DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (5 page)

Si
x

I
rehinged my jaw and spun in my seat so Tinsley couldn’t catch site of my reaction.
That reality show crew must be hiding. Someone’s going to jump out and surprise me,
I thought. No way is this guy for real.

No one jumped out to surprise me.

I sought a different explanation. And prayed it didn’t result in finding out Tinsley
was off his meds. Painting underwater alien scenery sounded fun. Protecting a crazy
man from paranoid delusions, not so much.

“Mr. Tinsley, why do you think someone is trying to kill you?”

He left the bookshelf to do another circuit of the room, plodding the soft carpet
with his hands behind his back and glasses pointing toward the ceiling. “Metaphorically
trying to kill me. Kill my career. Which is the essence of me. However, my physical
body might join the metaphorical if I am left in ruin.”

I squeezed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index. Didn’t help to stop my
head from spinning. “Sir, what do you mean?”

“They’ve been torturing me the past two weeks. The evil texter. Why do you think I
chose that particular scene in the office? Beneath the bowels of this school, some
sinister fiend is at work on his computer cum pipe organ. I am his Carlotta.”

My face must have expressed my what-in-the-hell-are-you-talking-about thoughts.

“Have you never seen the
Phantom of the Opera
?”

When I shook my head, he waved off my ignorance. “No matter. This is the second year
in a row that our school has been besieged by a social media hit man. Or woman. Last
year, it
a
ffected a few students and an unpopular teacher. This year more of the faculty and
staff have taken the brunt.”

“What do the messages say? Can’t they be traced?”

“Not yet.” Tinsley stopped in front of the mirror to watch himself stroke his goatee.
“It is my belief that Maranda Pringle was a victim of poisonous messages hinting at
her illicit doings. The police have confiscated her computer and all her electronic
equipment.”

“No shit?” I fell back in my chair. “I mean, really? So she was cyberbullied. I’ll
be damned. She didn’t sound the type.”

“You see the seriousness of the situation.
I heard she took her life
last Friday night and lay in her apartment all weekend. They didn’t find her body
until this morning when Cleveland stopped
by
, hoping to give her a ride to school. Pathetic.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I mean Cleveland wanting to take her to school, not
that Maranda was dead. Cleveland was constantly hounding Maranda like a lovesick basset
hound.”

“So you’ve been a victim of this texter, too.” I ignored his digs at the principal.
“That’s why you’re worried about the messages killing your career.”

I knew exactly how that felt
as Shawna Branson had tried some of that poison on me. I wondered what skeletons the
texter had dug from Tinsley’s closet. But, like in my case, even an innocent mistake
could be twisted to appear ugly.

Tinsley gave up the distressed pacer affectation and collapsed back into his chair.
“The texts,” he moaned. “The texts are torturing us all. Maranda’s must have been
a doozy.”

My heart went out to Tinsley and the other Peerless teachers. No matter how odd Tinsley
acted, he didn’t deserve this stress.

And no matter how mean or immoral Maranda Pringle had been in her life, she didn’t
deserve to be driven to suicide by a vicious prankster.

“So the police have been notified?” I made a quick mental note to question Uncle Will
and Luke again.

“The police hadn’t been notified about the texts. The administration took it as some
cruel prank and told us to ignore them. But with Maranda’s death, the police are now
involved.”

“Good
.
” I nodded. “The cops’ll trace the bugger.”

“But these things take time.” Tinsley leaned forward. “I need you now.”

“I don’t understand what you want me to do. I don’t know anything about electronics.
I’m a classical artist. I didn’t even take a Photoshop class in school. I use my hands
for art, not a mouse.”

Tinsley steepled his hands before his mouth
once again
, practicing the full dramatic pause. “You can observe.”

“Observe what?”

“As an artist, I trust you have strong visual instincts. The perpetrator is obviously
someone jealous of my success. You’re also an outsider without preconceived ideas
about the students, staff, or parents. You have experience with felons.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘experience with felons.
’
”

“Miss Tucker, you are the perfect person to find the phantom texter.” He opened a
desk drawer and fished out another envelope. Smoothing the paper on his desk blotter,
he pushed it toward me. “I’ll add a personal check. To express my gratitude.”

My eyes drew from the envelope to Tinsley’s face, this time looking past the smug
set of his lips to the dark bags beneath his eyes, the grooved lines, and the weariness
he hid behind the theatrical bullshit. He felt hunted.

A voice from an overhead speaker announced the faculty meeting in five minutes and
ordered all students and non-staff to leave the premises.

“Hell, I’ll do it. I don’t like bullies. Particularly ones
who
hide behind a screen to take potshots at their victims.” I fingered the check and
pushed to my feet.

He made a little bow. “Thank you. Auditions are Wednesday, but we’ll start work on
the show tomorrow. I’ll see you have your clearance. I’ll speak to Cleveland after
the faculty me
e
ting. He’s amenable to my needs.”

“I look forward to working on the scenery. But there’s no guarantee I can help you
find your phantom texter.” My wallet cried as I slid the envelope across the desk
toward him. “Hold on to this. If I figure this deal out, you can still thank me. A
starving artist appreciates any dollar she can make, but I don’t take money unless
I earn it.”

Sev
en

As
Max’s name had come up in my conversation with Tinsley, I figured he deserved to
know that Tinsley had set his funding sites on the Bear’s wealth. A month ago, Max
had blown out his knee. Since that time he never left his house, making him easy to
track down. Once again, I hopped into the Datsun, cranked her windows down, and cut
on her engine, pointing her grill toward Halo. Outside my hometown, Max lived on his
own mini estate, dressed in the antebellum garb of Corinthian pillars, upper and lower
verandas, and a modern cooling and heating system.

You could tell by his name, but Maksim Avtaikin a.k.a
.
the Bear, was not born and raised wrapped in Stars and Bars bunting. He found his
way to the land of low property tax and high temperatures by way of Eastern Europe
and a love for the history of the War Between the States. He also had a love for gambling,
particularly the illegal kind, which got him into a spot of trouble in the past. The
trouble mainly caused by yours truly. But we were past all that now.

For the most part.

I drove through his gate and up the drive to park near his Civil War cannon, part
of the Bear’s Ol’ Rebel collection. Hopping out of the truck, I took the porch stairs
two at a time and rang the bell. After a beat or two, the door opened and I was greeted
by my sister, Casey.

Her long, brown hair hung in loose waves down her back and her thin lips quirked into
a smile.
She drew an arm back, welcoming me into the house that was not hers. “I thought you
already had your sick visit with Mr. Max today. Are you into masochism now?”

I gave her a hug and took a second to take in her outfit. Black leggings, boots, and
a black tee under a black leather lace-up vest. “No, but maybe Nik is. You got a whip
that goes with this ensemble?”

“My husband doesn’t need a whip from me. He gets enough from Mr. Max.” She shut the
door to lean against it. “I appreciate Max letting us stay here in exchange for helping
him through his recovery, but man, is he crabby. I don’t know how much more we can
take.”

I feared that meant Casey and Nik moving back in with me. And I already had a roommate.
“Let me see what I can do.
As patients go, grown men are worse than children
. How’s Nik’s job search going?”

“Cody’s trying to get him on at JB’s dealership garage. Nik has an interview at a
service station in Line Creek today. Actually it’s good you’re here. I’ve got to get
ready for work. I’ll leave the babysitting to you.”

She waved at the stairway curling toward the second level and clomped her boots across
the marble foyer. “Mr
.
Max’s still in his bedroom. I’ve got a plate for him in the fridge. He wouldn’t take
it earlier.”

“Thanks.” I watched her open the door to the basement and disappear down the stairs,
heading to the pool house where she and Nik now squatted. Nik shared the same motherland
as Max, but Nik had immigrated to the land of opportunity with less money in his pockets.
After a bout of indentured servitude to his immigration lawyer, he had met Casey and
they eloped a few days later. He obtained his green card when Casey swapped the Tucker
name for Ivanov. Now she supported him on her salary of tips from Red’s County Line
Tap. These were the kinds of relationships that coursed through the Tucker bloodline.

And folks wondered why I hadn’t settled down yet.

I crossed the foyer, through a familiar route to the kitchen in the back of the house.
The granite and stainless gleamed under Casey’s care, although the espresso machine
had been shoved aside for her set of cast iron-ware. I found a bowl of ham and beans
in the fridge and a hunk of cornbread wrapped in plastic on the granite countertop.
I popped the ham and beans into a microwave that cost more than my entire set of kitchen
appliances. After another poke through the fridge, I emerged with a glass of tea and
found a tray to carry the lot to the invalid.

The salt and savory aroma of the ham and beans had my stomach crying all the way up
the grand staircase and down the hall to Max’s bedroom suite. I knocked on the outer
door, adjusted the tray, and popped into the little sitting alcove.

I glanced up at the portrait I had painted of the deceased Dustin Branson, hanging
on the wall above a small loveseat. I’d gotten lucky that the Bear admired the work
because in hindsight the composition had been a teensy creepy. Max had known Dustin
in life and now had a daily view of the hooligan in death. Max said he liked the brushwork
and perspective, but I think he used “Dustin” as a reminder of his past transgressions.
I wanted to believe that anyway.

I knocked on the Bear’s bedroom door and heard his grunt of welcome. With the tray
balanced against my hip, I pushed open the door and blinked into the gloomy interior.
The ham and beans aroma mixed with the scents of wood polish, leather, and the spicy
sandalwood of Max’s cologne.

“I’ve got you some dinner,” I called.

“I don’t want this food,” said the growl from the far corner of the room. “You eat
it. I hear your noisy stomach from here.”

I found the overhead light and found him sitting at a small desk by a window, his
focus on a laptop screen. Swaddled in a black robe and gray sweatpants, the big man
hunkered at the edge of his armchair in order to lean over the tiny desk.

One long, heavy leg lay immobilized in a brace and propped on a footstool with pillows.

“You sure are living up to your nickname today. Stop being such a baby. Casey shows
her love with food. Many people with knee surgery have a better attitude.”

“I’d have better attitudes if your sister would leave me alone. I have the work to
do.” Shifting in his chair, Max angled his head back toward me. “I eat her food, I’ll
get fat from sitting all day. Please, eat.”

I crossed the room and slid the tray on a dresser. “Have you been doing your physical
therapy? You need to get out of the house. If you’re not steady enough on your crutches,
use the wheelchair.”

The look he gave me almost put me off the ham and beans. I broke off a hunk of cornbread
and offered it to him. He shook his head, and I sank my teeth into the moist, salty
sweet bread.

“You are missing somethin’ special,” I mumbled between bites of cornbread. “When you’re
sick you want familiar comfort food.”

“I am not sick. I am frustrated with the lack of mobility. And I don’t want anyone
to see me like this. The Bear can not appear weak.” Max pushed a hand through the
thick, brown hair that nearly brushed the collar of his robe. A lock flopped over
his forehead, hiding the small scar above his left eyebrow. “Weren’t you just here?
Why are you bothering me again?”

“I’m just checking on you because that’s what friends do when one is sick. Or frustrated.”
I licked the spoon, then dove it into the bowl for a bigger taste. “And I need to
deliver a message.”

“What is this message? Who gave
it to you
?” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. The small chair
creaked in pain.

“It is from the drama teacher at Peerless Day Academy, Mr. Tinsley. He has his sights
set on your coffers. Although from the look of the school, they already have plenty
of money.” I ate another spoonful of beans and considered Tinsley’s request. “Anyway,
he wanted me to ask you. I’ve asked you.”

“I need more information. If he wants the charitable contribution, my accountant must
investigate to be certain we can get the tax credits. I must be careful of the audit.”

I shrugged. “He has a blog. Does that help?
Tinsley Talks
. Can you pull it up on your laptop? I want to check it out.”

“Unless he publicizes his accounts, this blog doesn’t help me. But for you, I will
examine it.” Max watched me lick the spoon. “Why are you involved with the drama teacher?”

“I’m not involved. I’m going to do some art work for his production
.
” I paused to grin. “And he wants me to hunt down a heinous texter who is harassing
the faculty.” I explained Mr. Tinsley’s worries and the death of Maranda Pringle.

“Blackmail?” Max’s eyes sparked and he straightened in the chair.

“You get a little too excited at the mention of blackmail for my tastes,” I said.
“It just sounds like plain ol’ bullying to me. I hate bullies and will be glad to
ferret this one out.”

“You also like to involve yourself in the suspicious business that is not yours.
There must be purpose to the bullying. An exertion over the weak to prove strength.
For power or money. Maybe revenge. Or in spite, due to envy or resentment. Perhaps
it is a student who is the bully.”

I dropped my spoon in the empty bowl and propped my hip against his dresser. “You
seem to know an awful lot about bullies. Have you been the bully or the bullied?”

“Where I am from you are surrounded by the bullies. You must stand up to them or find
yourself paying the extortion. It is not just annoying harassment. It is dangerous
and sometimes deadly.”

“No wonder you like it here in America.”

“You will need my help.” Max drug his leg off the stool, pushed out of his small chair,
and grabbed the
back
to steady himself. “For weeks you have been smothering me with your friendship. I
seek the balance in your need to aid me with my disability.”

“Smothering? I think your English is off. You mean supporting.” I wrinkled my nose.
“You refuse to leave the house. How are you
planning
on helping me?”

Max released the chair and balanced on one leg. “I know you, Artist. You will do your
best in hunting this verbal assassin, but your methods will be instinctual and reactive.
You need guidance.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That sounded vaguely insulting. And if I need guidance, I’ll
get help from Uncle Will or the Line Creek police. They’re already investigating Maranda
Pringle’s death as suspicious.”

“Bah, police.” The Bear waved a hand, sending his balance to the braced leg. He grabbed
for the chair, but the slight frame slipped under his weight. Max followed, slamming
into the soft carpet with a low moan.

“Are you okay?” I fell to my knees beside him. “This is why you need me checking in
on you. What would happen if I wasn’t here? Maybe you need one of those emergency
call bracelets.”

“Stop treating me like I am the elderly infirm. I am not even middle-aged.” Max opened
his glacier blue eyes and exposed his pain. “Just help me up. Please.”

The bedroom door slammed against the wall. “Hey, boss. I heard a loud noise,” called
Nik. His footsteps padded into the room and stopped. “What’s happening? What did you
do, Cherry?”

“I did nothing. Max fell
.
” I glanced over my shoulder at the newest member of my family. “Get over here and
help me. The Bear’s too heavy for me to lift.”

Nik strode to Max’s prone body, then squatted beneath one brawny shoulder and pushed.
I grabbed Max’s other hand and pulled. Sweat broke across the Bear’s brow, and I internalized
my wince at the thought of his pain. Once Max had his good leg balanced, he wobbled,
then sunk onto the footstool to glare at the floor.

“Cherry, you stop bothering my boss. He needs to work on his business
.
” Nik folded his arms and rocked back on his heels.

I whirled toward Max. “Why is he calling you boss? Do you have something going on
in your basement? Even with me checking on you every day?” I referred to the Vegas
themed casino room where the Bear played house banker for groups of Atlanta tycoons
for a nominally outrageous fee.

All illegal, of course.

The Bear held up a hand. “Don’t worry yourself. Nik needed a job. I hired him to help
me with my many legitimate businesses.”

“I don’t want my family mixed up with any dirty business. Not even Nik.”

“You are not to worry about me,” said Nik.

“You are my family now,” I said. “That’s what we do. You may not like it much, but
you’ll learn.”

“Nikolai
.
” Max jutted his chin to the door. “Out.”

Nik glanced from Max to me. “Sure, boss. You want me to remove Cherry from your premises?”

Max studied me for a long moment. “No. She needs my help. We are going to talk about
her new position and read the blog of Tinsley.”

It looked like I would receive the Bear’s advice whether I wanted it or not. More
than likely, the Bear looked for a challenge to break the boredom of his infirmary.

But it felt a teeny bit like payback. I rolled my eyes at him just in case.