Thirteen
With the PeerNotes announcement implicating Tinsley and with Vail’s ominous threats, I wanted to know what Max had learned about the illustrious director. I also needed to see if my sister had any idea why my brother had lost his ever-loving mind. I kick-started my Datsun into drive and aimed her east back toward Halo.
My sister answered Max’s door again. Today she wore a pair of cutoffs most likely illegal in some states and a tube top covered by a black mesh t-shirt. A hole in the mesh exposed her belly button ring, which caught the light pouring from the second story chandelier. The ring beamed a tiny blue dot on the marble floor like a white trash laser pointer.
“Did you come here for dinner again?” she asked.
“What are you making?”
“Nothing special. Greens and chicken fried steak. Maybe I’ll whip up some taters.”
My stomach showed it’s appreciation, and the door on the far right of the foyer flew open. Nik poked his head out. “What is that noise? Casey, you are okay?”
She popped a hip in his direction, throwing the belly ring laser light toward the far wall. “It’s just Cherry. She’s staying for dinner.”
“My greatest hope is to have the dinner alone with my wife.” Nik glared at me.
“Get a real job and your own house, and you can make it happen.” My smile showed my teeth. “This is America, land of opportunity. Where dreams come true.”
“This is not my meaning.”
“Oh, I got your meaning,” I said. “I want to talk to you, Nik Ivanov. Casey, have you heard from our brother?”
“Nope. I always assume no news is good news. It’s been a peaceable honeymoon this way.” The blue dot aimed toward the back of the house at her turn. “You’re on dish duty tonight.”
I waited for her to leave, hating the thought of killing her peace. “Is Max in there?” I pointed to the open study door.
“No.” Nik shook his head. “He is still in bedroom as usual.”
“Good,” I said, walking through the doorway. “We need to chat. About my sister. And what you’re doing for the Bear.”
Nik made a sound of protest, but followed me in, shutting the heavy wooden door. The room still had the essence of Max’s spicy cologne mixed with the other manly scents of wood oil and leather. And musty Old Rebel junk. Max stored most of his Confederate States memorabilia in this room. I avoided the cases of antiques and plopped into a plump, leather armchair in front of the carved marble fireplace.
“I’m kind of surprised Max lets you in here,” I said. “He’s pretty protective of his Civil War souvenirs.”
“Boss is trusting me with many things,” said Nik. He took the other leather chair, letting his arms fall across the back. “So is my wife. Casey is your sister, but she is my wife. Do not interfere.”
“You are lying to her. That makes it my business.” I narrowed my eyes. “She thinks you’re applying at local garages to be a mechanic. What are you doing, Nik?”
He crossed his arms. “I can make more money working for Avtaikin. And he is helping us very much, so I want to help him. In truth, I need good job and a house for my wife.”
“I thought you liked working on cars.”
“I do, but I really like my old job as chauffeur. I want to own limousine company some day. I need much money for this. Boss says he can help me.”
“What’s Max having you do for him?” My stomach made an unsettled turn. “It’s important that I know.”
Nik shook his head. “Boss said I shouldn’t tell you any information about the business.”
The hairs on my neck rose. “And why the hell not?”
Nik shrugged. “He says it’s game you play with him. And it’s none of your business.”
I collapsed back in the chair and stared at the coffered ceiling. “It’s not a game if either of you land in prison.”
“For what are we landing in prison?”
“I don’t know, but Max has come too close for comfort on several occasions. And I don’t want my sister spending her best childbearing years in the conjugal visit trailer.”
Nik jumped to his feet in order to wave his arms more effectively. “You are ridiculous. You know this? I have done nothing wrong.”
The door to the study banged against its hinges. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the Bear leaning on his crutches. His mouth twitched, as if it wanted to smile but couldn’t in mixed company.
“Boss.” Nik hopped from his seat and scurried to the door. “You are using the crutches. It is wonderful to see you moving about. Cherry is just leaving. She came to visit her sister.”
“I heard the shouting. I assumed Miss Tucker visits.” Max waved aside Nik’s help and hobbled into the study. “I will speak to her. Alone.”
Nik shot me a now-you’re-going-to-get-it look, which I ignored. Having a new brother was not much different than having an old brother.
The door shut behind Nik, and Max crutched his way to his desk. He eased into a smile and into his big chair, then opened a drawer on his desk to prop his leg. Unbuttoning the top three buttons on his white dress shirt, he crooked a finger. “Artist, why are you locked up with Nik in my study?”
I hopped from the chair, but stopped in front of his desk. “What is it this time? Black market goods you’re importing from the Commies and selling here? Guns? Vodka? Those little stacking dolls?”
“Commies? You have no idea what I do, do you?” Max smiled. “Good. Let us keep it this way.”
“We’re friends. I should know what you do for a living.”
“You have caught us. Nik helps me supply the church with gaming equipment for their casino night. Not so exciting, eh?” His raised eyebrow mocked me, but he dropped it to sigh. “This obsession you have with finding my illegal activity needs to stop. You say we are friends? Then I need to trust you. And you need to trust me.”
I toed his desk with my boot. “I’m glad to hear you’re putting Nik to legitimate use. That’s a relief. He needs to tell my sister his plans, though.”
“I agree.” Max nodded, then turned to his computer to flick on the monitor. “Now, are you done interrogating me? Perhaps I can move on to a more useful passage of time.”
“Actually, I’m here to interrogate you on another point.” I dropped into a chair before his desk. “Have you learned anything about Tinsley?”
“His background is transparent to a point. Not much of his personal life is available outside his theater credits. What news about your anonymous bully?”
“Nothing really. It could be a jealous parent, a disgruntled student, or a spiteful teacher. I’ve detected hostile feelings toward both Pringle and Tinsley. Getting into Tinsley’s advanced drama class is very competitive. Although the texts may point toward the loss of a star sophomore last year.” I explained Ellis’s suicide.
“Ah, so perhaps the motive is revenge.”
“Perhaps. I wonder if anyone else finds Tinsley’s choice in a play about suicidal teens in poor taste after what happened to Ellis last year. But maybe that’s why he’s making Romeo and Juliet into a musical comedy. With aliens living in a bubble.”
Max’s gaze flickered from his computer. “You are not selling me on making the contribution to this drama school.”
“It’s not a drama school. It’s a school with a big drama department.”
“I mean school with much drama. Did you not say that many parents threatened to remove their children last year because of this cyberbully?”
“Yes, that’s true. You think the Phantom Texter is trying to get the school shut down?”
“Perhaps.” Max shrugged. “If I paid the exorbitant tuition and had to deal with this mess, I would remove my children from this school.”
I contemplated Max with children, but couldn’t form a me
ntal picture beyond the three bears and their porridge.
“Perhaps the bully just loves the anarchy.”
“That could be. If someone wanted to shut down Peerless, I’d think they’d be more public with their accusations. But if the Phantom Texter does intend to ruin the school’s reputation, I hope he’s the one publicly outed. Playing with emotional blackmail which led to someone’s suicide is heinous. I want to take this viper down.” I raised my fist for a dramatic shake.
Max turned from the computer screen to watch me. His brows pulled together. “What have you done to your arm?”
I dropped my arms, twisting them back and forth to examine them, and spotted the mark. “It’s not a bruise. I wrote Miss Pringle’s computer password on my arm.”
Max’s brows lifted. “And what did you plan to do with Miss Pringle’s computer password?”
“The police took her computer, but I figure the school staff must be linked in a system. Her account could already be wiped out, but could we check? I want to see if she had gotten any emails from the Phantom.”
“I find it ironic that you worry about my legalities, yet you feel no remorse in your own illicit acts.”
“My illicit acts are for the betterment of society.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Well then, let us break into Miss Pringle’s account. For the betterment of society.”
I scooted to Max’s side as he pulled up the school website. Ignoring the parent information, Max hunted the home page until he found the employee links and clicked onto the staff intranet site.
“All staff has the same type of email address,” I said. “Their first and last name separated with a period at Peerless dot net.”
Max typed, while I read the code off my arm. He smiled at the computer. “I think this information may also be helpful for my accountant.”
“You’re going to use Maranda Pringle’s password to help you decide whether to contribute to the school or not?”
His gaze slid from the computer screen to me. “Why not? I always do the thorough investigation before writing the checks. Even before I bought your painting.”
My eyes narrowed. “You investigated me?”
“Of course. You are an investment.”
“I’m an investment?”
“Your art.” He waved his hand toward the computer. “Please finish your checking of the Pringle emails.”
I turned to the computer, my mouth itching to question him on his Cherry Tucker probe while my brain ordered me to focus on the task at hand. “Looks like Miss Pringle was not one to allow emails to loiter in the inbox. Most of these are flagged to-do types.”
“You expect her to keep incriminating emails? Look in her deleted or sent messages.”
I clicked on the deleted messages. “Nothing. Let me try sent messages.” I tapped the mouse. “Bingo. She forgot to clear this cache.”
“You realize the police can search these folders?”
“I know, unless they’ve dropped the investigation.” I scrolled through the messages. “Lots of correspondence between her and Principal Cleveland. Her replies to Cleveland are very businesslike. Whereas his are of the lovesick basset hound type.”
“Please explain. I do not know this saying.”
“I’ll give you an example. ‘Maranda,’” I read, “‘Please send Brenda Cooke the first quarter billings statements. By the way, I saw you at Little Verona’s with Coach Newcomb. Dinner in public? I thought that wasn’t your style. Is this to get back at me? Rick.’”
“Is this billings statement he speaks of attached to the email?”
I spun to face Max. “Stop thinking about their financial reports. This was probably the kind of stuff the texter used against Miss Pringle.”
“Why should revealing her love affairs drive her to suicide?”
“Don’t say love affairs. It gives me the willies. Americans don’t say love affairs.”
“How do you express the adult relationship, then?” He arched an eyebrow.
“You buy me a beer, look at the door, and I follow you home. Everybody sees it and boom, we’re in a relationship. And if you deny it, they’ll think I’m loose.”
“Loose?”
“With the morals. And the shedding of the clothes.” I turned back to the computer to scroll through more of Pringle’s sent box. “I should tell Luke about this email.”
“The policeman?”
“The deputy. He’s also helping me on the case.” I faced Max, scooting my hip onto the edge of his desk.
His expression appeared relaxed, but the earlier smile had faded from his eyes. “Is this at your insistence or the policeman’s?”
“His insistence. But it works for me. I want us to be friends.”
“Friends with man your family finds unworthy of your attention?”
“That’s a nice way to put it, but yep. If Luke becomes my friend, then maybe they’ll see differently. And stop trying to draw lines in the sand between his family and ours.”
Max took my hand and gave it a pat. “You are the idealist in all circumstances, Artist. This is a good thing. But not everyone views the world as you do. And your problems arise when you do not attempt to understand this.”
“Friendship’s not idealistic. Everyone else has lost their senses.”
“Exactly my point.” With a smirk, Max tipped his chair back and rested his hands behind his head. “You are so besotted with your own ethical code, you have not the ability to see the other perspective. But perhaps your instincts are right and you can bridge whatever gaps are between your families. ‘But go wisely and slow. Your speed will cause you to stumble.’”
“Obviously, this is some kind of compliment I’m too besotted to understand.” I shoved off the desk. “Tell my sister we’ll talk later. I need to work on my set sketches.”
Maybe friendship wasn’t the key. But I didn’t feel like discussing those intimacies with Max.
The sweet sorrow of parting from Luke might be more than I could take.
Fourteen
Because it was a school night, I stayed out of bars and did my homework. However, my mind was not on designing an Atlantis alien home for the doomed romance of singing sub-aquatics. It remained on the inevitability of my own doomed romance. Like the aqua-Romeo, Luke clung to hope, making his advances hard to resist.
Maybe I needed a trident.
The following day, I began with a visit to JB Branson’s dealership garage. It seemed Cody’s last public appearance included a rendition of “Take This Job and Shove It,” without the musical accompaniment. After suffering a long monologue by Cody’s boss, who decided to spend his saved Cody harangue on me, I felt anxious to return to school and focus on rooting out the malevolent phantom messenger.
Much more fun than getting yelled at by my brother’s boss. Or even drawing bubble homes for fish-men.
Pointing the Datsun northwest once again, I encouraged my reluctant starter to enjoy the autumn splendor of the tree lined drive dappled in yellow ochres, oxide-red lakes, and cadmium yellow oranges. The air smelled of fresh cut hay and fallen pine needles. Claude Monet may have had Autumn in Argenteuil, but I had “Fall in Forks County.”
We chugged at a pace just faster than a cotton picker, but the beautiful day matched my mood. The way I saw it, the sheriff had given me further permission to stick my nose in other people’s business. And I meant to do it. I wanted a list of teachers who had received messages from our phantom texter. And to see if the texts also intimated a relationship to Ellis Madsen.
Arriving late, I found a spot in the back-forty, then hoofed my way into the castle-like edifice. No parent manned the front desk, so I snagged a visitor lanyard and waved at Amber, still buried in folders. Behind Amber, the office buzzed with chatting teachers, waiting in a long queue that snaked a
round the corner to the back offices. I aimed myself in that direction, figuring the heart of the beast lay in the copy room.
“Hey,” I said to the first group of teachers I encountered. “How are y’all? What’s new?”
The khaki and polo clad group peered at me, recognizing a stranger in their midst. I should have bought khakis instead of educational themed wear. My “I Like Big Books” t-shirt dress didn’t seem to impress them. And I had spent half the night Be-Dazzling the book covers.
“Who are you subbing for?” asked an older female with dark hair. She grasped a Peerless Academy coffee mug in one hand while her arm clutched copies to her chest. “You can leave the teacher’s mail in their box. Lock their grade book in their desk, though. We’ve had a rash of grade book burglaries.”
“Instead of using your attendance book, you should enter the grades immediately in your computer,” said her bespectacled and mustached colleague. “Then the students couldn’t fiddle with their grade.”
“If you think a computer will stop them, you’re wrong,” an older woman in a Peerless polo replied. “At least a record book is somewhat alien to them. If a keyboard or touchscreen isn’t attached, most of them won’t recognize the item.”
All three laughed. The fourth teacher, seeing movement in the copier line, darted away.
“What do you think of PeerNotes?” I asked. “That announcement yesterday interrupted the class I attended. Did you get another one today?”
“Not today, thank God. Yesterday was bad enough,” grumbled Coffee Mug. “They should never have reinstituted PeerNotes after what happened last year.”
“Because it was used to harass Ellis Madsen?” I prodded. “Did the bullies also text like they are now?”
“Poor Ellis might have been texted,” said Peerless Polo. “But I understood most of the bullying had been done on PeerNotes, which was why Maranda suggested shutting it down.”
“What’s going on now?” asked Glasses with Mustache.
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