“Are you referring to Debbie?”
“Of course, I am. Not that she did such a good job even when she was here. Nobody seems to know where she is. I asked Sister Pat to find a replacement if Debbie doesn’t show up by the end of the week.”
“I’m sure that there is a reasonable explanation for her absence,” Bishop replied despite the fact that he couldn’t imagine what that excuse might be. He had wanted to talk with Debbie again in the hope that she might remember something that would lead to solving Ed’s murder. Now he had another reason to find her. She was about to lose her job.
He briefly stopped by the main office to enlist Terry’s help with the setup for the pizza party, checked his mailbox, and headed upstairs. There were more students than usual waiting for him to unlock the door.
During homeroom period, he sent a message to the entire faculty and staff inviting them to a lunch of pizza and wings and “good conversation among friends.” Had he known what would happen at that gathering, he would not have included that last phrase.
Charlie Mitchell wandered into Bishop’s homeroom, once again leaving his own homeroom unattended. He was wearing a yellow long-sleeved shirt with a navy blue cravat tucked in the open collar, charcoal dress pants, and black wingtip shoes. As he entered the room, he took a long look at the wall phone near the door.
“I just read your email. The way things have been going around here of late, a pizza party sounds awfully good. Thanks for doing that.”
“No problem,” said Bishop as he looked at the open plan book on his desk. He didn’t want to be rude, but he did have other things to do.
“I hate to ask, but do you have a spare telephone cord?” He spoke softly so that the students wouldn’t hear him.
Bishop thought it a strange question. Each classroom had a telephone mounted on the wall near the door. The receiver was connected to the base of the phone by a short length of coiled cable. “Sorry. I don’t. Isn’t yours working?”
“Working?” he replied with a hint of irritation in his voice. “I wish it wasn’t working. It’s missing! And if it doesn’t turn up soon, Attila the Hun is going to nail me to the wall.”
Snatching the cord took only a few seconds. Bishop knew that students occasionally pulled this prank. The missing cord usually reappeared in a day or two. He couldn’t help but think that Charlie’s frequent forays, which left his room unattended, accounted for the disappearance of the cord as well as of the folder containing the final exam. He wondered if the same person was responsible for both. “I hope that it turns up soon,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster.
***
As soon as his first period class ended, Bishop walked down to the office of Sarah Humphries, hoping that she would not be in a conference with a student. Fortunately, that was the case. He knocked on the open door as she had shifted her chair sideways to look at her computer screen. “Got a minute?” he asked with a smile.
“Sure. Come on in,” she said without hesitation as she swiveled her chair back into position behind her desk. She gestured for him to sit down. “What’s up?”
“Do you mind if I close the door?”
Her face lit up, and she rubbed her hands together as he took a seat. “This must be good. Have you heard anything about who’s getting cut?” Even if he had, it wasn’t his place to deliver the bad news. Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to Sarah that she might be on such a list herself.
“No. No. It’s nothing like that.” He had thought about how he was going to approach her on his request for information, but whatever strategy he had devised, escaped him at the moment. Perhaps he should have written it down. He decided just to be direct. “It’s come to my attention that a young lady was in your office recently to discuss her feelings regarding the death of Ed Cooper.”
Sarah gave him a quizzical look. “Might that information have come to you by way of Terry by any chance?”
Bishop hesitated. If he said “yes,” he would be jeopardizing his friendship with Terry and perhaps hers with Sarah; if he said “no,” he would be lying. As he often advised his students, it was ultimately best to tell the truth. “Well, yes, but I don’t want you to blame Terry. She knew that I would be interested in talking to anyone who might have seen or heard something while in that area where the murder took place. And she didn’t give me any names,” he added quickly, “which is why I’m here.” Bishop waited for her response. She was either going to give him a lecture about student confidentiality, or she was going to help.
“Terry didn’t give you any names because I didn’t tell her who was involved. Actually, I was hoping that Terry would tell you. If she hadn’t, I was going to tell you myself. These kids might have information pertinent to a homicide investigation. I think that they will be more comfortable talking to you rather than to Lieutenant Hodge.”
“I won’t bring him into this unless absolutely necessary, and I won’t bring your name into this either. They don’t need to know how I know.”
“I trust you on both counts,” she said firmly. “The young lady who was sitting here yesterday is Hannah Ward, and the young man she met in the storage room is Tim Kelleher.”
Bishop didn’t react when he heard the names other than to say, “Thank you.” During his forty-five years in secondary education, he had just about seen or heard it all, so nothing much surprised him. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.” He stood up, opened the door, and thanked her again. “Your hair looks very nice by the way.”
She smiled at his compliment, and as he walked out of her office, she called out, “Good luck!” Bishop knew that he would need a lot of that in order to solve the mystery of Ed’s murder before graduation.
Chapter Fourteen
As he walked from the guidance office to the library, he mulled over how he would approach Hannah and Tim. He knew that it would be best to talk with each of them separately. He decided that he would start with Hannah. She had been a student in his English 9 Honors class a few years ago. He remembered her as quiet and shy. Since she didn’t always make the required effort in her academics, she wasn’t recommended to continue in the Honors program. Tim, on the other hand, excelled in academics, had earned a full scholarship to Villanova, and was currently in Bishop’s AP English class. Would either one of them be willing to talk with him? Did they know anything that might be relevant to solving Ed’s murder?
When he walked into the library, he found it deserted except for a couple of students seated together at one of the tables near an open window. With the arrival of the Internet, traditional libraries all over the country had seen a decline in activity. Who needed a library when you could find just about anything by using a computer, tablet, or even your phone? Libraries needed to adapt to the changing times. Merle Howard, the librarian, was perched on a stool behind the semi-circular main desk flipping through a magazine. Merle, who was about sixty years old, had a full head of almost white hair. He kept the place in good order, but he was slow to incorporate new technology. If the administration did have a list of faculty and staff cuts, Bishop wondered whether or not Merle’s name was on it.
Bishop asked Merle for permission to send his AP class to the library to continue work on the script for their project. He needed that time to get everything ready for the faculty lunch. Merle readily agreed, and Bishop thanked him as he left the library and headed back to his classroom. He wanted to make a couple of phone calls before the end of the period.
Back in his room, he closed the door for privacy and kept the lights off. His first call was to Debbie. He was both surprised and relieved when she answered. “It’s good to hear your voice. I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of days.”
“Sorry if I made you worry. I just had to get away from Trinity for a few days.”
“I understand,” he replied even though he didn’t fully understand. Yes, she had lost a friend in Ed Cooper. Yes, she had been verbally abused in front of her co-workers by Sister Pat. Yes, s
he was upset to learn that she wasn’t getting a much-needed raise. Yes, she found it difficult to work for the irascible Lee Davidson. Despite all of that, did she really want to lose her job?
“Listen, I don’t have much time before my next class comes in, but I wanted to let you know that if you don’t show up for work tomorrow, they are going to replace you.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. It’s nice to know that somebody cares.”
The sounds of laughter and the clanging of locker doors meant that the class period had ended. “I’ve got to go. Can I tell them that you’ll be in to work tomorrow?” He disliked having to be so abrupt, but he didn’t have much of a choice. If she failed to show up for work on Friday, she would be unemployed, and without a favorable recommendation, she might have a difficult time finding another job.
“I guess so,” she answered without much enthusiasm.
“Great! Would you mind if I stop by your place after school today?”
“I’d like that. There’s something I need to tell you.”
He wondered what that something might be. Was it something that related to Ed? Was it something related to work? He had to let the speculation go. There wasn’t even time to make another call. He put his cell phone on airplane mode, turned on the lights, and opened the door to about two dozen students who would become his sole focus for the next fifty minutes.
***
The rest of the morning passed quickly. Bishop could never quite understand teachers who complained about how slowly their days dragged. He often wished that he could slow the pace down a bit. Perhaps that was a result of getting older. The entire school year seemed to him to move more quickly than the previous one.
Once he had given instructions to his AP class and sent them off to the library, he headed for the teachers’ lunchroom. In the few minutes that he spent with his seniors, he resisted his desire to say something to Tim Kelleher. He planned on arranging to have a chat with that young man in the very near future.
Much to his surprise, when he arrived at the lunchroom, preparations were already well underway. He learned that Charlie Mitchell, who always was on the best of terms with the ladies on the staff including Lee Davidson, had borrowed some tablecloths from her to make the occasion more festive. He had placed a small vase of flowers at each table. Bishop had no idea where he had come up with those. Terry Mortenson had flagged a parent volunteer to cover her desk in the main office so that she could help with the preparations. She had placed pitchers of ice water at each of the tables. The paper plates, napkins, and cups were stacked on a table and ready for use. Soda bottles were cooling in a tub of ice. A few teachers had started to gather in anticipation.
A somewhat embarrassed young student knocked at the door. The teachers’ lunchroom was clearly not a place where she felt comfortable. Terry asked the girl if she could help her. “Is Mr. Bishop in here? He’s wanted in the kitchen.” Bishop thanked her and asked her name. “Follow me, Lynn.” The student queue for lunch was already more than halfway down the hall. “There’s no reason that you should go to the end of the line just because you were kind enough to deliver that message to me.”
“I’m fine, really,” she pleaded. Bishop realized that bringing her to the front of the line and budging would cause her even more embarrassment.
He thanked Lynn again and walked into the kitchen that was in a state of controlled chaos as the staff prepared to serve hundreds of meals in a limited amount of time. Luigi, the owner of Christy’s Pizza, had delivered boxes of pizza and wings, assisted by his son, Luca. Bishop shook hands with both of them. “Luigi, it’s good to see you again!” Since the death of his wife, Bishop made regular visits to Christy’s for a quick and easy meal.
“It’s a good to see you too!” he replied. Despite having arrived in America about five decades earlier, he still spoke broken English. He explained that some of the food had been placed on serving carts, and the rest was being kept warm in one of the large kitchen ovens.
“Everything is perfect, Luigi. How much do I owe you?” he asked as he pulled his checkbook from his back pocket.
“Don’t worry about that now. Just enjoy your party. I send you a bill. Okay?”
“Sure. That’s fine. Thank you.”
Terry came into the kitchen, and she and Luca began wheeling the carts into the lunchroom. “You’ve got a hungry crowd over there. We better get some food to them before they get ornery,” she said with a wink. Bishop was about to join them when Luigi asked him a question. “Is Jack okay?”
“Jack Slater? As far as I know, he’s fine. Why do you ask?”
Luigi explained that about a month earlier Jack had won $500 on a scratch off ticket that he had purchased at a vending machine in his store. Hoping to duplicate his success, Jack came in every day after that to buy more tickets, every day, that is, until this week.
Bishop hadn’t thought of Jack as much of a gambler. He also knew that one large win was enough to hook some people into playing more often and for higher stakes. Once the spiral of losing began, they often convinced themselves the next big winner was just one bet away. Once they won their money back, the theory was that they would be able to stop gambling. If Jack wanted to gamble with his own money, that was his own business. He did find it troublesome, however, that Jack had suddenly broken his pattern around the same time that Ed’s body had been found. Could the two events be somehow connected?
When Bishop walked into the lunchroom, there was a smattering of applause as those with their hands free expressed their appreciation for his generosity. “There’s more in the kitchen,” he announced for all to hear, “so enjoy!”
Just about everyone was there who had the first lunch period. There was much more food warming in the kitchen for those who had the second lunch. Some of the teachers were seated while a few others remained standing. Everyone appeared to be in a good mood. Sounds of laughter, which had been in short supply recently, filled the room. At least for a half an hour, people could forget all of their worries.
Bishop grabbed a Pepsi and a slice of pizza with black olives and green peppers. He sat down next to Ron Jennings whose paper plate already had a pile of chicken bones on one side. “This was a great idea, Mike. Christy’s pizza is the best,” Ron said as he got back to the serious business of eating.
Bishop leaned toward Ron and whispered, “I talked with Debbie this morning, and she told me that she’s coming back to work tomorrow.” Ron signaled his approval with a thumbs-up.
As Terry walked by, she put her hand on Bishop’s shoulder to get his attention. “I invited Dan Morehouse. I hope you don’t mind. He’s been here all morning working on next year’s budget.” Bishop told her that he didn’t mind at all and thanked her for her help in getting everything set up.
After finishing his pizza, instead of going for seconds, he approached Sister Ann and Sister Pat who were seated at a table by themselves. The principal spoke first. “It’s a very nice party, Michael. Thank you.” The monotone of her voice and her lack of facial expression suggested that the sentiment might have been expressed grudgingly. Sister Pat said disapprovingly, “Where’s the salad?” as she folded over a piece of pizza so that she could eat more efficiently.
Bishop laughed although he was certain that the question was intended to be taken seriously. “Salads are available in the kitchen. I said that we were having pizza and wings. Ipso facto, we have pizza and wings.”
Sister Pat dropped the pizza that was in her hands back to her plate. She turned to her best friend, and asked in disbelief, “Did he just call me fat?” Sister Ann shook her head slightly from left to right. “I’ll explain later,” putting the emphasis on the last word. Bishop knew that Latin phrases befuddled Sister Pat, so he tried to work one in to the conversation whenever he had a chance.
Before walking away, he added, “By the way, Debbie will be back to work tomorrow so there’s no need to look for a replacement. Isn’t that good news?”
“I’m not so s
ure that it is,” replied the principal. “Lee tells me that Debbie has been late to work several times recently and that she’s not always working even when she’s here.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin and tossed it on her empty plate. The finality of the gesture suggested that she planned on ridding herself of Debbie just as easily.
Bishop realized that the administrators most likely still blamed Debbie for having recommended that they hire Ed Cooper. That would absolve them of any responsibility for their own failures to properly vet him as a candidate for employment before hiring him. “I know that Debbie has been under a great deal of stress lately. I’m sure that Lee and Debbie can work out their …”
He was interrupted mid-sentence by someone shouting, “It’s all your fault! You son of a bitch!” and the sounds of a scuffle as chairs were knocked over. He looked across the room where Frank Wilson had launched himself toward Dan Morehouse, overturning the table where they had been seated, sending unfinished plates of food and cups of soda in every direction. Dan had unsuccessfully avoided contact as Frank landed a couple of punches to his face. Everyone stood in disbelief as to what was happening. Someone shouted, “Stop it!” Ron Jennings pushed a few bystanders to the side and pulled Frank away from Dan who was bleeding from the nose. Several people went to help Dan to his feet. Others righted the table and chairs and started cleaning up the mess of broken glass and litter from the floor.
Ron still held Frank in a bear hug from behind. “What got into you, man?”
“That son of a bitch! Some of us are gonna lose our jobs because of him!” He cast a venomous look in Dan’s direction.
“That’s enough out of you!” he shouted as he shoved Frank towards the door. “Let’s go to my office.”
After an initial moment of shock at what had just taken place, people went on with their day. Terry and Charlie helped Bishop put the room back in order again. The second lunch was not likely to be as eventful, but he certainly knew that the pizza and wings would not be the number one topic of conversation.
Schooled in Deception: A Michael Bishop Mystery Page 12