DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (20 page)

T
wenty-Three

By Friday afternoon, I still hadn’t found Cody. I also couldn’t get Principal Cleveland
to answer his door or Dan Madsen to return my calls.

According to Little Verona’s restaurant, Miss Pringle’s friend, Olivia, had taken
bereavement time to argue the details of Maranda’s funeral with Principal Cleveland,
which made me more curious to speak to both parties.
Coach Newcomb’s golf team had left for a state tournament. And I avoided Luke for
fear of loin-girding slippage.

My detecting skills had fallen lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut.

That left me with my original job in the theater.
Happy to meet my newly assigned set design crew, I taught them how to wrap newspaper
strips around chicken wire to create paper mâché bubbles to suspend from wires for
the techno-underwater Capulet versus Montague dance-off scene. I backed away from
the flinging wet newspaper, checked on Laurence’s balcony project, and lost myself
in stippling cinnabar green over cobalt green turquoise to add depth to my backdrop.

I declared a Coke break for my industrious little set designers. From the auditorium
seats, they hunkered over their devices, while I watched a group of young Capulets
attempt hip hop steps while singing
“
Vengeance is Mine
”
by Alice Cooper. As they did the Dougie, a pile of phones flashed and buzzed on the
corner of the stage. The dancers’ gazes flew to their stack of devices. Around me,
students began to shoot looks at their friends, murmur and type, their thumbs flying
over their keyboards.

I leaned over my seat and tapped Laurence on the shoulder. “What’s going on? Another
message go out over PeerNotes?”

He glanced up from his iPad. “I find Kierkegaard far more fascinating.”

“Okay Einstein, you can go back to Kierkewhatsit in a minute. Dial up PeerNotes on
that thing and tell me what’s going on.”

Laurence offered me a lengthy sigh filled with sixteen years of pent-up exasperation.

A Tara screech interrupted Laurence’s screen tapping. He slunk in his seat, his head
disappearing from view. I turned in my chair. Tara ran down the aisle toward the stage.
She hustled pretty well for someone my size, further proving I had greater issues
with running than short legs.

“Cherry, I need to talk to you
.
” Tara’s squawk carried through the auditorium. Her cheerleading voice made an effective
megaphone. “It’s an emergency.”

From his table on the stage, Tinsley tore his gaze off the dancers and held a hand
to stop the scene. The dancing Capulets sped to the side of the stage and snatched
their devices.

I hopped to my feet and scooted toward the aisle where Tara had parked her pink Keds.

“Tara,” I whispered. “You’re freaking everyone out. Keep it down.”
When had I become the one to tell other people to shut up? Times were a changing.

“Cherry
.
” Tara brought her voice down, but couldn’t suspend the tremor. Her pale face had
blanched geisha white except for two rose madder spots on her cheeks. “The police
are in the front office again.”

“Hold on a minute.” I shimmied down the aisle to where Laurence still hunkered on
the floor. “Laurence, what did the message on PeerNotes say?”

“‘A plague on both your houses. They have made worms’ meat of me,’” he whispered.

“Hey brother
.
” Tara hopped and waved. “How are you? What are you doing on the floor? You can’t
make friends from down there. Why aren’t you up on the stage?”

I ignored Tara and fixed on Laurence. “What does this worms’ meat thingy mean?”

Laurence glared up at me. “It’s Mercutio’s line, genius. Aren’t you paying attention
to the play? Mercutio’s blaming both the Capulets and Montagues for his death.”

I glanced up at the stage. Tinsley paced and spoke on the phone, leaving the dance
teacher and Faith huddled together. Abandoning Laurence to the floor, I scooted down
the aisle toward Tara, grabbed her arm, and marched her to the empty theater hallway.

“Tell me now,” I said. “Who died? Cleveland? Is that why he’s missed school this week?”

She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “The police found Amber Tipton.”

“Suicide?”

“My stars, no. She was shot in a home invasion. The police are in the office now.”

“Dammit,” I said. “Get Laurence and go home. Let Cooke handle the police. You’re just
a sub, and it’s Friday afternoon. You don’t need to stay. They’ll probably cancel
practice now anyway.”

“What are you going to do?” She took a folded tissue from her pocket and dabbed under
her eyes, careful of her mascara.

“I’m going up to the office and see what I can find out.” I glanced at my clothes.
I had changed into my overalls and Tybee Island top to paint. “I’ll grab my bag and
say a word to Tinsley first.”

Leaving Tara in the hall, I sped back to the stage.

Tinsley had collapsed into a folding chair, while the other teachers gave instructions
to the students on clean-up and dismissal procedures.

I ambled to Tinsley and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? I guess you heard
about Amber.”

He used both hands to massage his temples. “The world is not a safe place and evidently
Line Creek township is included. But it seems rather coincidental, does it not?”

“Seems kind of strange to me, too,” I said. “And the message on PeerNotes appeared
pretty quickly.”

“And damning toward me. A quote from my current production?” Tinsley’s hands shook
as he rested them on the table. “Why me? This phantom besieges me, causing self-doubt
and guilt.”

“Guilt?”

His face turned ashen. “I
have not
always lived an exemplary life.”

“What did you do?” I whispered.

He collapsed his head into his hands. Before I could get his answer, Faith approached
to circle her arms around Tinsley’s bowed shoulders.
“You go on, honey,” she said to me, sinking in the chair next to Tinsley. “I’ll stay
with Terry. This is quite a shock to us all. Poor soul. So much has happened this
week.”

Faith shook her head and patted Tinsley. “There now, baby. Let’s pull ourselves together
and take care of the children. Then we’ll talk.”

Tinsley lifted his head, his eyes wet and mouth drawn. “Thank you, Faith.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to gauge his reaction. Was Tinsley consumed by grief or
guilt? The man played so many different parts, he seemed impossible to read.

In
the administration area, Cooke and Herrera had closeted themselves in her office.
I spied Officer Wells speaking to a counselor and waited until she was done to approach.
Wells still wore the cute pony tail and freckled, pert nose, but this time her uniform
did not reek of beer.

“Officer Wells
.
” I stopped short before the copy machine room. The look she delivered
did not speak of “nice to see you again.” It screamed “I
would
rather punch you in the throat than talk to you.”

Having grown up with those kinds of looks, they no longer bothered me. But I apologized
twenty more times, then offered to pay her dry cleaning bill.

“Forget about it,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I have an after-school job working for the drama teacher, remember? I heard about
Amber. Armed robbery? Any witnesses?”

“No witnesses.
She l
ived alone.
S
everal items are missing.”

“Find a weapon?”

She answered that question with silence. I tried a new approach. “On PeerNotes, another
alphabet user posted an announcement about Amber’s death with a
Romeo and Juliet
reference. That’s the play the drama department is doing.”

“We got the call on Tipton this morning. Neighbor found her. You asked Herrera to
check on Dan Madsen and Principal Cleveland?” Her fingers drummed against her thigh.
“You’re getting your nose right up in this business, aren’t you?”

“I have found this school reeks like a dried-up pond.”

Her brows drew together.

“Fishy,” I said.

“What else have you noticed?”

“Pringle, Dr. Vail, and Tinsley all had a relationship to Ellis Madsen one way or
another. Cleveland and Cooke, too, if you consider their position in the school. I’m
not so sure about Amber Tipton.”

“I still don’t see why anyone would wait this long to blame the faculty.”

“Do you really think Amber was killed in a robbery? Don’t you think it’s awful convenient
that two school secretaries died within a week of each other?”

Wells flicked her sharp gaze over me, then walked away. “Call us if you hear anything
more.”

“What about Principal Cleveland? Did you talk to him?”

As I spoke, Herrera strode from Cooke’s office. Cooke stepped out behind him, and
before I could slip around the side of the copy room, she spied me. Narrowing her
eyes, she crossed her arms and began tapping her Christian Dior pump.

Dammit, busted by the principal again. I was going to get kicked out of this school
for good. Fortunately, we had the weekend. I’d spend it hunting off school property
and out of her hair. Might as well start with the newest victim.

Wit
h Amber Tipton’s house covered in crime tape and her neighbors tired of speaking to
cops, I learned nothing more than an unfortunate early morning break-in had cost Amber
a brand new laptop, her grandmother’s jewelry, and her life. As Amber’s neighborhood
featured year round Christmas lights, herds of stray cats, and old bath fixtures used
for ashtrays, her neighbors seemed neither surprised nor alarmed by the burglary.
The general consensus seemed a contempt toward Amber for having something worth murdering.

Most pointed their finger toward her no-account ex-boyfriend. Disgusted, I climbed
back into the Datsun and called Luke to see if he had any more information. He didn’t,
which discouraged me further.

“You need a new phone,” said Luke. “We could try sexting.”

“I’m put off by any electronic messaging at this point.” I watched Amber’s neighbor
climb into his Mercury Tracer, flip me the finger, and drive off. “And friends don’t
sext.”

“Are we back to that?”
H
e sighed. “Sugar, you can’t let the town run our lives.”

“Your boss is now telling me to stay away from you.”

“Damn.” He fell silent for a moment. “You know this just makes me want you more.”

“I know.” I cut on the Datsun’s ignition, flipped on her lights, and revved her engine.

“Are you going to Red’s? It’s Friday night.”

“Everyone will be at Red’s. Sticks is playing. But I’m in no mood for a party.”

“How about a party for two?” At my long pause, he continued. “It’s not your fault
Amber Tipton died, sugar. Burglaries do happen and that area of Line Creek keeps the
patrol officers busy.”

“An odd coincidence if you ask me. Peerless is now out of secretaries. Makes me fear
for Tara, who is subbing.”

Luke drew in his breath. While he dwelled on that horrible thought, I tore out of
Amber’s beaten-down neighborhood and angled east toward Halo. Which meant leaving
a fart-cloud of burnt oil while I gunned my pickup to a shimmying twenty-two miles
per hour.

“Let the police handle Tipton’s homicide,” said Luke. “I’ll call in a possible link
between Pringle and Tipton’s positions at school and these deaths. Don’t worry. Line
Creek will put a lot of man-power into solving this crime. “

Which meant less man power on examining the suspicious texts at Peerless Day Academy.

T
wenty-Four

My brother proved stealthier than a fox on a hen house run. With no rehearsals and
a wait on leads, I spent another day of fruitless searching for Cody and his Malibu.
I suspected he had driven his miserable self out of town. I had never been a group
project kind of person, but this week my friends had taught me the value of their
assistance. Now I realized I couldn’t handle Cody’s mess on my own either. It was
time to spill the truth to Casey. Our family’s closeted skeletons had thrust Cody
into Interventionland.

Red would be pleased. His favorite daytime episodes always featured a riotous intervention.
Usually divulging some god-awful, white trash-styled family secret.

The Tucker kids would make for good ratings.

The drive to Max’s faux plantation spoke of all things autumnal in Georgia. Sunshine,
accumulations of pine straw, and a crispness in the air due
more
to a lack of humidity than an actual chill. I barely acknowledged the beautiful weather
with my mind on dead school secretaries, a brother gone commando, and a heart longing
for forbidden step-Branson fruit.

Parking in front of the big house, I hopped the steps, and rang the bell. This time,
Max answered. On crutches. He frowned at my truck peeing oil on his drive.

“Good to see you moving around,” I said. “I’m glad you’ve taken my advice and stopped
moping in your bedroom.”

“I do not mope. And I am mobile of my own accord. Not because of your badgering.”

“You just keep telling yourself that.” I held the door to his study, waited until
he had lowered himself into his desk chair, then paced toward his kitchen.

Casey sat on a bar stool at the granite island, leafing through a tabloid with a cup
of coffee and a smile.

“Where’s the hubby?” I strode past her to the coffee maker. “Can’t this thing make
a latte? I could go for a latte.”

Casey sat up and narrowed her eyes. “Have you heard from Shawna Branson lately?”

“No
.
” I set my empty coffee cup on the counter. “Why?”

“Her mother’s house was broken into yesterday. But nothing was missing. Except a family
photo.”

“Damn. That’s in Line Creek. That might have been Cody.”

“Cody? He was sore pissed at Shawna for her treatment of you, but I don’t understand
why he’d break into Delia Branson’s house. I thought it might have been you.”

“About that
.
” I abandoned the coffee and leaned against the counter across from Casey. “I haven’t
wanted to bother you in your newly wedded state. But Cody had snapshots of Shawna’s
daddy with Momma. I found them. Cody had somehow stolen them from Shawna and that’s
what started the feud.”

“What in the hell,” said Casey. “How dare you keep this from me. I have a right to
know what’s going on.”

“Something has messed with Cody’s head. He’s acting like a total ass. Won’t talk to
me about how he got the pictures or why he’s holding on to them. Now he’s hiding from
me.”

“What do you think the photos mean?”

“They don’t mean anything
.
” I studied my nails. “Who knows when they were taken? Could have been after Daddy
died and Momma moved back here. I figure with Billy Branson’s reputation, he and Momma
got involved. Probably why she was shunned by the town, although no one will come
out and lay blame on a Branson.”

Casey shoved her coffee away.

“Figures. The Bransons could get away with sneaking around, but we Tuckers sure can’t.
And
it explains
why Grandpa and Uncle Will won’t talk about it. They’re ashamed, too. So you think
that’s why she took off?”

“I think that’s what Cody’s wondering. Particularly since Billy Branson left around
the same time. And Cody wasn’t born here.”

“Hell,” said Casey. “That’s some real messed up shit. Poor Cody. But why’s he blaming
the Bransons for this? Grandpa and Grandma Jo should have told us the truth.”

“Told us what? That Cody might be a Branson? I’ll tell you what that would have done.
Cody would be seen as some bastard kid to a stuck-up family who wouldn’t acknowledge
him.” My eyes smarted. I bit my cheek rather than admit any tears. “All that crap
we took in school about Momma? A hundred times worse if they thought Momma stole Shawna’s
daddy and shipped their baby back to the farm.”

“Or what if the Bransons took Cody in?” asked Casey.

“Or what if they
had
refused? You think Shawna’s snotty mother would have raised her husband’s bastard?
Or would JB Branson have raised Cody alongside his own demon spawn, Dustin? Don’t
forget JB was wild then, too. That was before he married Luke’s mother.”

Casey laid her head on the cool granite. “I hate the Bransons.”

“This was not all their fault,” I reminded her. “Grandpa and Uncle Will kept their
mouths shut to save us from looking more trashy than our mother already made us. I
say they did us a favor.”

Casey poked her chin up. “What are we going to do?”

“About Cody? We need to find him. Todd and I have been looking every night, and I
searched all day. I think seeing those photos has unscrewed Cody’s head clean off.”

“Maybe Cody’s right. We have never perpetrated ugliness toward the Bransons, yet they
have rubbed our Momma’s disgrace in our face for years. And here it may be the fault
of Billy Branson.”

“Takes two to tango.” I swallowed my bitterness wishing it were sweetened coffee instead.

Casey sucked in her breath. “What if our Momma is like you and can’t see the clear
light of day through her heart-shaped, rose-colored glasses? You’re constantly falling
in love with the wrong men. Maybe Billy seduced her and forced her to give up baby
Cody. Maybe Billy’s got Momma holed up in some sex slave organization.”

“That makes no sense, Casey. Billy Branson is probably running a golf course in Texas.
And our mother is probably married to some Bubba in Missouri and too humiliated to
show her face here.”

I shoved away from the counter. “You read too many tabloids. And I can see just fine.
I’m sorry about all this.
L
et me know if you find Cody.”

I left Casey, wishing I had kept my mouth shut, and trailed back toward Max’s study.
I knocked and entered, dragging my feet to plop into a chair before his desk.

He looked up from his computer and raised his brows along with the little scar. “This
mood does not suit you.”

I crossed a leg to play with the threads hanging around the ankle of my jeans. “Did
your hometown ever have historic family vendettas?”

“Like the Hatfield McCoy?” he said. “Of course. We have much longer history than United
States. Long histories always have the family feuds. But in my country, the feud is
often political. Result is arrest or assassination.”

“Well, I guess it could always be worse,” I said. “Although I fear my brother has
gone commando in a vendetta against the Bransons. Which could lead to his arrest.
Idiot.”

Max steepled his hands beneath his chin. “I can send Nik to find him. The Slavic people
are very good hunters.”

I chewed my lip. “Seeing as Nik’s family, I guess that’d be all right. Don’t want
to get outsiders mixed up in this.”

“Anything else I can do for you?”

I gave him a sharp glance, not liking his innuendo. “This isn’t just for me, now.
If you’re going to invest in Nik’s limo company, you don’t want his name sullied with
Cody’s poor judgement.”

“Of course, Artist. I wouldn’t want to help you unless it concerned me.”

“Exactly what I thought
.
” I nodded, figuring sarcasm didn’t translate.

“By the way, I have looked at the Peerless finances. There
are
some discrepanc
ies
in their accounting. Have you heard about this at the school?”

“There’s been rumors that Tinsley is misusing theater funds
.
” I slid forward. “What kind of discrepancies?”

“My accountant pointed out some irregularities in the bookkeeping I sent to him. Of
course, these are the reports I took from Miss Pringle’s email. I can not bring this
forward to anyone officially.”

“Wouldn’t want to do anything above board.”

“It is not attractive when you make that face, Artist.”

I rearranged my expression into a smile. “You could send those financial reports to
the Line Creek police anonymously.”

“They would trace them to me and wonder how I obtained them. Besides, you said they
have Pringle’s computer. They have access to the same information.”

“But I bet they didn’t look at the reports.”

“That’s their problem.”

“You and your distrust of authority.” I sighed. “Bear, it’s everybody’s problem if
we can’t find the Phantom.”

“Not really, Artist
.
” Max hoisted his leg onto an open desk drawer and eased back in his chair. “If the
Phantom seeks to discredit the school, any financial issues should come to light.”

“I don’t think the Phantom wants to discredit the school. The other school secretary
was killed. In a home invasion.”

“You are suspicious of this robbery. You believe the Phantom murdered this secretary?”

“Maybe Amber knew something.” I slapped my thigh. “But what would Amber Tipton know
that would put her in danger? She wasn’t like the other Peerless folks. She was more
removed from Ellis Madsen’s death than anyone else.”

“However, the secretaries hear many things. People talk around them without thinking.”

“True. Amber probably heard all kinds of stuff about teachers and students. And parents.”

Max leaned forward. “Please be careful. Don’t trust anyone.”

“At least the police are investigating Amber’s murder,” I said. “That leaves the other
teachers who were texted and Maranda Pringle’s suicide for me. And I’m having a real
hard time believing she killed herself.
”