DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (27 page)

Th
irty-Three

T
insley’s keys didn’t include disarming the security system to the theater’s outside
door. I kept my curses mental and my optimism visible. Surely somebody must have figured
out I was missing. And would make the conclusion I had never left the school. Except
they didn’t know I had gone to school. And were too busy dealing with Cody’s kidnapping
attempt. I was going to kill that kid.

“How’d you get in here, anyway?” I asked Preston.

“I had a friend let me in before school got out. I hid until everyone left.”

Damn. “Let’s try the front doors,” I replied with a smile I didn’t feel. We maneuvered
through the back stage maze to the arts hall. “You got a phone on you, by the way?”

“No
.
” Preston focused his scowl on his Nikes. “My dad took it when I got in trouble for
selling the shrooms. Where’s your phone?”

“Mine is evidence from a crime scene.” My face warmed.

Preston and I were a good match.

The front doors were also locked. Once again, the lights on the nearby security pad
mocked us. Frustrated, I smacked the butt of the hammer into my palm, then held back
a whimper.

“Since you hacked into PeerNotes, can you hack a security system?”

“Are you kidding me?” he gaped. “I’m not a criminal. A monkey can figure out how to
send push notifications from PeerNotes.”

“Let
’
s go in the office and call somebody to let us out.”

“What about the cleaning crew?” asked Preston.

“I have a feeling they were told not to come in tonight,” I said, then smiled to make
him feel better.

“Dude, can you stop smiling like that? You’re freaking me out.”

I dropped my fake smile and waved for him to follow me into the office. The front
reception area appeared dark, but light glowed from the back office hall.

The location of Cooke’s room.

My mouth stretched into that odd, nervy smile before I could stop it. I now freaked
myself out. I used Tinsley’s keys to unlock the glass doors and led Preston into the
office. He leaned over the counter to grab the phone. While he left a message for
his parents, I honed in on a soft jangle of metal coming from the back. My hand snatched
the receiver from Preston. With a finger to my lips, I set the receiver back on the
phone, then grabbed Preston and drug him below the counter.

A moment later, we fixed our attention on the scrape of the back door opening. Preston’s
eyes had rounded within their sockets. I leaned into his ear.

“Quick, before that person turns the corner and sees you, get out of the office and
find some place to hide. I’m going to try the police. They can override the security
system and let us out.”

“Who’s here?” asked Preston.

“I don’t know, but don’t trust anybody. Particularly Principal Cooke
.
” I gave him a shove. “Just go.”

Preston sped toward the glass doors and slipped out. I watched him shoot toward the
arts hall. Behind me, I could hear the padding of feet on carpet and the shifting
of a door. I crawled to the end of the counter and peeked around. A wall blocked my
view to the back
area
, although I could see the edge of a door open in the hallway. Cooke’s office door.

The door swung shut. I spun around and slammed my back against the high counter wall,
the hammer still clenched in my hand. Squeezing my eyes shut, I listened to the footsteps
tread into the front office, then stop.

I held my breath. The footsteps receded. I waited for the soft scrape of the back
door opening, before peeking around the corner of the counter again. I couldn’t let
Cooke roam the school. I hated to think what she would do if she found Preston. And
me missing from my book room slumber. And where was Tinsley?

I darted into the main office area, weighing losing sight of Cooke over taking the
time to call the police. As I turned the corner to the back hall, the shrill ring
of a phone jerked me to a stop. My heart pounded in my throat. I waited, gripping
the hammer. The phone continued its clamor. Through the glass of the back office door,
a dim shadow moved in the faint glow of the hall security lights. I dove left into
the closest room and left the door cracked.

Then realized I had just hid myself in Cooke’s office.

On the wall below the desk, the fuzzy arc of a small nightlight illuminated the basic
contents of the room. The water bottle she had left Tinsley still sat on the desk.
But no Tinsley. However, an IBM Business Phone blinked and buzzed, alerting the school
stalker that the outside world needed attention.

I slipped behind the desk, too frazzled by the phone’s obnoxious jangle to listen
for any sound from the admin area.

Mid-ring the phone quit, the silence causing an echo ring between my ears. I took
a deep breath, sinking to a squat on the floor between the desk and the wall. My ears
picked up a muffled banging. Had Preston been caught?

I shot up from my squat, tuning my ears to the faint sounds, and reached for the phone
on Cooke’s desk. The distinctive snick of a closing door came from the reception area.
I stilled, the receiver in one hand and my fingers dangling over the keypad. While
I strained to hear footsteps, my digits danced a quick staccato over the emergency
numbers. I slid to the floor, pulling the phone to the edge of the desk.

My short pants deafened the rustling in the front office. I clenched my jaw, forcing
my breathing to slow. A muffled voice resonated from the phone. I couldn’t risk a
whisper. I had excellent hearing, but so could Cooke. A drawer scraped against its
runners. My right hand clenched the hammer. My left clamped the receiver against my
belly, and I squeezed against the desk, peering around its side.

The crack in the door stood no bigger than a finger. I focused all my attention on
that cool gray void. My thoughts flickered from Tinsley, to Cody and Shawna, and back
to Preston, hiding somewhere in the school.

I had to stop Cooke. Fear was not an option.

The stirring of feet on carpet began again. Hurried tromping replaced the soft steps.

My belly vibrated from the voice’s resonance on the phone. I pushed the receiver harder
into my stomach, hoping the dispatcher would note the school’s number and guess something
was amiss. The glow in the doorway seemed to vibrate. I tensed, pushing onto the balls
of my feet, and tightened my grip on the hammer.

The gray light winked out. Then reappeared.

Someone had passed by the office. I waited, counting off seconds. The dispatcher on
the phone had stopped calling out, and I released the receiver, letting the cord dangle
over the edge of the desk. Hopping from my crouch, I tiptoed to the door and widened
the crack. After a pause, I opened the door and peeked out. To my right, was the corner
of the wall leading to the front administration area. To my left, the back office
door banged shut.

I closed Cooke’s door behind me and ran for the back exit. Cracking the door, I heard
the efficient Ms. Cooke marching down the corridor, her sneakers squeaking on the
tile floor. She headed toward the book room, where she would find me missing. I danced,
deliberating my next plan of action.

A shrill siren cut on, then stopped.

I whirled back inside the offices, wondering if Preston had tried to monkey with the
security. A door banged and sneakers squeaked on tile. I flew down the rear office
passage, rounded the bend into the main administration space, and dove beneath Amber’s
desk. Behind me, the back door opened and slammed shut. Peering out from under the
desk, I watched Cooke hustle through the space toward the glass front doors. She had
traded her pumps for sneakers, but had left on the blue pant suit. Her scarf fluttered
behind her, marking the long strides of someone used to making quick trips through
the large school.

As she rounded the counter, I crawled out from beneath the desk, clutching the hammer.
If Preston had tried to leave, I needed to protect him. Keeping low, I squat-ran toward
the counter, then peered around the side. Cooke had darted out the glass doors and
crossed the half-moon foyer toward the front doors’ security panel. I slipped into
the reception area, pushed open the entrance, and saw Cooke zip down the arts hall.
Her shoes squawked and scarf blew behind her.

She must have seen Preston. Had he tried the front doors and gotten caught? My heart
battered my rib cage. I bolted across the foyer on my toes to keep my boot heels from
echoing Cooke’s squeak with a clack. Like everyone else, Cooke proved a better runner
than me. She made quick work of the hall and popped through the theater doors before
I had reached the art wing. I cursed my short legs and lack of lung capacity and hustled
after her.

If she got an eyeball of Preston’s art work, there’s no telling what she’d do to that
kid.

I swung through the theater doors and hesitated in the green beanbag lobby, eyeballing
the closed doors before me. Would Preston hide somewhere in the backstage hall, on
the stage, or in Tinsley’s office? I took a chance on the stage, stole through the
door, and up into the dim backstage. I hesitated on the top step, listening for Cooke
and Preston. Stillness reigned.

Clutching my hammer, I moved forward, peering into the dim ghost lighting. And caught
my hip on the props table. The table shuddered. As I reached to steady it, the collapsible
leg slid center. Props clattered to the floor, hammering the wooden stage. Romeo’s
scuba tank rolled and struck the metal costume stand with another raucous clang.

I rubbed my hip, mentally cussed the weak table and Tinsley for using it, and waited
for Cooke to show.

Thi
rty-Four

On
ce the clamor had quieted, I moved in mouse-like jerks toward front stage, whispering
Preston’s name. I sidled up to the ghost light, hoping if he hid in the balcony or
auditorium seats he’d spot me. A rustling of the heavy stage curtains sent me spinning
toward stage left.

Cooke strode out from between the curtains. “What are you doing here? Put down that
hammer.” She glanced up at the backdrop and placed her hands on her hips, making me
feel all of fifteen and caught in the art room after hours once again. “Did you do
that to the backdrop? It’s very inappropriate. That quote is not even Shakespeare.
And definitely not from
Romeo and Juliet
.”

“Of course I didn’t vandalize my own work.” I raised my hammer, shifting my stance.
“I’ve been looking for you. I’ve called the police. It’s time to turn yourself in.”

“Turn myself in for what?” She dropped her hands and took a step closer. “You’re the
one trespassing on school property.”

“I don’t consider getting drugged and waking in a supply room trespassing.” I glanced
into the dark theater, wondering if Preston was still out there. Hopefully, he’d bolt.
“You just didn’t get your chance to get rid of my body like you did everyone else
who found out about your embezzlement scheme. You’ve been dipping into school funds,
haven’t you? Probably for years, but finally been caught. Must be hard to be surrounded
by the wealthy on a principal’s salary. But you must have stolen a fat lot to need
to cover with murder.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Mr. Tinsley embezzled, not me. You and he are the
ones in trouble. You were found on scene at Dr. Vail’s house. You came to the school
today to force Mr. Tinsley into his confession. I feared what you would do to me,
so I just gave you a sedative to calm you down.”

“Bullshit. You drugged me.” My arm began to throb, but I stiffened it, keeping the
hammer aloft. “And how would you know I was found at Dr. Vail’s house?”

“You told me about your concussion, remember? You just woke from sedation and are
mixed up. Now set down that hammer. You’re scaring me.”

“Where’s Tinsley?” I did feel confused. And exhausted from all the skulking and running.
Cooke didn’t sound crazy. Her voice had that reasonable, coaxing tone used by nurses
when they were explaining why you needed a shot. She gave me the heebies.

“Tinsley disappeared after you laid down for your nap. Tara said he left the school.
I just came back to check on everything.” She held up a hand. “The security panel
said someone entered from the outside theater door. We’re not safe. It could be Tinsley.”

“I’m holding you here until the police arrive.” But I doubted my words. My hands felt
sweaty and dry. My arm drooped. I tried to raise it again, but my muscles felt like
they were on fire. I needed a better plan than standing with a hammer raised over
my head.

“You’re confused. You’re making assumptions again without knowing all the evidence.
You’ve done it before.”

She was right. I did it all the time. I frowned.

“We need to be careful.” Cooke’s voice hushed. “Tinsley may be hiding in the school.”

“No way.” Cooke had thought someone entered, but it may have been Preston exiting.
The dumping of adrenaline left my thoughts cloudy. “Why would Tinsley confess his
bribing scandal if he wanted to return to the school and attack us? And why make his
own texts so damning if he’s the culprit?”

“All the anonymous texts were damning,” said Cooke. “It would throw off the police
if his texts were, too.”

“And who killed Vail? And Amber?”

“I don’t know about Amber. Maybe it was just a robbery.” Cooke shrugged, sliding her
hands into her pockets. “But you’re the one who saw Tinsley’s cape. Camille knew he
had stolen all that money. She spent her time off last week researching the accounts
to prove it. Called me on Sunday to report it. Tinsley was always a Nervous Nelly.
He suspected she knew and killed her.”

“And Pringle?”

“Suicide
.
” Cooke shook her blonde bob. “So sad those texts about Dan Madsen pushed her over
the edge. If Tinsley is the culprit, they should add stalking charges to murder.”

Her lies sounded so convincing. I pondered her theory for a moment and slowly moved
toward her. “And why did you keep me in here?”

“I didn’t keep you. I thought you needed a rest and you would leave when your nap
finished.”

“You have a reasonable explanation for everything, don’t you?” I switched my hammer
to my left hand and lowered my right, shaking the blood back into my fingers.

“What are you going to do?” Cooke’s eyes remained on the hammer. “I thought we were
waiting for the police.”

“I don’t trust you.” I switched the hammer back to my right.

“I don’t trust you either.” Cooke pulled her hands from her pockets and took two long
steps toward me.

Then shot me with a taser.

During the longest five seconds of my life, I felt unaware of anything but pain. My
muscles fought the charge, seizing and snapping like pit bulls in a cage match.

I screamed like a girl, but couldn’t muster the ability to stop myself from that humiliation.
The pain cut off and I found myself panting on the floor of the stage, staring up
at Cooke. She leaned over me, each knee planted on either side of my body, busily
wrapping her scarf around my neck.

“Oh, hell no,” I said, swinging my arm up and realizing too late I had dropped the
hammer. Probably about the time my muscles seized and then turned to jelly.

Dodging my ineffectual slap, she jerked on the scarf, squeezing my neck. “Lucky for
me, the school keeps a taser for emergencies. You’re dangerous.” Her eyes narrowed
as she yanked the scarf. “This is self-defense.”

I had hated those scarves for good reason.

I shoved my arms between hers, punching and slapping at her face. The silk noose tightened.

I began to gag.

Cooke grunted and her expression hardened. I grabbed at my throat, trying to curl
my fingers beneath the scarf, but it wouldn’t give. Cooke yanked harder. I hammered
the floor with my feet and reached for her face, grappling for her eyes. Cooke twisted
her head, elbowed me in the face, and pulled the scarf taut.

A door banged in the distance. I wanted to call out to Preston to run away and wait
for the police, but I couldn’t catch a breath to make any sound. Spots danced before
my eyes and my lungs heaved. I bucked beneath her, writhing and punching, but the
scarf continued to pull tighter.

Everything seemed to slow, but one thought hopped in my brain, jumping and screaming.
It wanted me to give in. Which went against my nature. I had always fought, even for
the pettiest and dumbest of reasons. Mostly for petty and dumb reasons.

But, said the thought, if Preston thinks it’s too late to help you, he can still get
away.

I collapsed beneath Cooke. My lungs and throat burned, worse than the short-lived
taser pain. Cooke’s grip on the scarf lessened, and I now fought my body not to gasp.
I couldn’t see for my eyes had rolled somewhere north, but heard very male shouting
and Cooke’s firm rebuttal.

I would have liked to yell at Preston to run. However, my body was too interested
in oxygen to focus. The scarf still bound my neck, but Cooke’s grip had relaxed. My
swollen throat worked teeny gasps into my fiery lungs. Air trickled through and my
head began to deflate.

I should probably thank Preston for that accomplishment. But I still wanted him to
get.

As the oxygen began to replenish my starving body, I became more aware of the scuffle
above me. The intruder pushed Cooke away and worked his fingers into the knot on my
neck. As I filled my lungs, a body slammed on top of me, whooshing the air out like
a fat kid on a leaky beach ball. The body had planked but rippling spasms coursed
through the dead weight.

My rescuer had been tased. And felt too large to be Preston.

The spasms cut off and the body relaxed. I lifted my head and saw familiar dark curls
spilling across my chest. Not Preston. Somehow, my Romeo had found me. Found me laid
out near dead. And now his dead weight lay over me. Which felt horribly fitting for
our stage setting.

Luke and Cherry, Act five, Scene three.

I lifted my head and tried to push Luke off. And felt my gut back up my throat as
Cooke snatched the ghost light and swung the heavy, metal stand above us.

“Luke, move,” I croaked and pulled my muscles tight, heaving us into a side roll.

The stand smashed into his right shoulder, missing his head. In it’s metal cage, the
lightbulb winked off and dimmed on. Luke cried out and rolled onto his stomach. His
right arm flopped at an awkward angle.

Gasping, I scrambled to get off the floor. My eyes left Luke to search for a weapon.
Where was his pistol? No gun in sight. My hammer had slid a few yards away. Cooke’s
Taser lay behind her. Useless.

Cooke grunted, lifting the stand with both hands. She boosted it to waist level, then
adjusted her stance. The long, electric cord trailed behind her, pooling at her feet
as she raised the heavy light.

“Stop.” My voice wheezed.

“This is self defense,” she repeated.

Diving over Luke, I scuttled toward Cooke.

“Get away from me,” she screamed. She swung the ghost light above her shoulder, teetering
backward before righting herself.

I reached for the cord, looped it around my hand, and yanked. Cooke’s front foot lifted
and back knee bent, fighting for balance. Pushing back in a squat, I jerked the cord
taught. Unable to swing the clumsy weight and control her balance, Cooke stepped back,
slipped, and fell. The heavy lamp crashed on top of her. Dropping the cord, I scrambled
to my feet.

Amazingly, the lightbulb still remained intact. However, the ornate stand had slammed
against the floor and one of its clawed feet had caught the side of her head. The
wound trickled blood and Cooke appeared unconscious.

I turned away from Cooke and rushed to Luke. He lay on his stomach with his head turned,
watching me. I winced at the blood soaking through the split seam near his neck and
stopped him from trying to roll over. “Your shoulder looks bad,” I rasped. “Stay where
you are.”

“
Damn
pain nearly knocked me out,” he said. “I can’t move my right arm. But how are you?
Your throat? Is Cooke conscious?”

“I’ll be okay. She’s unconscious
.
” I paused. “She would have bashed our heads in.”

“Don’t think about it. You moved fast on your feet and stopped her. My cell phone
is in my pocket. Call it in. Tell them you have an officer down.”

I slipped my hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “What about you? What can
I do for you?”

“You’ve done enough
.
”
H
e tried to smile but couldn’t. “My pistol’s somewhere. I held it on her when she was
choking you. Didn’t stop her. I had to jerk her off and when I did, she friggin’ tased
me.”

“I don’t see your gun.”

“Herrera should be here any minute.” His eyes squeezed shut and opened. “You need
to know something. My call this morning...”

“Cody
.
” I stared at the phone.

“I had to bring him in. It took a while. And after booking him, I couldn’t find you.
Your family wouldn’t give me the time of day, let alone your location. Herrera said
you hadn’t gone to the station and Sheriff Thompson hadn’t seen you either. I went
to Pringle’s funeral and when you didn’t show, I got nervous.”

I looked up at the stage lights hanging above us. Adrenaline rushed from my body and
a few tears squeezed out. “Good Lord, you arrested my brother.”

“Cherry, I had to do it. Let’s not talk about it now.”

“How did you find me?” I croaked.

“At the funeral, I got a key and codes from Cleveland and spoke to Herrera about searching
the school. He wanted to come with me, but wanted to speak to Dan Madsen first. The
longer he took with Madsen, the more anxious I became. So, I just left. Called the
school, pounded on the front doors. No one answered. Came in through the back door
we used the other night.”

“The theater exit.”

“Yep. I searched the theater and had gone up through that windowed hallway when I
heard what sounded like an elephant stampede on the stage. Knew it had to be you.”

“You arrested my brother
.
” I dropped my gaze from the lights to the floor. “Cody’s confused. Something terrible’s
eating at him.”

“He kidnapped Shawna. I don’t care what’s wrong with him.”

“Kidnapping? That’s a federal offense.” Panic welled in my chest, giving me flashbacks
of the choking.

“He didn’t cross state lines. But he could get ten to life.”

“Ten to life?” I dropped the phone to cover my mouth. I turned away from Luke. “Oh,
shit.”

“Sugar, I’m sorry. I was doing my job.”

“It’s not that.” I whirled back to look at Luke. “Cooke’s gone.”