen isn’t attached, most of them won’t recognize the item.”

All three laughed. The fourth teacher, seeing movement in the copier line, darted
away.

“What do you think of PeerNotes?” I asked. “That announcement yesterday interrupted
the class I attended. Did you get another one today?”

“Not today, thank God. Yesterday was bad enough,” grumbled Coffee Mug. “They should
never have reinstituted PeerNotes after what happened last year.”

“Because it was used to harass Ellis Madsen?” I prodded. “Did the bullies also text
like they are now?”

“Poor Ellis might have been texted,” said Peerless Polo. “But I understood most of
the bullying had been done on PeerNotes, which was why Maranda suggested shutting
it down.”

“What’s going on now?” asked Glasses with Mustache.

“Really, Frank?” said Coffee Mug. “Maranda supposedly received some upsetting texts.
I heard she had some issues with depression, too.”

“I didn’t know, Debby,” said Frank. “It’s hard to believe someone like Maranda had
issues with depression.”

Debby arched an eyebrow. “Even femme fatales get the blues.”

“Did any of you receive similar texts?” The little detective in my head rubbed her
hands together in glee. These teachers were a hotbed of information.

Frank blinked behind his glasses, which I took as a no. Debby shook her head, and
Peerless Polo spotted a free copier and shot into the copy room.

My little detective pouted. I fixed on one last question before I lost them to copying.
“Who do you think sent Maranda those texts? The same person who put the announcement
on PeerNotes yesterday?”

Frank’s forehead creased.
Frank was no help in matters of school gossip. I turned to Debby.

“It’s hard for me to believe a student would say something so hurtful to Maranda.
They’d have to know her personally, although enough rumors fly around here.” Debby
hugged her copies. “As for the PeerNotes announcement, I have no idea. Hacking into
PeerNotes’ push notifications is a hobby for a lot of students.”

Frank nodded. “Blasted PeerNotes. I wish they’d go back to doing the announcements
the old-fashioned way. Blaring them from speakers. At least that interruption can’t
be hacked.”

“Yes it can, Frank,” said Debby. “Remember when Preston King fixed his iPod to the
sound system and played
Weird Science
during finals?”

“That kid
.
” Frank shook his head. “If his parents hadn’t donated so much to Peerless, he’d of
gotten kicked out by now.”

“Preston King sounds like a troublemaker,” I said. “You think he’s the one sending
these texts and messages on PeerNotes?”

“No idea,” smirked Debby, “but Dr. Vail might know.”

I sighed. Of course, Dr. Vail. She already hated me.

Nothing is ever easy.

The arts hall vibrated with after school giddiness. Students from the advanced drama
class hung around the open theater doors. A bun brigade in tights clustered near the
dance studio. Instrument wielding band kids spoke with another group who periodically
broke into a cappella riffs.

At that moment, I fell in love with the arts hall.

If only I had been born to wealthy, activity-minded parents, I would have found my
niche much earlier in life. Maybe a more profitable career, too.

Near the open doors of the fine arts wing, another bunch slouched on the floor, checking
their phones. This selection of students wore knit hats featuring animal faces. I
recognized their stained fingers and dirty uniforms as byproducts of the art world
and scooted toward my younger peers.

“Hey,” I said. “Y’all working on some after-school projects?”

They looked up at me with incurious expressions. Three caps
—
a panda, monkey, and goldfish
—
bobbed back to stare at me as well.

“Is one of you Preston King?”

In the middle of the pack, a girl with the panda hat shook her head. “I think he’s
in trouble,” she said. “He left school early.”

“For doing the PeerNotes announcement yesterday?” Excitement kicked my voice an octave
higher. If so, mystery solved. Preston King could be the Phantom.

“No,” said Panda. “I think it had to do with what he was making on Adobe Illustrated.”

Dangit. Mystery not solved. Although now I had a possible reason for the confiscated
hard drive. “What was he doing with that software?”

Panda looked at Monkey. Monkey looked at Goldfish.

Why couldn’t the art department be as brilliant as the theater? Just didn’t seem fair.
Remembering the drama students’ scoff about the art department’s use of bongs, I squinted
at the trio. “You want to show me your eyes?”

All three dropped their heads. Their respective animal faces stared at my boots. Except
the goldfish, whose binocular eyes pointed sideways.

I sighed. “Is Dr. Vail in?”

The animal hats bobbed, noses still pointed at the floor.

In the art vestibule, more students milled around, chatting. The studio doors stood
open revealing projects in various mediums and stages of completion. I wandered through
the classrooms, enjoying the sight of young artists intent on their works. Picture
windows looking out onto a hallway brought more light, although artificial, into the
rooms. In the sculpture lab, three students worked the loom using textured wool. I
watched them for a few minutes before moving on to a long table where a student applied
glaze to a group of clay pots. Behind them a large, top loading kiln stood open, baking
the room.

“Is that kiln electric?” I asked.

“Yes. Much safer and holds an even temperature. I trust Tinsley doesn’t have you making
ceramic pieces for his play?” Dr. Vail approached the potter. “Very nice, Beatrice.
That pot should fire well.”

Beatrice beamed up at Dr. Vail.

“What are you doing in here?” Dr. Vail folded her arms, her sharp hazel eyes on mine.

“Actually I wanted to speak to you,” I said. “It’s about these texts some of the faculty
are getting. And Preston King
—
”

“Out,” she ordered, flinging her hand toward the door. “And stay out of my department.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, ma’am,” I said. “I’m just trying to learn
—
”

Vail grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door. Around us, the students stopped
their work to watch. Those lingering in the vestibule cleared a path for Vail.

“I warned you,” she said. “Tinsley may pay you to spy, but you’re not getting anything
on me or my students. Tell your arrogant leader to keep me and mine out of his snippy
blog and we’ll leave him alone.”

With a final push and a slam of the outer doors, I found myself standing in the hallway.
High pitched chattering raced through the corridor. A moment later, a cloud of drama
students enveloped me.

“We just heard what happened
on PeerNotes
,” said red-headed Hayden, swinging an arm around my neck and forcing me toward the
theater.

“Don’t feel bad about Dr. Vail,” cooed Kadence, tucking her arm through my right elbow.
“She’s just awful to us. Some teachers are like that.”

“Prejudiced against our success,” said Layton. “She hates anyone associated with the
theater.”

“Doesn’t help that Mr. Tinsley rants about her in his blog,” said
Skylar.

“Shut it, Skylar,” said Kadence. “If he’s reporting what goes on at our school and
happens to mention the art students have gotten out of hand, that’s Vail’s problem.”

“That kind of reporting may become his problem,” I said. “Vail’s more than hostile.
This feud sounds like an all-out departmental war.”

With Vail’s lieutenant, Preston King, as a known instigator.

F
ifteen

I hung with the drama students, reveling in their youthful enthusiasm. They couldn’t
help me put together a list of teachers harassed by text messages, but they did give
me pointers for my set sketches. Heralding the actual auditions, parents began to
show, changing the teen enthusiasm into an outpouring of dramatic anxiety. When parents
began to quiz me about their budding stars as the next alien Capulet and fish loving
Montague, my enthusiasm also flipped to anxiety.

I got the hell out of there. The only thing scarier than stage parents are pageant
circuit parents. They all reminded me of Shawna Branson’s mother.

Although I had plenty of time to meet Luke for our six o’clock case report meeting
at Red’s, I still ran thirty minutes late. I had changed from my Big Books dress into
a pair of viridian jeans and an “I Do My Own Stunts” t-shirt, and now a long CSX train
separated me from Red’s County Line Tap. As it clattered over the crossing, the freight
train blasted its horn, jeering at my tardiness. I rested my forehead on my steering
wheel and concentrated on the fear-mongering at Peerless. Would more texts or PeerNotes
announcements come out this week? Who would be next?

And why?

I lifted my head as the last train car clattered past me. The flashing red crossing
light cut off, the gate lifted, and the Datsun jerked over the tracks. We turned into
Red’s gravel lot, well populated for a Wednesday night. Among the dozen or so vehicles,
I recognized Luke’s black, jacked-up Raptor pickup, Todd’s red Civic hatchback, and
my brother’s 1979 buttercream Malibu.

I parked next to the Malibu, hopping from the Datsun to peer into the gloomy interior
of the coupe. A gym bag, hot rod magazines, and assorted fast food trash decorated
the red vinyl seats. Could mean Cody was living in his car. Could just point to Cody’s
lifestyle.

“What are you doing?” Cody called.

I spun away from his window and crunched across the parking lot to meet my brother’s
approach. His beard had a wooly appearance that meant he had given up trimming. The
shaggy, dishwater blond mane touched his shoulders and his Braves cap had been pulled
so low, darkness shrouded his eyes.

“Cody, what are you playing at?” I said. “I heard you got picked up last night.”

“Evening, sis
.
”
H
e touched his hat and bumped my shoulder, pushing past me.

“You need to talk to me. Is this about the photos? They don’t mean anything.”

“Tell that to Shawna Branson.”

I watched him leave, his rangy swagger reminding me of my Grandpa Ed and someone I
didn’t know. Not my daddy, whom I didn’t remember and who had already been buried
by the time Cody was born. I place a hand on my chest and flipped the hurt toward
anger.

“You best watch yourself,” I called.

He swung into his seat without a backward glance and slammed the door, making the
car rock. Gravel sprayed as the Malibu reversed, then roared out of the lot.

“Jackass.” I kicked a stray rock then trudged toward Red’s. Catching some movement
near the front door, my head lifted and my eyes met Luke’s.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“That was the friendliest exchange I’ve had with Cody in about a month. We’re making
progress.”

“Progress from what?”

Seeing as how Cody’s issues would bring up the Branson name and Luke was Branson by
stepchild default, I decided to continue my position on holding the line. “Dunno.
I’ll deal with him later. Sorry I’m late.”

“Are you okay?” He stood with his hands on his hips and his head tilted down. The
Coors sign gleaming through the glass door backlit Luke in a red glow. Between the
Coors light and the overhead light beaming overhead, I couldn’t make out his expression.

“Just dandy,” I said. “I’ve got two brothers now that I’ve a mind to exchange for
a couple new sisters. But you must know how that feels.”

“I don’t think I ever wished to exchange my stepbrother for a sister. I just wished
for him to disappear. And then he did.”

My shoulders slumped. Luke had lost his troublemaking stepbrother six months earlier.
Dustin lost his life due to his thuggery ways, but the family still hadn’t recovered
from the shocking loss.

“Sorry. I love my brother. And I’m on the way to loving Nik. Although I liked him
more before he was related to me. I’d never wish for them to disappear. But damn,
if Cody’s not acting like a first class donkey’s behind.”

“Sorry to hear it.” Luke hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me toward his chest.

I fought off tears of frustration and let my head rest near his shoulder for a moment
too long, then stepped back.

“Thanks, friend
.
” I jammed my hands into my jeans’ pockets. “I needed that hug. Have you been waiting
long?”

“I got here early to chat with Red and then came out to wait for you. I thought we
could drive to Line Creek and visit the Locked and Loaded.”

“Where? Why?” I squinted at him then glanced over my shoulder at the parking lot.
Spying a lime green Volkswagen Bug, I pursed my lips. “Are you hiding from Tara?”

“No.” Luke crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “She won’t leave me alone.”

“Why don’t you give her a chance?” I said, although it pained me to mention it. “We’re
trying to take a break and be friends, remember? Let things cool off.”

“I told you I don’t want to see anybody else. Who are you seeing?” he said. “Not McIntosh.”

“Lord, no. That would complicate our roommate status something terrible.”

A whooshing sound marked the opening of Red’s inner vestibule door.

Luke jumped to the side of the building. Holding a finger to his lips, he flattened
himself against the wall. Half a second later, Tara pushed open the door and held
it while she glanced around the parking lot.

“Hey, Tara
.
” I waved and tried not to stare at Luke plastered against the corrugated metal building.
The open door blocked him, but as the door was glass, it didn’t make an effective
hiding tool.

“Have you seen Lukey?” she chirped.

“I’ve seen him today,” I said honestly. “What are you doing?”

“Luke was here earlier,” she said, standing on her toes to peer around me. “Then he
said he had to go. But I just had a feeling he was out here. There’s his truck, by
golly.”

I rocked back on my heels. “A feeling that he was out here, huh? Maybe you got me
mixed up with Luke. I just arrived.”

Her little nose scrunched as she puzzled that idea. “Maybe. Did you find out who got
the parts in
Romeo and Juliet
?”

“No, I’ll find out tomorrow. Auditions are tonight.”

“Okay then
.
” Tara pouted, causing a star to fall from its orbit. “Aren’t you coming in? Todd’s
waiting on you.”

“Todd’s always waiting on me,” I said. “You know, you should keep him company. That’d
be good for him. Help him write some new lyrics because his rhyming abilities are
limited.”

“Sure thing
.
”
S
he grinned and the moon’s silver orb broke from behind cloud cover. “But why aren’t
you coming in?”

The girl was relentless. “I just saw my brother Cody in the parking lot. He ticked
me off. I’m not good company at the moment.”

“Cody’s been sitting at the bar a long time. He wouldn’t talk to me. Told me to leave
him alone in a real ugly way when I said hello.”

“Don’t take it personally. Cody’s been a real shit to everyone lately.” I colored
at my language choice before the fair gem. “Sorry, I’ve got a mouth. So, you go on
in and I’ll see you later?”

“Okey dokey. See you, Cherry.” Tara leaned forward to hug me, giving me a glimpse
of Luke cowering behind the door. “If you see Luke, I really think he needs a hug.
He just has that look about him.”

“Right
.
” I drew out the word and closed the door behind her. I waited for the whoosh of the
inner door closing and looked at Luke. “You’re such a chicken.”

He grinned and held out his arms. “How about that hug I need?”

“You don’t need a hug. You need a kick in the pants.”

“Actually, I need something else
.
”
T
he grin turned saucy. “But that can wait. Let’s go to the L and L.” He pushed off
the wall and grabbed my elbow. “We’ll drop your truck at home and take mine to Line
Creek.”

“Why the Locked and Loaded?” I asked.

“Because that’s where the Line Creek cops hang out. I figured you’d want to talk to
Detective Herrera again.”

Locked and Loaded had the corner tavern appearance I had encountered in Savannah but
didn’t see much in middle Georgia where blue laws shaped the infrastructure. The strip
mall habitat did not make up for the seediness of the blacked out window and signage
featuring a down-the-barrel-view of a Smith and Wesson .45 revolver. On a bench before
the window, a moldy Jack-o-lantern with a jagged tooth smile livened the scene.

I glanced at the Jack-o-lantern and then at Luke. “I’ve a feeling Locked and Loaded’s
Halloween party was not for kids.”

“You’d think right
.
” Luke smiled and grabbed the metal handle on the door. “L and L makes their own witch’s
brew and it’s not for the weak.”

“Sounds like fun.” My grin froze as I scanned the dim interior. Conversation hushed
and eyes shifted toward us from the dozen tables crowding the small room. A bar lined
the wall near the door, where heads turned to take in the newcomers. The flatscreens
on the walls featured sports news. Classic rock blared from hidden speakers. The bar
shelves brimmed with economy bottles of liquor. This was a bar that didn’t pretend
to be anything other than a bar.

And it was filled with cops. Mostly in plainclothes, but I recognized the restless
movements, shifty eyes, and need for privacy. Either cops or a room full of bank robbers.

“Do you think L and L has food?” I whispered. My stomach kicked in at that thought,
and three men sitting near the door tightened their hands on their drinks and squinted
at us.

Luke rested his hand on my shoulder. “Sheriff Thompson would kill me if he knew I
brought you here.”

“He won’t find out,” I said, but doubted my words. “I’m glad you did. This place is
cool.”

“Herrera’s sitting in the back,” Luke murmured.

We threaded through the tables to the far corner where Herrera sat next to a female
officer. I didn’t see any squad cars in the parking lot, but the other officer still
wore her uniform blues.

“Hey
.
” I
winked at Herrera
. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He didn’t wink back, but looked from me to Luke. “Do I know you?”

Luke stuck out his hand. “Deputy Luke Harper, sir. With Forks County Sheriff.”

Herrera shot a sidelong glance at his friend then waved a hand at the bartender. “What
are y’all doing in the L and L?”

“Visiting you.” I stuck out my hand to the other cop. “Cherry Tucker. Are you Herrera’s
partner?”

“Officer Amelia Wells.” Smooth, brown hair had been pulled back in a ponytail and
freckles dusted her pert nose. Her handshake felt like a vise clamp.

“Mind if we sit?” I took the chair facing the wall, noticing no one else in the room
sat with their back to the door. Luke took the chair to my right, next to Herrera.
“I’ve got questions about Maranda Pringle.”

“Why?” asked Wells. “She’s not a relative. Or a friend.”

“How do you know?”

“Because her parents are dead, she has no siblings, and her friends were all male.
Except one gal, Olivia Hughes. And you said your name is Cherry Tucker.” Wells smirked.
“What kind of name is Cherry? Sounds like a prostitute.”

“I am not a prostitute,” I said, crossing my arms over my “Stunts” t-shirt. “I’m not
even very good at dating.”

The corners of Herrera’s mouth rose. “That so? What’re you doing with this one?”

“Luke and I are friends.” I accepted the pint glass of beer handed to me by a stony
faced waiter. “We’ve known each other a long time.”

“Cherry’s interested in the Pringle suicide because of what’s going on at the school,”
said Luke, hurrying past our personal information. “An unofficial announcement went
out on PeerNotes yesterday. Obscurely implicating the drama teacher she’s working
for.”

“Do you know if other faculty have been targeted?” I asked.

“If they have, it’s been private and they’re keeping quiet about it.” Herrera glanced
at Wells. “The messages that popped up last year with the teen suicide were done from
a generic email. It was traced to the school library.”

“So that’s the ghost texting some girls mentioned.” I sipped my beer.

“Probably,” explained Wells. “All yo
u
do is type the phone number, at, and the carrier’s messaging service. And since most
kids at Peerless use iPhones, that makes figuring the carrier easy.”

“You think the Phantom is doing the same thing again?”

“It’s easy enough to do,” said Wells. “Could be a copycat, although it doesn’t make
sense if the target is teachers.”

“Damn PeerNotes,” said Herrera. “They should have shut that thing down permanently.”

“Easier to monitor, Daniel,” said Wells. “If it wasn’t PeerNotes, the kids would use
some other social media. What am I saying? They do use other kinds. It’s impossible
to keep up.”

“I need to get on PeerNotes,” I said.

“PeerNotes uses push notifications for big announcements,” said Wells. “That’s how
the announcement buzzes their phones. Mostly PeerNotes is just a bunch of news about
school events, activities, homework updates, and then all the socializing between
students.”

“So what about Pringle? Did you find anything about the private texts she received
from the Phantom?” I asked.

Herrera leaned back in his chair. “Her phone’s at GBI. Low on their list since it’s
a suicide.”