Schooled in Deception: A Michael Bishop Mystery

by Anthony J. Pucci

  Schooled in Deception

  A Michael Bishop Mystery

  by

  Anthony J. Pucci

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Anthony J. Pucci

  All rights reserved.

  Epigraph

  “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

  But in ourselves.”

  William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, I, ii.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Epigraph

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  As soon as Michael Bishop drove into the faculty parking lot, he knew that Ed Cooper, the new night custodian at Holy Trinity High School, was about to set the school record for the shortest term of employment.

  He pulled his Toyota Corolla along the edge of the driveway where five or six cars had already stopped. People were out of their cars and wandering in the parking lot. They were pointing at places on the pavement and laughing. A few had their phones out snapping photos. Bishop hopped out of his car to see for himself.

  One of the boys shouted “Holy Shit!” He quickly got red in the face and managed to say “Sorry” when he realized that Mr. Bishop was standing right behind him. If that young man hadn’t said it, Bishop might have said it himself. What had been a parking lot with faded stripes to indicate spaces was now full of bright yellow markings. Some lines were slanted; some were short; others were long. Some were jagged like a lightning bolt; others were wavy like a roller coaster. There was even something resembling a circle, no doubt to accommodate an alien spaceship. Near the middle of the lot was an enormous yellow splat like a Rorschach inkblot test. That must be the spot where Ed had kicked or dropped the paint can.

  As other cars arrived, Bishop directed them to the student parking lot. To the group that was milling about he said, “Okay, folks, that’s enough excitement for now. Let’s get moving, please.”

  ***

  With the prospect of final exams just weeks away, the parking lot shenanigans provided a moment of relief. In fact, most of the school year had been a difficult one. Coach Zappala had been murdered, and Bishop reluctantly had become involved in the investigation. Ed Cooper’s driveway fiasco seemed harmless in comparison. However, not everyone saw the humor in the situation.

  As soon as Bishop entered the building, he began looking for someone to whom he could report the incident. None of the administrators or secretarial staff had arrived yet. He did find Jack Slater, the head custodian, with the morning paper spread out before him having coffee and a doughnut in the staff lounge.

  “Hey there, Mr. Bishop, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

  Jack, a short and slender man who had spent many years with the public works department, quickly found himself bored in retirement. He took the job at Holy Trinity more for the social interaction than the paycheck. He was wearing baggy jeans, an old checkered shirt, and a pair of unlaced work boots.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Have you seen the faculty parking lot this morning?”

  “No, I came in the back way as I normally do, but I imagine it’s still there.”

  “It’s there, all right, but it has a new look.”

  “Well, that new guy, Ed, must have gotten around to repainting the stripes like I asked him to do every day last week.”

  “I remember you telling a few of us at lunch that you were after him to do that.”

  “I tell ya, I don’t know what the nuns were thinking when they hired that guy. Half the time he can’t seem to remember to lock up before he leaves.” He shook his head in disgust as if shaking his head could rid himself of the problem. Then he added, “He doesn’t know how to do much of anything except disappear for hours at a time. How’s the parking lot look?”

  “Jack, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He had to concentrate in order not to laugh. He was sure that Jack would find it anything but amusing. “I think that you need to take a look for yourself.”

  He polished off the rest of his doughnut, took another gulp of coffee, and went out to inspect Ed’s work.

  By the time Bishop made himself a cup of hot tea and went to check his mailbox, more people had begun to arrive for the day. Jack had seen Ed’s handiwork and had reentered the building.

  “What the hell was he thinking?” he shouted to no one in particular. “That guy’s gotta go! It’s gonna take me hours to undo that mess!” No one within earshot dare laugh or make any clever remarks. When Jack was upset, it was best to steer clear. He stormed right into the office of Sister Ann Cowie, the principal.

  “Sister, you need to see this right away,” he demanded, totally oblivious to the fact that Sister was talking to a student.

  Sister Ann tried to explain that she would be with him in a few minutes, but Jack was too upset to be polite. “You need to come out here … now!”

  Clearly annoyed but trying not to show it, Sister told the student that she would catch up with her later, and followed Jack into the main hall.

  “Jack, what on earth is wrong with you?”

  “Wait until you see Ed’s handiwork. I think that you’ll be upset too.”

  As if drawn by a magnet, Sister Patricia Meehan, one of two assistant principals at the school, stood beside her close friend, Sister Ann. She was about the same age as the principal but must have weighed at least a hundred pounds more. Her girth made even walking a chore, and she was already breathing heavily.

  Sister Pat must have gotten out of the wrong side of the bed every morning as she was perpetually in a bad mood. She had earned the nickname, Sister Meany, among the students.

  “I knew that that man was trouble from the moment I laid eyes on him.” She turned to Sister Ann, “I told you not to hire that man.” Then she turned to Jack, “It didn’t take that moron long to screw up. What exactly did he do?”

  “He striped the parking lot.” Having regained his composure, he made this statement matter-of-factly.

  “Well, isn’t that what you wanted him to do once all the cars were out of there?” Sister Pat snapped, annoyed with Jack’s response.

  “It’s the way he did it that’s the problem. Come on. Let me show you.”

  Behind her rimless glasses, Sister Ann’s eyes widened and her pale skin became even paler when she saw the yellow chaos on the pavement.

  “Oh, my word!” said Sister Ann.

  “Holy crap!” said Sister Pat. Her dark eyebrows, usually knit in a scowl, were lifted in disbelief. “He must have been drunk as a skunk, and he’s probably still in the building.” As the three of them walked back into the building,
Pat said to Ann, “You’ve got to fire him this instant!”

  “Jack, find that man and bring him to my office,” ordered the principal.

  “Yes, Sister. Will do.”

  Everyone in the immediate vicinity, including Bishop, pretended that they had not heard everything that had just transpired. Bishop headed upstairs to open his homeroom and prepare himself for the day ahead.

  ***

  Apparently, Jack’s initial attempts to locate the culprit were unsuccessful as the last morning announcement during homeroom included this terse request: “Mr. Ed Cooper, please report to the main office immediately. Mr. Cooper to the main office.”

  One of the boys in the back of the room gave voice to what many must have been wondering. “Mr. Bishop, do you think Mr. Cooper is going to get fired?” Several other students started laughing as they recalled the condition of the parking lot.

  Although he was 99.99% certain that that would be the result, he simply replied, “That’s not a question that I am in a position to answer, nor would I want to be.” As the students gathered up their belongings and headed off to their first period class, Bishop thought of Shakespeare’s Othello who dismissed Cassio for his drunken behavior, not knowing that his good friend, “honest” Iago, had gotten Cassio drunk assuming correctly that Othello would dismiss him. Bishop hoped that Sister Ann would at least give Cooper a chance to explain his behavior.

  ***

  Ed Cooper did not report to the main office as requested. Terry Mortenson, one of the office secretaries, had perfected the art of multi-tasking. She could answer the phone, hand out student passes, check her Facebook page, and still be able to give a detailed account of any conversation that occurred within earshot. According to Terry, who later shared her observations in photographic detail with the crowd at lunch including Bishop, Sister Pat was beside herself when Ed did not present himself to give Sister Ann the satisfaction of firing him on the spot. Sister Pat beside herself would have made for a very crowded hallway, indeed, but Bishop kept that thought to himself.

  Sister Ann directed Jack to check every room in the building, including the restrooms, convinced that Ed was surely somewhere sleeping it off. Half an hour later, Jack returned to report that Ed was nowhere to be found. Sister Pat burst out with an idea. “What about his car? Maybe he’s asleep in his car. Did you bother to check there?”

  Jack took some pleasure in shooting down her suggestion. “Well, Sister, I would have checked Ed’s car, but the fact is that Ed didn’t have a car. Don’t you remember that he told us he took the bus to work, and we had to adjust his hours to fit the bus schedule?”

  Sister Pat insisted that she had remembered that, and then asked Jack what he was doing just standing there. “You must have missed him. Go find him, and don’t come back until you do!”

  When Jack hadn’t returned an hour later, Sister Ann was forced to interrupt class with another announcement: “Mr. Jack Slater, please report to the main office immediately. Mr. Slater to the main office.” Now two janitors were missing. Sister Pat had goofed again, and Sister Ann was there to pick up the pieces.

  Feeling that this situation might spiral out of control, Sister Ann asked the other assistant principal, Ron Jennings, to find Jack. Ron, in his mid-thirties, had a good rapport with just about everyone on campus. People trusted him. They knew that he listened and that he treated everyone with respect. He often found himself trying to undo damage caused by the other two administrators.

  Ron later told Bishop that it hadn’t taken him long to locate Jack. He was in a small room in the basement that doubled as his “office.” When Ron walked in, Jack was whistling as he worked on a vacuum cleaner that one of the teachers had managed to jam. Ron knew that Jack only whistled when he was mad.

  “Hey, Jack. Mind if I come in?”

  “Not at all. What brings you down this way? Looking for Ed?”

  “Well, no. I’m pretty sure that Ed must have left the building. I was actually looking for you.”

  “Me?” asked Jack in a tone of mock sarcasm. “Why would anyone be looking for me? I was told not to return unless I had Ed with me.”

  After reminding Jack that Sister Pat sometimes spoke without thinking, Ron offered to help Jack undo the damage to the parking lot after school. Although the janitor quickly declined the offer, he was, nonetheless, appreciative and agreed to scour the building and grounds in a third attempt to locate Ed.

  With a massive key ring in hand, Jack opened doors to places that Ron had never seen. The places they checked included a dark room that had been abandoned years ago when students lost interest in black and white photography and a small utility closet deep in the boiler room. They had even gone into an abandoned bomb shelter that had been a common feature of schools built in the 1950s. Once they had exhausted all possibilities, Ron informed Sisters Ann and Pat that this latest search had brought them no closer to finding Ed.

  Sister Ann was prepared to wait until Ed came to work later that day to confront him with his inexcusable behavior; however, Sister Pat insisted that the showdown occur before the paint on that parking lot had a chance to dry. She added that there was a good chance that Ed wouldn’t show up for work anyway. Ron had to admit that she was probably right for a change. Terry had been calling Ed’s cell phone every half hour with no response. When Ron heard that, he decided to take a quick run out to Ed’s home just to be sure that Ed had arrived there safely. Since Bishop was free the period after lunch, Ron asked him if he would mind tagging along.

  ***

  Ron picked up Ed Cooper’s address from Terry in the main office. As they left the building, they walked past the defaced parking lot. Several cones now blocked the entrance. When Ron started the engine of his Nissan Sentra, the radio blasted a country and western tune about love gone bad. It was a topic to which Jennings could relate. He had been in a couple of failed relationships including one earlier this year. After a few moments, Ron grabbed the dial and lowered the volume. Bishop, who preferred classical music, was relieved when Ron decided to turn the radio off. Bishop turned to Ron as they headed out. “I’m afraid that Ed isn’t going to get a second chance.”

  “Probably not. Once Sister Pat puts a bull’s eye on your back, you’re as good as gone,” observed Ron as he pulled out the piece of paper with Ed’s address on it.

  “It’s too bad. Ed looked like he really needed that job.” He knew that that wouldn’t make any difference to Sister Pat who saw everything in black and white.

  “Mike, have you ever heard of Canary Road?”

  “Cannery Row? Sure, it’s a novel by John Steinbeck. Good, but not one of my favorites.”

  Ron was concerned that his good friend, Michael Bishop, was starting to lose his hearing. Bishop was about seventy years old, and it was inevitable that he would start to slow down. The murder of their colleague, Al Zappala, earlier in the school year, had been difficult on everyone, but especially on Bishop who not only had found the body, but had also determined the motive and the identity of the killer. Ron hoped that the veteran English teacher would stay at Holy Trinity for years to come.

  Bishop smiled broadly as he said, “I believe that Canary Road is out past Hennigan’s ice cream stand on the other side of town.” Ron smiled as well. It wasn’t the first time that he had been victimized by Michael’s sense of humor.

  Ten minutes later, Ron turned onto Canary Road which was nothing more than a narrow dirt road with houses separated by long stretches of emptiness. The car left a trail of dust as they looked for number 88. Most of the folks living out this way apparently didn’t bother with posting their street number on their house or their mailbox.

  “This is it!” announced Bishop as he noticed an 88 painted on a large stone at the edge of the driveway. Ron drove down the narrow path that resembled the surface of the moon with its dips and bumps until they reached a trailer. The Harley parked near the front door was the only evidence that suggested that anyone lived there. The trailer itself s
at unevenly on cinderblocks. An old television antenna lay askew on the flat roof. A few pieces of the siding had started to peel away. Plywood had been nailed over one of the windows. There was a gaping hole where the screen for the front door should have been. A crate turned upside down served as a step to the door.

  “If that bike is here, Ed must be here,” Ron said hopefully.

  “I didn’t know that he rode a bike.”

  “Neither did I. I thought he took a bus to work.”

  Ron rapped hard on the door. Nothing. They looked at each not quite knowing what to do next. If Ed wasn’t here, where was he?

  Just as they were about to get back in the car, they heard the door make a grinding noise as it was opened.

  “You lookin’ for somebody?”

  Jennings and Bishop looked to the source of that voice. She was young, probably in her twenties, and she was wearing a New York Yankee T-shirt and a pair of short shorts. She stood there barefoot, brushing her long dark hair from her face with one hand, while holding the door with the other. Her body language suggested that she had no intention of inviting them into her home.

  Bishop spoke first. “We’re very sorry to bother you. We’re both from Holy Trinity High School. My name is Michael Bishop, and this is Ron Jennings, the assistant principal,” as he gestured in Ron’s direction. “We’re looking for Ed Cooper.”

  “Yeah, well, join the club,” she said sarcastically.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’d like to know where he is, myself. He was supposed to work 1 to 9 yesterday, but he never came home last night.”

  Ron asked, “Have you received any calls or texts from him since he left for work yesterday?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you know any other place where he might go?

  “Nope.” Another one-word answer. Bishop thought it odd that this woman seemed more angry than concerned about Ed’s disappearance. He also thought that she knew more than what she was telling them.