I skirted another corner and saw the fenced in dumpsters that marked the cafeteria area. The land behind Peerless sloped here toward a set of greenhouses. Behind the greenhouses lay the stadium and field house.
Acting on instinct, I cut left and followed the sidewalk toward the greenhouse and stadium. I had spent some time behind the bleachers at Halo High and knew if kids were sneaking around the school, they’d likely hide back there.
I aimed for the stadium, but behind the greenhouse, voices rose from a small garden bordered in privet shrubs and gated with an arbor covered in a vine with yellowing leaves. I halted, eased close to the bushes, and covered my mouth with my hand to disguise my heavy panting. Inside, garbled voices giggled and whispered.
“Did you hear that? I heard footsteps,” called a female voice. “Is it Ellis?”
“That’s messed up, man,” said a boy’s voice, reminding me of Shaggy from Scooby-Do. “Ghosts can’t make footsteps. They don’t have feet.”
“What do you mean they don’t have feet?”
Daphne, I thought. She sounded like a red head.
“Like they float, man,” said Shaggy.
“Shut up,” said a third kid, his voice already deepened. Obviously Fred. “It’s the shrooms, not Ellis that’s making you hear things.”
“I don’t think the shrooms are working,” said another girl. Probably poor Velma who went along with this lark to impress Fred. “I want to see Ellis.”
“Preston said it takes time,” said Fred. “Anyway, if we see Ellis, it’ll be a hallucination.”
“No way, man,” said Shaggy. “The shrooms’ll just help us connect with the spiritual world. It’s a full moon and we’re close to the anniversary of her death. If we call on Ellis, she’ll have to show.”
“Well, she better hurry it up because I have early equestrian practice,” said Daphne.
“For idiot’s sake,” I thought, rising from my crouch beside the bushes. Somehow, these kids had gotten magic mushrooms and were using them for a seance. Poor Ellis. Not even allowed to rest in peace. I couldn’t see over the hedge, but the voices sounded low to the ground. I imagined the four kids sitting cross-legged in a circle, probably holding hands or some such foolery.
I smirked. This might be fun. And hopefully educational for both me and these dumb kids. Served them right to get stoned on a school night.
“Who are you seeking?” I whispered through the hedge and added a moan.
The giggling and rustling cut off.
After a few long seconds, Daphne’s shaky voice called out, “Ellis Madsen.”
“Why?” I whispered.
“She was our friend.” Fred’s deep voice rose at the end.
“Liars. Her friends would have saved her life.”
Daphne shrieked and Velma began crying. Sounds of scrambling made it evident the kids readied to bolt.
“Stay where you are.” I narrowed my eyes, wishing I could see through the hedge. “Ellis wants to know who’s bullying Peerless now.”
“I don’t know,” sobbed Daphne.
“Is someone trying to blame the teachers for her death?”
“Maybe,” Velma wailed.
Behind me, I heard the heavy slap of boots running on concrete.
I sped up my questioning. “Which teachers besides Miss Pringle and Mr. Tinsley have gotten texts?”
“What do you mean?” called Fred. “Shouldn’t a ghost know these things?”
“Ellis wants to know,” I hedged, not quite knowing how the spirit realm worked. “She hasn’t gotten full access to earth events yet.”
“Who is this?” Fred’s voice steadied.
“A real friend of Ellis,” I said. “Or an illusion caused by the intake of psychedelic drugs.”
“Dude, we’re having a mass hallucination,” said Shaggy. “I told you this would be trippy.”
“I don’t feel anything,” said Fred. “Someone’s messing with us.”
“Like, a ghost dude,” said Shaggy.
“Shut up, Shaggy,” I said in my best scary ghost voice. “Or I’ll haunt you every time you take a hit. Ellis wants to know who’s texting the teachers at Peerless.”
“We don’t know,” gasped Velma. “We didn’t do it.”
“Who did? Who did this to Ellis?” I stood on my toes and tried to peer over the hedge.
“Some senior theater students, but they’re gone now. We were all afraid of them.”
“Which seniors?”
A hand landed on my shoulder. I screamed and fell into the privet. Through the hedge, four more voices joined mine in screaming and shrieking. Our voices wrapped together in one long howl and four bodies shot through the arbor, cutting left, away from the sidewalk and up the grassy slope toward the cafeteria.
Luke hauled me out of the hedge, brushing off bits of leaf and twig. “What in the hell were you doing?”
“Tricking those idiots into giving me some information.” I rubbed my scratched face. “Can you not sneak up on me like that?”
Luke ducked around the side of the hedge and under the arbor. I followed, noting a small sign naming the garden in memory of Ellis.
The small garden had a stone bench at one end and a raised flower bed of dying roses along the hedge walls. A statue of a girl reading sat amongst the roses.
“This is nice,” I said, “but all this school needs is one more place where students can hide.”
In the center, Luke knelt on the grass next to four abandoned backpacks. He poked at a bag of Doritos and unscrewed a water bottle for a sniff. “What were they doing?”
“Taking hallucinogenic mushrooms and trying to contact Ellis Madsen’s spirit. Something about the full moon.” I opened a backpack and glanced at the folders and papers inside.
Luke grabbed a stick from beneath the hedge, lifted the backpack, and used the stick to drag a baggy from beneath the pack. “I’d say this is in plain view. What about you?”
The baggie had several pieces of dried mushrooms inside. “You calling it in?”
“Yep. I couldn’t catch that kid. Took off on an ATV through the woods. Maybe he was the one sneaking around the school.”
“Or it’s a student named Preston who sold them the shrooms. I heard them say his name.”
“We’ll tell Line Creek PD. What exactly were you doing?”
“Pretending I was a ghost,” I said. “Hopefully, I scared them straight.”
I gave my statement to Detective Herrera while Officer Wells searched the backpacks for the owners’ names. They didn’t find my Scooby-Do monikers helpful. Nor my ghostly interrogation method. Tired of their eyeball rolling and with nothing left to do, I called Todd for a ride. Luke planned to stay to offer Herrera his unwanted assistance. I left them in the garden with one last longing glance toward Luke.
Then told myself the drug bust interruption of what could have become a bust for lewd behavior was for my own good. My guardian angel had girded my loins with Scooby snacks without me knowing.
Todd’s red Civic squealed into the parking lot with a quick donut spin flourish. From the sidewalk, I waited out his inner high school boy who couldn’t resist a mostly empty school lot, then hopped into the passenger seat with a thank you.
“What’s going on, baby?” he asked. “I thought you were coming to Red’s tonight.”
“It’s been an exciting night.” I grinned. “First, I experienced a cop bar and witnessed a fight. Then, I got to skulk a dark school for a mysterious intruder. And witness another fight. Last, I pranked some kids who thought they were high on shrooms. The officers said the mushrooms in question looked like plain ol’ shitake.”
“Cool,” said Todd. “I wish you’d taken me. I’d love to prank some kids.”
“What have you been doing?”<
br />
“Hanging out at Red’s with Tara Mayfield.”
“Oh, Lord,” I said. “That may have been my fault. Sorry.”
“No problem. Tara said she wanted to help me with my lyrics. But I don’t know her well enough for something so personal as lyric writing, so I figured I should get to know her first.”
If only Todd would put that kind of consideration into everyday living.
“What’s going on with all these fights?” he asked.
“One was between Tinsley and the art teacher, Camille Vail. She tore into him like a free catfish dinner at the VFW. Tinsley doesn’t think she’s a threat, but I’m not so sure. And she may think Tinsley’s the texter.”
“Who do you think is doing all this texting?”
“It’s hard to tell. Luke thinks the Phantom may be throwing punches in the dark, just to stir up trouble. It almost seems like the messages are meant to relate to the teen suicide last year. Maybe the Phantom is driving someone to confess their sins. Like Maranda Pringle who had an affair with the girl’s father.”
I grasped the arm rest as Todd used the open student lot for one last donut. He cut the wheel hard to the right and gunned his car toward the exit.
“You’ve been with Luke Harper tonight?” Todd glanced at me as we skidded down Peerless’s long drive. “Your sister’s likely to scalp you.”
My cheeks heated. “Purely investigative work. He got me into the Locked and Loaded so I could talk to a Line Creek officer. Then I got a call from Tinsley to go to the school, so he brought me here.”
“Just investigative help. That’s a relief.” Todd kept his eyes on the dark lane. “Your family would have a fit. And remember what Red said about you choosing self-destructive relationships?”
“First of all, Luke’s just a step-Branson,” I said. “And second of all, the self-destructive relationships would include you.”
“Not the way I see it.” Todd grinned. “You called off our marriage because it wouldn’t self-destruct. Red said it was your way of sabotaging your own happiness. Because you’re emotionally stunted from your past family trauma.”
“Dammit, Todd. I keep telling you Red can’t apply every episode of Dr. Phil to my life. And I annulled our marriage because you were more fixated on the Vegas poker tables than our honeymoon. That’s a red flag if there ever was one.”
We had reached the Peerless gates. Todd downshifted and careened onto the county highway. “Who was in the other fight?”
I studied the dark landscape from my passenger window and far from Todd’s accusing eyes. “Luke and Anthony Pettit, a Line Creek officer at the Locked and Loaded. Pettit made an ungentlemanly remark about me and Luke socked him. They have some history from high school.”
Todd stomped on the clutch and pounded through the gears.
“Go on and say it.” I turned from the window to look at Todd. “But you know I’m trying to stay friends with Luke.”
“Funny thing, baby,” said Todd. “Tara and I talked a lot tonight.”
“And?”
Was Todd sweet on Tara? I felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a pang of jealousy.
I reminded myself I couldn’t keep everyone corralled in Cherryland and firmed myself on Todd’s happiness. Even if it meant never ridding myself of Tara. Lord help me.
“Isn’t Anthony Pettit Tara’s ex-fiance?” Todd continued.
“What?” I rubbed my temples. “Are you sure? Maybe Tara’s just into cops.”
“She said Pettit introduced her to Luke.”
“Oh shit,” I mumbled. “Luke went out with Tara knowing it would piss off Pettit?”
“Tara said she was engaged to Pettit. They started going out in high school. He played football for Line Creek. She was a cheerleader. Pettit had cheated on her and she had forgiven him, but when she met Luke, she broke it off officially with Pettit. You know what I mean?”
I leaned my head back on the seat and stared at the dark ceiling. “Yep, I know what you mean.”
Looked like the Scooby-Do kids had unwittingly saved my virtue. And for all his explanations about Tara, Luke hadn’t mentioned settling a score. How very high school of him. He was well and truly a Branson.
And damn my lack of fortitude when it came to that man. Men. I rubbed an aching spot on my chest and glanced at my roommate, wondering if Red was right about me sabotaging happiness. Everyone said I looked for trouble. Whereas I had always thought the Tucker name had been attached to a trouble homing device.
Which led to another, “oh, crap” thought. “Todd, did you ever see Cody again tonight?”
“Earlier at Red’s, but not later.” He glanced at me. “You haven’t talked to him yet?”
“I tried at Red’s, but he blew me off. He was picked up in front of JB Branson’s house Monday night, passed out in his car.”
“You want to drive by the Branson’s?”
“Thank you, hon’. I’d hate to think what kind of excrement might start flying if Luke catches Cody stalking his momma’s house.”
Twenty
Cody and his Malibu didn’t materialize in our drive around Fetlock Meadows, the subdivision for Halo’s one percent. Todd and I made it home without further comment on my heart’s failings to kick the step-Branson to the curb.
The next morning, I rose after Todd had left for work and donned a skull print pyramid top. After a quick hot glue job on a ribbon of skull beads to the hem of my flared jeans, I pulled on my boots and headed out the door.
It felt like a skull-crusher kind of day.
When I arrived at the Peerless office, it appeared someone had ordered a delivery of bedlam with a side of insanity. Pamela Hargraves manned the counter, answering phone calls and registering visitors. Behind her, the office girls ran around like uniformed, headless chickens, carrying papers and folders under their wings. A parent sat at Amber’s desk, looking close to tears. Assistant Principal Brenda Cooke stood in the middle of the room, catching students as they passed, glancing at the items in their arms, and pointing them in a different direction. She wore another expensive suit and her pumps had a familiar designer emblem, but her blonde bob had not been fully squashed of cowlicks and the knot of her snazzy scarf had been loosened like the groom’s tie midway through a wedding reception.
I stood at the counter, watching disorder reign with Max’s warning of Phantom-induced anarchy sailing around my brain. “What’s going on, Miss Pamela?”
She grimaced. “Amber, the school secretary, quit. Ms. Cooke’s fixing to get a sub to catch up on the office work. In the meantime, she’s trying to organize Mrs. Overmeyer’s students into doing actual work and they’re not taking to it. They can’t even figure out how to file the attendance sheets.”
“Ugh,” I said. “Amber seemed pretty fed up with trying to handle both the front and back office stuff.”
Pamela shrugged. “Cooke is going to have an aneurism if she doesn’t get some help. I don’t know why she doesn’t make Cleveland come back to school. He must realize how pathetic he looks, taking grief time for Pringle’s funeral.”
“At least someone’s mourning her. Miss Pringle doesn’t have any family.”
“Really?” Pamela leaned closer until I could see the swirls of her foundation powder. Her heavy perfume smelled of roses dipped in patchouli. “The funeral is Monday. I heard Dan Madsen, Ellis’s father, might show.”
“I thought he didn’t live around here.”
“He and his wife moved away after Ellis died, but they split soon after. Between the death of her child and his infidelity, Bethany Madsen kicked him out. I believe he got a job in Atlanta, but I don’t know where he’s living.”
I leaned away, taking a breath of fresh non-patchouli-rose air, and thought about Dan Madsen’s move. “When did he move back? Recently?”
; Pamela shrugged, wafting another blast of perfume toward me. “I just heard with the news of Pringle’s funeral.”
“Where does his wife live?”
Pamela squinted. “North Carolina? Tennessee? I’m not sure. They lived on the other side of Ballantyne, and Kadence wasn’t friends with Ellis, so I didn’t keep up with the Madsens.”
“Was anybody friends with Ellis?” I muttered, then directed my thoughts to Pamela. “Besides Mr. Tinsley, were there any other staff who would have known Ellis well? Maybe an adult who might have seen the signs of her impending suicide and didn’t do anything? Or gave her a hard time? Anything that could have been related to her death?”
Pamela tried to arch a brow. “Why?”
“Just wondering. The more I learn about Ellis, the worse I feel about her death.”
And perhaps that teacher might be next on the Phantom’s list, but kept that thought to myself.
“I didn’t really know her,” said Pamela. “Ellis was a sophomore, so she would have taken chemistry, English, World History, and pre-Calc that year. Probably a foreign language and a couple electives.”
“What about art?”
“Generally, art and drama don’t overlap. The drama kids might take chorus, maybe dance, and don’t have room for other electives.”
“What do the art kids take?”
“More art. And chemistry.” She chuckled.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s well known that one of the art seniors deals drugs. I heard he uses the print shop. You know, designs graphics for sheets of acid tabs?”
What an entrepreneur. “Does he sell magic mushrooms, too?”
Pamela turned up her nose. “Entirely possible. I told Kadence to stay away from the art rooms.”
Preston King. Vail’s favorite student.
Behind Pamela, the noise grew. With the skill of a good cat wrangler, Ms. Cooke herded the office girls to another room. A good time, I thought, to do some scrounging without ol’ Eagle Eye Cooke around. “Who handles student schedules?”
DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE Page 16