DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE

by Larissa Reinhart

  “Yep, a real shame.”

  “Can you tell me about Maranda?”

  “Nope.” Newcomb stared into his empty soup bowl. “You heard wrong. I met Maranda here a few times after work, but as athletic director, I’m pretty busy in the evenings. We had a couple of drinks together. That’s about it.”

  “She and some of the other faculty members were sent insinuating text messages. Have you gotten any?”

  He shrugged. “I get so many messages from parents, I don’t really pay attention. They’re always ready to fire me for something.”

  “Do you know anything about Maranda’s messages?”

  He shook his head, circled a hunk of breadstick in the soup residue, and shoved it into his mouth.

  I felt my blood pressure tick upwards with each of his blasé non-answers. Newcomb dated a woman who was now dead. How could he be so insensitive?

  “How did you feel when Cleveland accused you of stepping out with Maranda on him?” It was a long shot but worth it to see the closed-mouth coach almost choke on his breadstick. “Was she going to cost you your job? Or did she blow you off just like she did Cleveland? I bet that pissed you off.”

  I felt Luke’s hand graze my arm. I shook it off.

  Coach Newcomb swung his gaze off his soup bowl to face me. “What do you know about it?”

  “I know your school has suffered an odd amount of death in the past year. And this woman you supposedly didn’t know? Your boss harassed her about seeing you.”

  He pointed a finger in my face. “You don’t know anything. I’m under a lot of pressure. Our great leader Cleveland kisses the parents’ asses while chewing out mine. He was looney for Maranda, but he’s also looney for trophies and anything else he could use to impress the parents.”

  I swiped the finger away. “You don’t bring home trophies? The theater program does.”

  “The Lacrosse team is young. We’ve got some good golfers and tennis players, but Cleveland and the parents want big team sports. Those programs take a long time to build.”

  “You can’t explain that to the parents and Cleveland?”

  “They don’t want to hear it.” He pulled out his wallet, threw a twenty on the bar, and slid off his stool. “Look, I met Maranda here a couple times. She was a sexy, gorgeous woman and smart. No idea why she wanted to work at Peerless. But we weren’t dating.”

  He began walking away, then stopped. “Killing herself? A real waste.”

  I watched him leave, then turned to Luke.

  He leaned against the bar, eyes on the retreating coach. “I don’t like that guy.”

  “You don’t like most people,” I said. “But I didn’t like him either. Not a very winning attitude.”

  “Nope.”

  “I got angry.”

  “It worked. You provoked him into telling you something about Cleveland.” Luke clasped my shoulder. “Doing good, Watson. Let’s see what this Olivia says. Wonder what she thinks about Coach Newcomb.”

  “I hope she’s friendlier.” I flagged the bartender to snag Olivia for me, bent over my bowl, and shoveled in the cooling soup. “Delicious.”

  Luke leaned an elbow on the bar. “You’re very determined to catch this phantom.”

  “I am.” I pushed away my bowl and faced him. “At first, I felt sorry for Tinsley. The idea of a faceless bully just ticked me off. Now I think there’s some deeper level of malice going on at Peerless. Two deaths in a week? I don’t really understand the Peerless kids and parents, but I’ll be damned if I let this sonofabitch get away with ruining their school.”

  “You shouldn’t let it bother you so much.” Luke toyed with his spoon. “You get so wrapped up in helping other people that you forget to worry about yourself.”

  I laid my hand over his. “Is that why you would get so steamed with me?”

  Luke dropped the spoon and slipped his hand in mine. He remained quiet for a beat while he studied our hands, stroking his thumb over my wrist. Looking up, he unnerved me with the intensity of his cool gray gaze. “Every time you charge into a dangerous situation, I worry I’m going to lose you. And dammit, you do it too often.”

  “I can’t help it, Luke. Some things are worth fighting for.”

  “I just wish you’d rely on me to do more of your fighting.”

  “I don’t like to rely on people.”

  “You say that, but you do call on your crew. How many times has Todd McIntosh accompanied you on these escapades? Hell, you’ve even asked Max Avtaikin for help. And they all encourage you. That’s what I don’t get. If they love you, they should want to keep you safe.”

  Sirens rang in my head at the “L” word. I slipped my hands from his and gripped my stomach. The minestrone soup had somehow developed claws and battled with my innards for ownership.

  “They care about me.” My voice sounded hoarse. “They just know me well enough to let me go my own way.”

  “I know you better.” Luke’s eyes darkened from pewter to charcoal. “Enough to know that you won’t stop, even if it means putting yourself on the line. That’s why you scare the shit out of me.”

  “I’ve got to use the facilities.” I slipped from my stool, clutching my stomach, and hurried out of the bar. What if he used the L word again and I upchucked all over his snug-fitting jeans? I didn’t think I could bear that humiliation. If someone pukes after you tell them the L word, it’s most likely a deal breaker.

  What in the hell was wrong with me? Why would the L word make me want to vomit? I needed another session with Red.

  As I passed through the dining room, I heard a recognizable giggle followed by an all-too familiar snort. I dropped my hand from my belly clutch and spun toward the wooden booths lining the far wall. Tara spotted me and began bouncing in her seat and waving. Her dinner companion, the all-too familiar snorter, did not bounce nor wave.

  At the sight of me, Shawna Branson straightened from her slouch, causing the snakeskin print of her dress to ripple, then stretch across her curves, like a python sensing her next meal. She tossed her long, red locks over one shoulder and commenced to give me the stink eye. Her combination of snarl and scowl caused my seized innards to shift toward a different kind of bellyache. But an ache in which my stomach had become accustomed. It accompanied a gritting of the teeth and a curling of the fist.

  Shawna was my shot of medicinal whiskey. God bless her.

  I stalked to their booth. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Shawna. Although I know you’ve been active on social media lately.”

  Her blue-green eyes glittered. “I’ve been feeling a bit puny since the Halloween party, so I’ve stayed home. Just a little cold. I guess you saw the adorable photos I posted of Tara and Luke.”

  Tara’s face fell at the mention.

  I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep from slugging Shawna. “Tara, how did y’all end up at Little Verona’s tonight?” Maybe she had hidden some sort of GPS tracking device on Luke’s truck.

  “Sunday night is minestrone night,” said Tara. “Unlimited soup and breadsticks. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  Part of me wanted to announce to Shawna that I was with her step-cousin in the bar, but the nicer part of me didn’t want to make Tara feel bad. The nice part won out. “Sure, minestrone.”

  Tara was making me soft.

  “Where are you sitting?” asked Tara. “Why don’t you join us? Did you already eat?”

  I hesitated long enough to watch Shawna’s lip curl. “Thanks, but I already ate in the bar and was just heading to the ladies. Nice of you to ask, though. If only I had known y’all were here, I would have sat with you.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew how to sit on anything but a bar stool, Cherry,” said Shawna.

  “Better a bar stool than a lap, I guess,” I said.

>   “Too bad your momma didn’t learn that lesson.” Shawna arched a well plucked brow.

  I took a deep breath and counted to ten.

  “Didn’t your sister marry some immigrant? How’s that working out? Is she still supporting him by waiting tables, bless her heart?” Shawna scooted forward to fake a whisper to Tara. “He needed a green card.”

  Tara looked from Shawna to me. “Did y’all have a wedding this summer? I must have missed hearing about that. Where’d she get married?”

  “They eloped,” I muttered. “Panama City beach.”

  “And you and Todd McIntosh married in Vegas. Y’all have something against church weddings?” Shawna hooted. “And isn’t your Grandpa shacking up with some goat farmer?”

  “Grandpa and Pearl are just good friends.”

  If only my eyes were laser beams. Shawna’s head would have exploded by now.

  “You and Todd were married?” Tara’s eyes had doubled in size. She looked like an anime character.

  “That’s old news,” said Shawna. “Todd McIntosh dumped her the next day. One of those ‘whatever happens in Vegas’ deals.”

  “I was not dumped. We annulled the marriage before the honeymoon began. Shawna wouldn’t know the truth if it bit her in the ass.” I slapped my mouth, hating to upset Tara more than she already was. “I mean, her butt. Hiney. Derriere.”

  Judging by Shawna’s triumphant smile, the only ass was the one just speaking.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “gotta go. I need to speak to a server.”

  “About time you got a real job.” Shawna waved the empty bread basket. “You want to give us a refill while you fill out the application? I promise to tip real well.”

  “I’d like to give you a couple tips,” I said. “The first has to do with snakeskin prints. When you swallow your prey whole, a dress that tight will show it.”

  My touch for cheap shots seemed to have gone south. This issue with my mother and Shawna’s father made me self-conscious. Or maybe it was Tara’s influence. I did not enjoy self-awareness. The uninhibited life was much more fun.

  Before Shawna could remark on my pumpkin attire on the way back from the bathroom, I scooted back to the bar. Our bowls had been cleared, and Luke chatted with a waitress with a love for liquid eyeliner and hair wax. Her dark hair stuck out in all directions in rigid waves and swoops. Piercings studded her entire ear, eyebrow, and nose, and tattoos peeked from the edges of her shirt sleeves and collar. I hurried to introduce myself to Olivia.

  “I am so sorry about Maranda,” I told her. “I don’t like what’s going on at the school. The faculty who received texts don’t want to share the details. I can’t even get a good answer on the kind of text sent to Maranda that would have caused her to do something so horrific.”

  “Thanks.” Olivia’s bright eyes dimmed for a moment. “I was just telling Luke here that Mandy received a couple texts. Just some bullshit about her sleeping around. I find it real hard to believe that Mandy would kill herself over that. I told the cops the same thing.”

  I glanced at Luke, but he wore his no-tell cop face.

  “Why do you think she killed herself?” I asked Olivia.

  She leaned against the bar, cupping a glass of soda. “I just can’t believe she’d do it at all. Mandy was tough. We grew up in foster care together. She was smart, too. Really good with numbers. She could have done something more, but never pushed herself. The school paid pretty well, had good benefits, and easy hours. It was enough, she said.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, hon’,” I hesitated, “but did she, you know, get around? With men? She had a reputation.”

  Olivia shrugged. “Sure. But it wasn’t a big deal to her and she never cared about reputation. It was just sex. You know how it is. You don’t necessarily want to deal with some dude day after day. Most guys turn out to be assholes anyway.”

  I caught Luke’s quick flinch from the corner of my eye, but refocused on Olivia. “But Rick Cleveland wanted more.”

  “That was real stupid on Mandy’s part, but yeah. Rick would come to Little Verona’s often enough, knowing she’d be here. Mandy got drunk one night. He finally got to take her home, but she kicked him out after she sobered up. Regretted it later.”

  “What about Coach Newcomb?”

  “Newcomb didn’t want anything from her other than sex. Mandy could handle the one-night stand much better than something long term.”

  Luke leaned forward. “If you don’t think she committed suicide, what happened? They found a note.”

  “I don’t know,” said Olivia. “Hell, how do we even know it’s a suicide note? It’s not like she signed it or anything.”

  A very good point, I thought.

  “Did anyone have a reason to push Maranda to suicide? The chorus teacher found her crying after a particular text about sleeping with a student’s father. I thought maybe it pushed her over the edge.”

  “You think somebody made her want to kill herself? I hadn’t thought about that. She started getting texts about two weeks before she died.” Olivia twisted the glass back and forth, creating a pattern of water rings on the bar. “Rick Cleveland was so obnoxious. Still is. I could see him wanting her to feel bad about being with other guys, but I don’t think he’d want her to die. He just, you know, wanted her. Mandy could make men come unglued. Probably because she wasn’t that interested in them.”

  “Thanks, Olivia.” I patted her arm. “I am real sorry about your friend. I hope if we figure out who’s sending these anonymous texts, maybe we’ll know what happened with Maranda.”

  “Yeah.” Olivia’s face fell, “but it doesn’t do much for Mandy now, does it? She had a shitty life growing up and it sucks how badly it ended for her.”

  “Don’t give up.” A golf ball had lodged in my throat and I struggled to clear it out without tearing up. “Olivia, you need to find somebody to talk to.”

  “I’ve been hearing that all my life.” Olivia gave me a half-hearted smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve been through worse.”

  That did not make me feel better. In fact, I felt more determined than ever to root out the phantom poisoning the wireless waves with their evil little texts.

  Twenty-Six

  Olivia returned to her station and I ordered a fresh beer. “So Coach Newcomb was just another guy using Maranda Pringle,” I said to Luke. “Principal Cleveland had obsession issues and Maranda was messed up. But maybe not the type to commit suicide. What do you think?”

  “I think you should let Line Creek police focus on Maranda Pringle’s suicide and you should focus on the other teachers who also got anonymous texts.” Luke sounded grim. “Remember, that’s what Tinsley hired you for. To find the texter, not the motive for a suicide. Don’t let your feelings about Maranda take you down the wrong rabbit trail.”

  I sucked my beer and pondered his opinion. “Maybe you’re right. I just feel so sorry for Maranda.”

  Luke rubbed my shoulder. “I know you do. What took you so long getting back from the restroom? Are you okay?”

  “I ran into Tara and your cousin, Shawna. They’re eating minestrone in the dining room.”

  Luke tipped his stool in his scramble off. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Shit, how the hell did Tara know to come here?”

  “Maybe you need to swap vehicles for something less obviously you.” I hopped from my stool. “Listen, Shawna’s still encouraging Tara to be with you. You need to go in there and tell Shawna to quit. It’s making Tara feel even worse.”

  He froze, one hand reaching for his wallet, the other held up in protest.

  “You want to prove something to me?” I crossed my arms over my orange fuzz. “This is how you do it.”

  He pursed his lips, then relaxed them. Tossing some bills on the bar, he strode into the restaurant.r />
  Luke was putting me before his cousin. I sucked in a deep breath. A Tucker before a Branson. Somewhere a pig had grown wings. Or had been shot out of a cannon.

  I followed at a safe distance, peering around the corner of the bar. His long legs made a quick crossing of the crowded restaurant. Stopping in front of their booth, he nodded to each woman, exchanged some quick pleasantries, then jerked his thumb toward the hall leading to the bathrooms and kitchen. Shawna rose, smoothing her python dress with practiced grace, and snagged his arm before he could march away. They strolled to the small hallway while Tara watched, her eyes dappled with curiosity and heartache.

  I longed to console Tara, but felt it inappropriate considering the circumstances. After all, hadn’t I stolen the Luke prize from Tara? My stomach cramped and I felt the result of my recent beer bubbling into heartburn.

  Crap, I didn’t reckon this well enough. Was I asking Luke to act the knight for me or for Tara? Someone needed to stop Shawna from nudging Tara toward Luke, for both their sakes. But what if Luke tells Shawna he wants to see me? After all our sneaking around, she would whip off my Miss Understood Snuggie and brand my backside with a hot iron A.

  And don’t tell me that A won’t sizzle scarlet for a good long while.

  I sprinted through the tables, bumping into chairs and sloshing soups. In the entrance to the hall, I stumble-halted my mad dash, yanked Shawna’s hand off Luke’s arm, and whipped around to face him. Thereby shoving Shawna into a potted palm.

  By accident, of course.

  Not that her holler would make anyone think so.

  “What are you doing?” Luke leapt toward Shawna to help her out of the palm. “Are you nuts?”

  “I’ve known you to be jealous, Cherry, but making another public spectacle?” Shawna’s voice rose, causing the diners at neighboring tables to stop slurping their minestrone to watch. She grasped Luke’s hand and leaned against him for support. “I think you broke my heel.”

  I grabbed Luke’s free elbow, yanking him toward me. “Forget what I said. I don’t want Shawna to know anything about me.”