“We got the call on Tipton this morning. Neighbor found her. You asked Herrera to check on Dan Madsen and Principal Cleveland?” Her fingers drummed against her thigh. “You’re getting your nose right up in this business, aren’t you?”
“I have found this school reeks like a dried-up pond.”
Her brows drew together.
“Fishy,” I said.
“What else have you noticed?”
“Pringle, Dr. Vail, and Tinsley all had a relationship to Ellis Madsen one way or another. Cleveland and Cooke, too, if you consider their position in the school. I’m not so sure about Amber Tipton.”
“I still don’t see why anyone would wait this long to blame the faculty.”
“Do you really think Amber was killed in a robbery? Don’t you think it’s awful convenient that two school secretaries died within a week of each other?”
Wells flicked her sharp gaze over me, then walked away. “Call us if you hear anything more.”
“What about Principal Cleveland? Did you talk to him?”
As I spoke, Herrera strode from Cooke’s office. Cooke stepped out behind him, and before I could slip around the side of the copy room, she spied me. Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms and began tapping her Christian Dior pump.
Dammit, busted by the principal again. I was going to get kicked out of this school for good. Fortunately, we had the weekend. I’d spend it hunting off school property and out of her hair. Might as well start with the newest victim.
With Amber Tipton’s house covered in crime tape and her neighbors tired of speaking to cops, I learned nothing more than an unfortunate early morning break-in had cost Amber a brand new laptop, her grandmother’s jewelry, and her life. As Amber’s neighborhood featured year round Christmas lights, herds of stray cats, and old bath fixtures used for ashtrays, her neighbors seemed neither surprised nor alarmed by the burglary. The general consensus seemed a contempt toward Amber for having something worth murdering.
Most pointed their finger toward her no-account ex-boyfriend. Disgusted, I climbed back into the Datsun and called Luke to see if he had any more information. He didn’t, which discouraged me further.
“You need a new phone,” said Luke. “We could try sexting.”
“I’m put off by any electronic messaging at this point.” I watched Amber’s neighbor climb into his Mercury Tracer, flip me the finger, and drive off. “And friends don’t sext.”
“Are we back to that?” He sighed. “Sugar, you can’t let the town run our lives.”
“Your boss is now telling me to stay away from you.”
“Damn.” He fell silent for a moment. “You know this just makes me want you more.”
“I know.” I cut on the Datsun’s ignition, flipped on her lights, and revved her engine.
“Are you going to Red’s? It’s Friday night.”
“Everyone will be at Red’s. Sticks is playing. But I’m in no mood for a party.”
“How about a party for two?” At my long pause, he continued. “It’s not your fault Amber Tipton died, sugar. Burglaries do happen and that area of Line Creek keeps the patrol officers busy.”
“An odd coincidence if you ask me. Peerless is now out of secretaries. Makes me fear for Tara, who is subbing.”
Luke drew in his breath. While he dwelled on that horrible thought, I tore out of Amber’s beaten-down neighborhood and angled east toward Halo. Which meant leaving a fart-cloud of burnt oil while I gunned my pickup to a shimmying twenty-two miles per hour.
“Let the police handle Tipton’s homicide,” said Luke. “I’ll call in a possible link between Pringle and Tipton’s positions at school and these deaths. Don’t worry. Line Creek will put a lot of man-power into solving this crime. “
Which meant less man power on examining the suspicious texts at Peerless Day Academy.
Twenty-Four
My brother proved stealthier than a fox on a hen house run. With no rehearsals and a wait on leads, I spent another day of fruitless searching for Cody and his Malibu. I suspected he had driven his miserable self out of town. I had never been a group project kind of person, but this week my friends had taught me the value of their assistance. Now I realized I couldn’t handle Cody’s mess on my own either. It was time to spill the truth to Casey. Our family’s closeted skeletons had thrust Cody into Interventionland.
Red would be pleased. His favorite daytime episodes always featured a riotous intervention. Usually divulging some god-awful, white trash-styled family secret.
The Tucker kids would make for good ratings.
The drive to Max’s faux plantation spoke of all things autumnal in Georgia. Sunshine, accumulations of pine straw, and a crispness in the air due more to a lack of humidity than an actual chill. I barely acknowledged the beautiful weather with my mind on dead school secretaries, a brother gone commando, and a heart longing for forbidden step-Branson fruit.
Parking in front of the big house, I hopped the steps, and rang the bell. This time, Max answered. On crutches. He frowned at my truck peeing oil on his drive.
“Good to see you moving around,” I said. “I’m glad you’ve taken my advice and stopped moping in your bedroom.”
“I do not mope. And I am mobile of my own accord. Not because of your badgering.”
“You just keep telling yourself that.” I held the door to his study, waited until he had lowered himself into his desk chair, then paced toward his kitchen.
Casey sat on a bar stool at the granite island, leafing through a tabloid with a cup of coffee and a smile.
“Where’s the hubby?” I strode past her to the coffee maker. “Can’t this thing make a latte? I could go for a latte.”
Casey sat up and narrowed her eyes. “Have you heard from Shawna Branson lately?”
“No.” I set my empty coffee cup on the counter. “Why?”
“Her mother’s house was broken into yesterday. But nothing was missing. Except a family photo.”
“Damn. That’s in Line Creek. That might have been Cody.”
“Cody? He was sore pissed at Shawna for her treatment of you, but I don’t understand why he’d break into Delia Branson’s house. I thought it might have been you.”
“About that.” I abandoned the coffee and leaned against the counter across from Casey. “I haven’t wanted to bother you in your newly wedded state. But Cody had snapshots of Shawna’s daddy with Momma. I found them. Cody had somehow stolen them from Shawna and that’s what started the feud.”
“What in the hell,” said Casey. “How dare you keep this from me. I have a right to know what’s going on.”
“Something has messed with Cody’s head. He’s acting like a total ass. Won’t talk to me about how he got the pictures or why he’s holding on to them. Now he’s hiding from me.”
“What do you think the photos mean?”
“They don’t mean anything.” I studied my nails. “Who knows when they were taken? Could have been after Daddy died and Momma moved back here. I figure with Billy Branson’s reputation, he and Momma got involved. Probably why she was shunned by the town, although no one will come out and lay blame on a Branson.”
Casey shoved her coffee away.
“Figures. The Bransons could get away with sneaking around, but we Tuckers sure can’t. And it explains why Grandpa and Uncle Will won’t talk about it. They’re ashamed, too. So you think that’s why she took off?”
“I think that’s what Cody’s wondering. Particularly since Billy Branson left around the same time. And Cody wasn’t born here.”
“Hell,” said Casey. “That’s some real messed up shit. Poor Cody. But why’s he blaming the Bransons for this? Grandpa and Grandma Jo should have told us the truth.”
“Told us what? That Cody might be a Branson? I’ll tell you wha
t that would have done. Cody would be seen as some bastard kid to a stuck-up family who wouldn’t acknowledge him.” My eyes smarted. I bit my cheek rather than admit any tears. “All that crap we took in school about Momma? A hundred times worse if they thought Momma stole Shawna’s daddy and shipped their baby back to the farm.”
“Or what if the Bransons took Cody in?” asked Casey.
“Or what if they had refused? You think Shawna’s snotty mother would have raised her husband’s bastard? Or would JB Branson have raised Cody alongside his own demon spawn, Dustin? Don’t forget JB was wild then, too. That was before he married Luke’s mother.”
Casey laid her head on the cool granite. “I hate the Bransons.”
“This was not all their fault,” I reminded her. “Grandpa and Uncle Will kept their mouths shut to save us from looking more trashy than our mother already made us. I say they did us a favor.”
Casey poked her chin up. “What are we going to do?”
“About Cody? We need to find him. Todd and I have been looking every night, and I searched all day. I think seeing those photos has unscrewed Cody’s head clean off.”
“Maybe Cody’s right. We have never perpetrated ugliness toward the Bransons, yet they have rubbed our Momma’s disgrace in our face for years. And here it may be the fault of Billy Branson.”
“Takes two to tango.” I swallowed my bitterness wishing it were sweetened coffee instead.
Casey sucked in her breath. “What if our Momma is like you and can’t see the clear light of day through her heart-shaped, rose-colored glasses? You’re constantly falling in love with the wrong men. Maybe Billy seduced her and forced her to give up baby Cody. Maybe Billy’s got Momma holed up in some sex slave organization.”
“That makes no sense, Casey. Billy Branson is probably running a golf course in Texas. And our mother is probably married to some Bubba in Missouri and too humiliated to show her face here.”
I shoved away from the counter. “You read too many tabloids. And I can see just fine. I’m sorry about all this. Let me know if you find Cody.”
I left Casey, wishing I had kept my mouth shut, and trailed back toward Max’s study. I knocked and entered, dragging my feet to plop into a chair before his desk.
He looked up from his computer and raised his brows along with the little scar. “This mood does not suit you.”
I crossed a leg to play with the threads hanging around the ankle of my jeans. “Did your hometown ever have historic family vendettas?”
“Like the Hatfield McCoy?” he said. “Of course. We have much longer history than United States. Long histories always have the family feuds. But in my country, the feud is often political. Result is arrest or assassination.”
“Well, I guess it could always be worse,” I said. “Although I fear my brother has gone commando in a vendetta against the Bransons. Which could lead to his arrest. Idiot.”
Max steepled his hands beneath his chin. “I can send Nik to find him. The Slavic people are very good hunters.”
I chewed my lip. “Seeing as Nik’s family, I guess that’d be all right. Don’t want to get outsiders mixed up in this.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
I gave him a sharp glance, not liking his innuendo. “This isn’t just for me, now. If you’re going to invest in Nik’s limo company, you don’t want his name sullied with Cody’s poor judgement.”
“Of course, Artist. I wouldn’t want to help you unless it concerned me.”
“Exactly what I thought.” I nodded, figuring sarcasm didn’t translate.
“By the way, I have looked at the Peerless finances. There are some discrepancies in their accounting. Have you heard about this at the school?”
“There’s been rumors that Tinsley is misusing theater funds.” I slid forward. “What kind of discrepancies?”
“My accountant pointed out some irregularities in the bookkeeping I sent to him. Of course, these are the reports I took from Miss Pringle’s email. I can not bring this forward to anyone officially.”
“Wouldn’t want to do anything above board.”
“It is not attractive when you make that face, Artist.”
I rearranged my expression into a smile. “You could send those financial reports to the Line Creek police anonymously.”
“They would trace them to me and wonder how I obtained them. Besides, you said they have Pringle’s computer. They have access to the same information.”
“But I bet they didn’t look at the reports.”
“That’s their problem.”
“You and your distrust of authority.” I sighed. “Bear, it’s everybody’s problem if we can’t find the Phantom.”
“Not really, Artist.” Max hoisted his leg onto an open desk drawer and eased back in his chair. “If the Phantom seeks to discredit the school, any financial issues should come to light.”
“I don’t think the Phantom wants to discredit the school. The other school secretary was killed. In a home invasion.”
“You are suspicious of this robbery. You believe the Phantom murdered this secretary?”
“Maybe Amber knew something.” I slapped my thigh. “But what would Amber Tipton know that would put her in danger? She wasn’t like the other Peerless folks. She was more removed from Ellis Madsen’s death than anyone else.”
“However, the secretaries hear many things. People talk around them without thinking.”
“True. Amber probably heard all kinds of stuff about teachers and students. And parents.”
Max leaned forward. “Please be careful. Don’t trust anyone.”
“At least the police are investigating Amber’s murder,” I said. “That leaves the other teachers who were texted and Maranda Pringle’s suicide for me. And I’m having a real hard time believing she killed herself.”
Twenty-Five
After a tense Sunday dinner at the farm featuring Cody’s noticeably empty chair, I called Luke to update him on my progress. Dan Madsen still wouldn’t answer my calls, but I fixed on trapping him at Maranda’s funeral. Cleveland remained elusive. Dr. Vail had left town for the weekend. However, I had arranged to meet Coach Newcomb and Maranda’s friend, Olivia, at Little Verona’s that night.
“That’s considered an accomplishment,” Luke whispered. We had snuck from our respective dinner tables to our respective bathrooms to talk. “You’ve managed to track down two witnesses.”
“If that’s progress, I never want to be a cop,” I murmured.
“Glad to hear it. You have no patience for this business. And you’re too reckless.” He stifled a laugh at my protest. “Speaking of reckless, I know sexting is out of the question. But considering our locations, how about some good ol’ fashioned phone sex—”
I smacked the flusher and held the phone over the toilet. “You’re breaking up,” I called. “Gotta go.”
Little Verona’s, located in another Line Creek strip mall, was one of the few restaurants in Forks County that didn’t feature barbecue or fried chicken on their menu.
With tasty Italian food and an extensive wine list, Little Verona’s served appetites for the Atlanta-commuting carpetbaggers who missed their northern cuisine. And for us locals who sometimes wished for Alfredo sauce on our basic mac and cheese.
In the dim bar, I set aside memories of Little Verona dates-with-Todd-gone-by and searched for Coach Andy Newcomb. Tall wooden booths separated the bar from the rest of the restaurant. Crimson and gold wallpaper, potted palms, and an old-fashioned brass bar gave the room a warm, cozy feeling. I spotted a sun weathered, lean guy in a windbreaker and coach’s pants sitting at the bar. A beer and a bowl of soup sat before him, but he focused on the football game appearing on a small flatscreen hung above the old-timey, brass cash register.
A wooden bar stool separa
ted Coach Newcomb from Deputy Luke Harper. I chewed my lip, not realizing I had also invited Luke to Little Verona’s. He wore boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt and also had a beer and bowl of soup. Before the empty stool sat a third bowl of soup. And a breadbasket rested between our soup bowls.
I scrambled to the bar quicker than Goldilocks upon spying that third bowl of porridge.
Luke hopped from his stool at my approach. He grinned at the denim miniskirt I had studded with pumpkin buttons and paired with a fuzzy orange sweater decorated for autumn. I found velcro an easy way to attach the die-cut felt leaves to fuzz.
“Very festive,” he murmured, skimming a long look over my bare legs shod in worn, brown boots. While helping me shimmy off my denim jacket, two ochre leaves caught and fluttered to the floor.
“Thank you.” I gave Luke a quick smile and then inhaled a deep breath over the bowl of minestrone. The savory blend of tomato, oregano, and basil shocked my stomach into roaring its thanks. Causing the hostess to hurry around the corner and search the bar for the stray wood chipper.
“I appreciate the dinner,” I murmured, tipping my head toward his. “But this isn’t a date. I’m here to get the skinny on Maranda Pringle.”
His hand slid down my back, tapping down a stray leaf before flying off. “I’m not interfering. Just here to enjoy the scenery. Although, I’m hoping to get a bowl of something else later.”
I actually blushed. Clearing my throat, I hopped onto the bar stool and introduced myself to Coach Newcomb. “Hope your golf tournament went well.”
“We’ve got a couple talented girls.” He swallowed the remnants of his beer. “I don’t really understand why you wanted to meet me.”
“I heard you knew Maranda Pringle pretty well. I’m really sorry about her death. Amber Tipton’s, too.”
DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE Page 20