DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE

by Larissa Reinhart

  “I checked his phone. No texts to any teachers.”

  “He would probably email the texts from his computer. That’s what the kids say.”

  “The warrant will cover his computer and other equipment. We’ll find out if he did.”

  I hung up and hooked a right into the office.

  Tara hopped from her seat behind Amber’s desk. “Cherry, I haven’t seen you all day. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks.” I walked past her. “How’re you?”

  “Wonderful. It’s so busy in the office, but I’m very glad to help.” She scurried to match my stride. “Did you see Laurence today? Is he assisting you? Are you going to work on the set after school today? Do you need any help?”

  “Yes. Yes. No. No. Listen Tara, I need to talk to Ms. Cooke. I’ll see you later.”

  “Okey dokey, Cherry. If you see Lukey, please tell him I’ve been thinking about him.”

  I considered telling Tara what I knew about Luke and Pettit, but figured it would do more harm than good. Besides, I had more important business. Like going to the principal’s office again. I knocked on Ms. Cooke’s door and entered at her command.

  She looked up from her computer. “Yes?”

  “What if Preston King is the one cyberbullying the teachers?”

  “And that would be none of your business. I am not going to discuss a student with you.”

  I blew out my breath and turned toward the door.

  “Miss Tucker.” She spoke with her clipped principal tones.

  I turned back.

  “You have no right to deal with any of my students. Your clearance checks out, and I’ll allow you to paint the set, but that’s it. I don’t want you here during school hours. You are only allowed at Peerless under Tinsley’s direct supervision and only in the theater during the scheduled rehearsal time. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I scraped my beaded cuff along the ground and knocked off a skull.

  “You’re dismissed.” She turned back to her computer.

  I stalked from her office, held up my hand to stop Tara’s mouth from running, and stormed out of the building. After-school rehearsal wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow.

  I’d been suspended from school. If Grandpa found out, he’d kick my can for sure.

  If I had a better vehicle I would have burned rubber out of the school parking lot, but the Datsun didn’t burn anything but oil, so I had to content myself with puttering back to town. I never got a chance to eat in the Peerless cafeteria, so I pondered the best place to fill my stomach and work out my current troubles. I headed southeast into Line Creek, swung by Lickety Pig, and pulled into the Sheriff’s Office smelling of barbecue. Grasping paper bags and cups of tea in both hands, I backed through the glass door and dumped a bag in front of the shielded reception window.

  Tamara arched a brow. “Is that for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “And I’ve got one for Uncle Will. Is he around?”

  Tamara slid an arm through the window’s hole and snagged the bag. She tossed her braided pony tail back, causing a frenzied clicking from the red, white, and black beads. “You bringing anyone else barbecue?”

  “No, ma’am. Just myself. I thought I’d eat lunch with Uncle Will.”

  Her deep ochre eyes studied me. “I thought you were working at that school.”

  Dammit, how did Tamara sense I had gotten expelled? “It’s an after-school gig. Set painting.”

  “Stay out of trouble.” She pushed the buzzer.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I scurried to the door, yanked it open, and sped up the hall. Just before I knocked on Uncle Will’s door, the entrance to the junior officers’ room opened, and Luke poked his head out.

  “Thought I saw you on the monitor,” he said. “Is that for me, sugar?”

  I steeled my loins and thinned my lips. “No. I am visiting my Uncle Will.”

  He sauntered over, his uniform hugging his lean frame and causing a frenzy of hormones to ping pong inside my body. “How are you today?”

  I tipped my chin up. “Just fine and you?”

  “Feels a little cold in here.” Luke faked a shiver and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Are you mad I didn’t take you home last night? I wanted to take you home.” He winked.

  “Ha.” I clenched the barbecue bag and styrofoam tea cups and used my shoulder to untuck the hair. “Actually, I was glad Todd picked me up. I got to hear about his conversation with Tara. She told Todd all about her prior engagement to Anthony Pettit.”

  “Oh.” Luke’s swagger dipped into now-I’ve-done-it realm.

  “Nice work, Harper. You broke Tara’s heart just to get back at Pettit. Hope you taught Pettit a good lesson.” I backed toward Will’s door. “I sure learned one.”

  “Hear me out.” Luke snatched the Lickety Pig bag from my hand. “I wasn’t trying to use Tara. Pettit is an asshole. Everyone knew he was getting some on the side. When I saw Tara at Red’s, I felt sorry for her and asked her to dance. I didn’t tell her to break up with Pettit. I didn’t tell her anything.”

  “You asked her to a wedding.”

  “I needed a date and she’s nice. And I thought you were with Todd McIntosh.” His voice softened. “I’d rather have taken you.”

  “You can’t take me to a Branson wedding, Luke. You can’t even bring me to the house without causing a fracas.” I felt my eyes tear up, and I kicked the wall with the heel of my boot. “Our family history is too ugly.”

  And about to get uglier. Damn Bransons. And Cody.

  “They’re not my family, sugar. I meant what I said about not letting them get between us.” He pushed the Lickety Pig bag back into my hand. “What’s going on at school today? Everyone talking about the kids we caught in the garden?”

  I nodded, glad to be on the safer topic of suicide and stalking. “Dr. Vail and Cleveland weren’t at school today. And Dan Madsen’s back in town, which I find a little too convenient.”

  “See if any of them will meet you at Little Verona’s. Maybe you’ll get a reaction from Pringle’s friend.”

  The door next to my elbow swung back and Uncle Will’s bounty filled the opening. “There you are, hon’. Tamara said you brought me lunch. Kind of late for lunch, but just pleased as punch to have you think of me. And then I wondered if you’d changed your mind.”

  “Just got sidetracked,” I said, handing Will the bag.

  “Come in and share my repast.” He nodded at Luke and guided me into the room. “Talking about the Peerless case, were you? I heard about the fake drug bust last night.”

  Luke stepped into the doorway. “Turned out to be a prank, but the kid in question might actually deal.”

  I followed Will to his desk, plopped into a chair, and scooted sideways to face both men. “Herrera is trying to get a warrant. They’re going to check Preston King’s computer to see if he’s also sending the texts.”

  “Deputy Harper, you got some place to be?” Will paused from unwrapping his sandwich to glance at Luke. “I don’t believe your orders include chatting with my niece.”

  “Yes, sir.” Luke spun on his heel and shut the door.

  I turned back to face Will. “Herrera told me about Pringle’s tox screen. Why would she take ADHD meds when she had antidepressants available?”

  “Perhaps the young drug dealer will have information about that. Kids will try any kind of drug, and ADHD meds are easy enough for them to get and sell. Strattera is not something an adult would normally seek out for getting high, though. From what I understand, it’s non-stimulatory. Not like Adderall.”

  “So if Maranda Pringle wanted to commit suicide, Strattera makes sense.”

  “I suppose.” Will sighed and took a bite out of his sandwich.

  “I wish the GBI
would hurry up and decrypt her phone to check for those deleted texts. Herrera and Luke think the Phantom is just some kid causing mayhem. Poison pen stuff without really knowing if the insinuations are true. I think certain texts may be deliberate. Possibly blaming certain folks for Ellis Madsen’s death last year.”

  The clock on the wall clicked off seconds. Will chewed his barbecue, and I unwrapped my sandwich, both of us consumed by our thoughts. “Of course, some texts seem to have nothing to do with Ellis or anything at all.” I sighed. “I don’t get it. I need more information, but maybe Luke’s right about the Phantom’s scatter-shot approach.”

  “You’re spending some time with Harper on this.” Will eyed me over his sandwich. “Remember what I told you? Are you taking my advice seriously?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I take catching the perp who’s bullying teachers very seriously. One woman may have lost her life to him. That’s pretty sobering.”

  Will swallowed and coughed. “You’re not catching any perps, honey, that’s Herrera’s job. You’re just solving a puzzle.”

  “Right.” I smiled like I meant it.

  “Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re not fooling around with Harper when I told you to leave him alone?”

  “What if he doesn’t want to leave me alone?”

  “Then I’ll get a restraining order, although I’d rather not since he’s a good officer and it would reflect badly on my department.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I understand.”

  “Have you talked to Cody?”

  “I can’t find him to talk to him. I saw him for about two seconds and he took off before we could have words.”

  “What is going on with that boy?”

  “I don’t know.” The barbecue stuck in my throat and I took a long sip of tea.

  Will’s forehead produced new wrinkles. “Did he and JB Branson get into a scuffle at the dealership? Is that why Cody quit?”

  I kept my lips busy with the tea straw.

  “Damn, I bet Cody mouthed off to JB and got fired. Now Cody’s mad and looking to get even with the boss.” Will shook his head. “Y’all are too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

  “I know,” I muttered.

  “I can’t waste my man power on a family issue,” Will said. “You’ve got to find your brother. Before Cody does something really stupid and one of my deputies ends up arresting him.”

  I’d add it to my to-do list.

  Twenty-Three

  By Friday afternoon, I still hadn’t found Cody. I also couldn’t get Principal Cleveland to answer his door or Dan Madsen to return my calls.

  According to Little Verona’s restaurant, Miss Pringle’s friend, Olivia, had taken bereavement time to argue the details of Maranda’s funeral with Principal Cleveland, which made me more curious to speak to both parties. Coach Newcomb’s golf team had left for a state tournament. And I avoided Luke for fear of loin-girding slippage.

  My detecting skills had fallen lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut.

  That left me with my original job in the theater. Happy to meet my newly assigned set design crew, I taught them how to wrap newspaper strips around chicken wire to create paper mâché bubbles to suspend from wires for the techno-underwater Capulet versus Montague dance-off scene. I backed away from the flinging wet newspaper, checked on Laurence’s balcony project, and lost myself in stippling cinnabar green over cobalt green turquoise to add depth to my backdrop.

  I declared a Coke break for my industrious little set designers. From the auditorium seats, they hunkered over their devices, while I watched a group of young Capulets attempt hip hop steps while singing “Vengeance is Mine” by Alice Cooper. As they did the Dougie, a pile of phones flashed and buzzed on the corner of the stage. The dancers’ gazes flew to their stack of devices. Around me, students began to shoot looks at their friends, murmur and type, their thumbs flying over their keyboards.

  I leaned over my seat and tapped Laurence on the shoulder. “What’s going on? Another message go out over PeerNotes?”

  He glanced up from his iPad. “I find Kierkegaard far more fascinating.”

  “Okay Einstein, you can go back to Kierkewhatsit in a minute. Dial up PeerNotes on that thing and tell me what’s going on.”

  Laurence offered me a lengthy sigh filled with sixteen years of pent-up exasperation.

  A Tara screech interrupted Laurence’s screen tapping. He slunk in his seat, his head disappearing from view. I turned in my chair. Tara ran down the aisle toward the stage. She hustled pretty well for someone my size, further proving I had greater issues with running than short legs.

  “Cherry, I need to talk to you.” Tara’s squawk carried through the auditorium. Her cheerleading voice made an effective megaphone. “It’s an emergency.”

  From his table on the stage, Tinsley tore his gaze off the dancers and held a hand to stop the scene. The dancing Capulets sped to the side of the stage and snatched their devices.

  I hopped to my feet and scooted toward the aisle where Tara had parked her pink Keds.

  “Tara,” I whispered. “You’re freaking everyone out. Keep it down.” When had I become the one to tell other people to shut up? Times were a changing.

  “Cherry.” Tara brought her voice down, but couldn’t suspend the tremor. Her pale face had blanched geisha white except for two rose madder spots on her cheeks. “The police are in the front office again.”

  “Hold on a minute.” I shimmied down the aisle to where Laurence still hunkered on the floor. “Laurence, what did the message on PeerNotes say?”

  “‘A plague on both your houses. They have made worms’ meat of me,’” he whispered.

  “Hey brother.” Tara hopped and waved. “How are you? What are you doing on the floor? You can’t make friends from down there. Why aren’t you up on the stage?”

  I ignored Tara and fixed on Laurence. “What does this worms’ meat thingy mean?”

  Laurence glared up at me. “It’s Mercutio’s line, genius. Aren’t you paying attention to the play? Mercutio’s blaming both the Capulets and Montagues for his death.”

  I glanced up at the stage. Tinsley paced and spoke on the phone, leaving the dance teacher and Faith huddled together. Abandoning Laurence to the floor, I scooted down the aisle toward Tara, grabbed her arm, and marched her to the empty theater hallway.

  “Tell me now,” I said. “Who died? Cleveland? Is that why he’s missed school this week?”

  She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “The police found Amber Tipton.”

  “Suicide?”

  “My stars, no. She was shot in a home invasion. The police are in the office now.”

  “Dammit,” I said. “Get Laurence and go home. Let Cooke handle the police. You’re just a sub, and it’s Friday afternoon. You don’t need to stay. They’ll probably cancel practice now anyway.”

  “What are you going to do?” She took a folded tissue from her pocket and dabbed under her eyes, careful of her mascara.

  “I’m going up to the office and see what I can find out.” I glanced at my clothes. I had changed into my overalls and Tybee Island top to paint. “I’ll grab my bag and say a word to Tinsley first.”

  Leaving Tara in the hall, I sped back to the stage.

  Tinsley had collapsed into a folding chair, while the other teachers gave instructions to the students on clean-up and dismissal procedures.

  I ambled to Tinsley and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? I guess you heard about Amber.”

  He used both hands to massage his temples. “The world is not a safe place and evidently Line Creek township is included. But it seems rather coincidental, does it not?”

  “Seems kind of strange to me, too,” I said. “And the message on PeerNotes appeared pr
etty quickly.”

  “And damning toward me. A quote from my current production?” Tinsley’s hands shook as he rested them on the table. “Why me? This phantom besieges me, causing self-doubt and guilt.”

  “Guilt?”

  His face turned ashen. “I have not always lived an exemplary life.”

  “What did you do?” I whispered.

  He collapsed his head into his hands. Before I could get his answer, Faith approached to circle her arms around Tinsley’s bowed shoulders. “You go on, honey,” she said to me, sinking in the chair next to Tinsley. “I’ll stay with Terry. This is quite a shock to us all. Poor soul. So much has happened this week.”

  Faith shook her head and patted Tinsley. “There now, baby. Let’s pull ourselves together and take care of the children. Then we’ll talk.”

  Tinsley lifted his head, his eyes wet and mouth drawn. “Thank you, Faith.”

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to gauge his reaction. Was Tinsley consumed by grief or guilt? The man played so many different parts, he seemed impossible to read.

  In the administration area, Cooke and Herrera had closeted themselves in her office. I spied Officer Wells speaking to a counselor and waited until she was done to approach. Wells still wore the cute pony tail and freckled, pert nose, but this time her uniform did not reek of beer.

  “Officer Wells.” I stopped short before the copy machine room. The look she delivered did not speak of “nice to see you again.” It screamed “I would rather punch you in the throat than talk to you.”

  Having grown up with those kinds of looks, they no longer bothered me. But I apologized twenty more times, then offered to pay her dry cleaning bill.

  “Forget about it,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have an after-school job working for the drama teacher, remember? I heard about Amber. Armed robbery? Any witnesses?”

  “No witnesses. She lived alone. Several items are missing.”

  “Find a weapon?”

  She answered that question with silence. I tried a new approach. “On PeerNotes, another alphabet user posted an announcement about Amber’s death with a Romeo and Juliet reference. That’s the play the drama department is doing.”