His body sagged, and Tinsley caught the edge of a prop table. “I was sure we would win the Tiny Tony for Evita. When Ellis died, I panicked. There might’ve been distribution of pecuniary funds used to sway the judges in a sympathetic light toward our cause.”
“You tried to pay off the judges to win the Tiny Tony?”
Tinsley’s goatee quivered. “The accusation stands. I felt desperate. There’s a rivalry between theater departments and I had boasted on my blog and couldn’t deliver.”
“Of all the...” I stopped, thinking. “Did you happen to use school funds for this?”
Tinsley gripped the folding table, making it rattle. “I bring in school funds with my trophies. I add monetary value to this school. Besides, after Ellis’s death, Peerless Day Academy needed the morale boost that a Tiny Tony could provide. We would win for the sake of Ellis.”
“Through cheating and embezzlement,” I said. “Not a fair tribute to Ellis. Is this what Vail suspected? Is this why she hounded you?”
“The Phantom’s curse has come to fruition,” cried Tinsley. The prop table shook. The near side folding legs slipped and buckled, spilling props onto the floor. Tinsley’s hands flew from the table, nabbed the cape from my arms, and fled toward the exit.
“Crap,” I said, leaving the table, and darted after Tinsley. “That idiot is going to get himself killed.”
Thirty
In the drama vestibule, I found Laurence hovering in the doorway to Tinsley’s office. “Did Mr. Tinsley come through here?” I asked.
“I know I was supposed to lock the office, but I really was looking for the Aristophanes’ plays,” said Laurence, sheepishly. “I heard someone slam a door, though.”
“Which door? This school is nothing but doors and hallways.” I stared at the line of drama doors and wished I had paid better attention when Casey and Grandma Jo had tuned into The Price Is Right. “Listen, Mr. Tinsley’s not well. Can you go watch his class for him? I think they’re studying Hamlet.”
Laurence beamed and scrambled toward the stage entrance. I had just committed a class of freshmen to thirty minutes of tedious lecturing. By a sixteen-year-old.
Choosing the closest door, I poked my head into the long hall that ran behind the stage. No Tinsley. However, he knew the maze of Peerless and I didn’t. He could have slipped into a bathroom, the theater, or a props room to hide his shame and fear. And I still had his keys.
I walked the hall, trying locked doors. After calling into the men’s room and scaring a freshman boy, I found the auditorium door unlocked. On the stage, Laurence lectured the ninth graders on some indiscernible thematic point. Behind them, our turquoise blue backdrop screen had been lowered to puddle on the ground. I forced my attention back on the dark theater where Tinsley might hide and watch his students on his beloved stage.
My heart hurt from the shock of his admitted sin, but also in fear. Tinsley may want the Tiny Tony at any cost, but he was no murderer. The Phantom’s moving finger had pointed out the faculty’s indiscretions, but that malevolent accuser was the real culprit. If the Phantom was the murderer.
Tinsley really needed a sub today.
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the headache rear again. The theater appeared empty. I let my eyes trail over the shadowed seats while walking up the aisle and calling for Tinsley in the most reassuring voice I could muster. Reaching the top of the slope, I peered through the window of the sound and light booth and then pushed on the doors to the theater lobby. They swung open.
No one trolled the windowed hallway, so I tried the balcony doors. The far right door still had gum shoved in the strike plate and jerked open at my pull. I glanced around the dark balcony. No Tinsley. But I did shoo out two students caught neckin’.
Frustration rose within me as I jogged down the hallway toward the office, the last place I wanted to show my face. I glanced in the windows as I passed, catching glimpses of students vying for academic brilliance. In Scott Fisher’s class, the students wore lab coats and fiddled with test tubes and beakers. In the drawing studio, Dr. Vail’s students stood in a corner of the room, holding hands and hugging in consolation at their loss.
My heart twinged, and I amped my jog to a run. I tried the rear door to the office, near the copier room. Edging past Cooke’s closed door, I stopped in the back of the open admin area. Tara still manned Amber’s desk. Today she continued her preppy line in a brilliant pink oxford and paisley pink and viridian green skirt. Aware of my tank and jeans, I pulled the orange and grape flannel around me, then dropped my hands. Now was not the time to worry about fashion.
At my entrance, Tara’s Luke-related sensor went off and she swiveled in her chair to face me. The look on her face shot a sizzle of fear through me. I had never seen Tara peeved. Her eyes narrowed into electric blue fire. Her perfectly coifed blonde ponytail seemed to thicken, like a cat rearing its back, ready to hiss.
The gaggle of office girls sensed trouble and took off to hide in the copy room. At the front counter, Pamela twisted in her seat. Her plumped lip smirked, sensing the upcoming battle.
“What are you doing here?” Tara spat. “Assistant Principal Cooke said you were only allowed in the school during extra-curricular hours.”
“I had an emergency.” I wondered if she could smell Luke on me at that distance. Maybe Tara had bloodhound in her DNA. “I’m looking for Tinsley. Did he come into the office?”
“He’s speaking with Ms. Cooke.” Tara raised her chin to better look down her nose at me.
I knew that look. She must have learned it from Shawna.
“I felt sorry for you Tuckers,” Tara said without a hint of sorriness in her tone. “But the rumors about you seem to be true.”
“I did not mean to push Shawna into a palm.”
“You told me Luke was dirt. You have been trying to make me forget about him. And now I know why.”
I looked to the ceiling for help. No hand of God reached through the roof to save me. All I saw was a half-burnt fluorescent bulb and some high-grade ceiling tile. Served my wanton-self right, I supposed.
With a heaved sigh, I drew my eyes back to Tara. “I’m sorry. I never meant for anything to happen. I just wanted his help on this case. I’ve been trying to get over him, too. But right now, I really need to find Tinsley.”
“But what really boils my buttons,” said Tara, ignoring my lame apology, “is what y’all are doing to the Bransons. Shawna is my true friend. She knew all along the game you were playing, while I tried very hard to look toward the positive in your nature.”
This time I turned to the floor and the fine, high-tread carpet beneath my boots. I welcomed hell’s fury in exchange for Tara’s scorn. But no hole opened for me to jump into. I had disappointed the sweetest girl in the world. Who had drank from the pool of gray-eyes-and-dimples and received a dose of crazy for her trouble.
Been there. Done that. Lost my t-shirt.
My stomach hurt and my head hurt and I didn’t want to let down Tara now that she was on a denunciatory roll, but it was time for bygones and the taking of Tinsley and his cape to the Line Creek police. “Tara, I am really sorry. Let’s talk about this another time.”
But Tara, who managed sharp words only once a year, could not stop. “And what your brother did just proves what a shameless family you really are.”
“Hang on now.” I marched to her desk, holding up my hand to stop her tide of accusations. “What did my brother do?”
“This morning? Shoved Shawna into his car at the Tru-Buy and took off with her? Everybody’s talking about it. What kind of people are y’all? Some kind of sex maniacs?”
“Holy crap, of all the idiots.” I spun on my boot heels, running toward Cooke’s office. Without knocking, I flung the door open. Tinsley turned in his chair to gape at me. His blotchy face and spotted glasses gave evide
nce of his despair.
“I need Tinsley. Now,” I hollered. “Or at least his cape.”
Placing her hands on her desk, Cooke shoved out of her chair and pointed at the empty seat next to Tinsley. Her scarf fluttered and then fell back into position onto the lapels of her hand tailored, blue suit.
“You will sit.”
“I can’t sit. My brother’s kidnapped Shawna Branson and Tinsley’s cape is criminal evidence,” I babbled. “Give me the cape and I’m running to the station with it.”
Cooke’s eyes widened. “Criminal evidence in what?”
“Dr. Vail’s murder.”
“You come with me young lady. And you,” she pointed at Tinsley, “you stay right where you are.”
I decided nabbing the cape and running was a better idea. But I hadn’t counted on Cooke’s quick hand. As I snagged the cape off Tinsley’s lap, Cooke grasped my wrist in a tight fisted grip. My hand opened and the cape fell back in his lap.
“You,” she announced, “are a trouble maker.”
I nodded. “But not as much as my brother, so let’s do this another time. I need to go. Tara’s already bawled me out. I’ll just carry that over to whatever you have to say.”
“Oh, you’re going to listen,” said Cooke, dropping my wrist. “Did you know about Mr. Tinsley using school funds for bribing judges? There’s money missing from our accounts.”
“Theater funds,” sobbed Tinsley. “I have not dipped into other reserves. Honestly.”
“It was good you came clean, Mr. Tinsley. You’ll feel better for it.” I patted his shoulder and nodded at Cooke. “He finally told me. I knew he had done something. But he’s harmless. Just caught up in Tiny Tony fever.”
“You need to tell me what you know. Come with me.” She snagged her phone off the desk, pushed a bottle of water toward Tinsley, and pointed me toward the door. “Leave the cape. Tinsley can take it to the police himself.”
Tinsley moaned, burying his face in his hands. “Just as the Phantom predicted. I am doomed.”
“You’re not doomed,” I whispered. “Just tell the truth without the drama. The police don’t like theater. Your crime is white collar. Just make sure they get the cape so they can catch the true villain.”
With her phone in hand, Cooke grabbed her Louis Vuitton purse and a long, navy trench coat from a hook on the back of the door.
“Wait,” I said. “Where are we going?”
“After we talk, I need to do school business,” she said. “Let’s make this quick.”
“You shouldn’t leave the school. I’m worried Preston King is going to do something terrible. I need to talk to Detective Herrera.”
“I won’t be gone long and we’re on lockdown. Don’t worry about Preston.” She turned toward Mr. Tinsley. “I want you to think carefully about what we discussed. Your classes will be covered. I’ve already shifted the subs.”
Cooke nodded to me to exit the room and pulled the door shut behind us. Slinging her leather purse over one shoulder, she folded the Burberry coat over her arm, then called behind her. “Tara, I’m running to the bank in a bit. No visitors unless they’re a parent picking up a child. And if a parent calls, all after-school activities have been canceled for Miss Pringle’s funeral.”
I slunk before Cooke, scuffing my boots along the carpet. “Ma’am, I promise I’ll come back to school later and you can ream me out then. My brother needs my help. And I’ve a concussion. I really need to leave. My head is killing me.”
“Is your brother an adult?” Her clipped tone could hammer nails.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then he’s sufficient to help himself. But let’s stop in the nurse’s office and see what we can do for your headache.”
Before I could protest, she pushed open the door of a room across the hall. I heard her speaking to the nurse and she returned with a handful of pills and a bottle of water.
“These are for children so I doubled the amount.” She poured a handful of tiny A-shaped pills into my palm.
I popped the little pills in my mouth and slugged the water.
“Give them a few minutes to take effect,” she said. “Come with me.”
She led me through the back door and into the passage running behind the office. Stopping before a closed, windowless door, she flipped through her large ring of keys. “Did you know I’ve been at Peerless since it opened twenty-five years ago?”
“No,” I said, rubbing my neck. “Twenty-five years ago I was still in Missouri, wearing diapers. I don’t know much about Peerless.”
“I began as a counselor. Devoted my life to this school and its students for little reward other than knowing they are getting the best education I can provide. When I see potential, I guide the child toward honing their talent. I’ve produced scientists, executives, film stars, professional singers and dancers. And artists.”
“I admire anyone who goes into teaching. Lord knows you don’t do it for the pay.” I bounced on my toes while she hunted for the key. “I am kind of expected at the Line Creek Police Department.”
“You strike me as the type of student who didn’t care for rules,” she said. “I’ve known a lot of students in my time. I can judge them fairly quickly. Faculty, too. Although Tinsley surprised me.”
“Surprised me, too,” I said. “But I knew he was covering up something. Listen, what do you want to know? I’m in a rush.”
“Everything you know about Tinsley. This will only take a moment.” She held the key aloft, eyed the serial number, then unlocked the door. “I do not like my students agitated and since you have arrived, my school has been in an uproar. You have not followed my rules. I think you owe this explanation to me and to yourself.”
“Myself?” I squinted. “I owe myself more than a talking-to. I’ve got a concussion. And I missed breakfast. I owe myself a trip to the Waffle House and a rest. But I’m not going to get it because there are people depending on me.”
“There are people depending on me, too, Miss Tucker.” Cooke’s eyes blazed with condemnation. “Do you see anyone else working as hard as I do to protect these students?”
“No, ma’am.” The hair rose on the back of my neck and my goose-egg thrummed.
“I have run this ship as second-in-command, for twenty years. I hired Cleveland. And Maranda Pringle. And Vail, Tinsley, and every other teacher in this building. I keep Peerless running smoothly. And I mean to continue to do so.”
“Of course, ma’am,” I said, wishing I had turned myself into the police like a normal person should.
Thirty-One
“This room isn’t in use.” Cooke pushed wide the door. “Tinsley needs my office, and I don’t want students overhearing us. I thought we could talk in here. I need to know more about what Tinsley’s done and other goings-on you’ve noticed in my school. Before I talk to the police.”
I breathed a sigh of relief at her explanation. Just like the other principals I had known, Cooke wanted to shove her authority in my face by forcing me to explain my behavior. Followed by a chewing of the posterior session for breaking said rules.
In the large, windowless room, dusty bookshelves lined the walls and divided the room into rows. Boxes, extra desks, and chairs had been stacked between the shelves. An old, plastic-lined cot rested against one shelf, probably used for naps by the janitorial staff. The air had a stale smell and bits of paper littered the floor. Cooke shut the door behind us and pointed toward the cot.
“This is where I hold my unofficial conferences, when a faculty or staff member doesn’t want other teachers to know we’re speaking,” she explained.
“This looks like a large supply closet,” I remarked.
“The book room.” Cooke tossed her coat and purse on a desk, then smoothed her blonde bob. “In the summer, the textbooks are kept in
here. Now, tell me what you know.”
“The anonymous texting bothered Tinsley.” I lowered myself onto the edge of the cot, hoping to get this over quickly. My head buzzed in anticipation, focused on Cody more than the Peerless issue. “Tinsley heard I had been involved in some criminal cases. Unofficially involved, of course. So he asked me to figure out who was sending the texts.”
“And did you?” Cooke leaned against a desk and folded her arms against her suit jacket.
“After considering a perturbed parent or some kid wanting to prank, I thought it could be Dr. Vail.” I blinked, trying to sort my muddled thoughts. “She had written some accusations against Tinsley on PeerNotes. Or it could be Preston King. He observed the bullying of Ellis Madsen, and I bet he’s not beyond blackmail. Or possibly, Dan Madsen since a lot of the insinuations in the messages had to do with Ellis.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.” Cooke’s fingers tapped against her folded arms. “But thirteen faculty and staff received anonymous messages. With a variety of accusations.”
“And most ignored them as ridiculous shots in the dark. The ones who reacted the most—Vail, Pringle, and Tinsley—all received messages relating to Ellis.”
“Poor Ellis. I’m not even sure if she knew about her father. Very few did. I wish she had told me about the anonymous texts.” Cooke stared at the shelf behind my shoulder, brooding. She had bitten off her lipstick and fine lines marked the skin beneath her eyes. Clearly, the ordeal had taken toll on the woman while she had done her best to keep Peerless running efficiently.
“What about you, Ms. Cooke? Was your message about Ellis Madsen?”
Her gaze swiveled back to my face. “No.”
“What was your message about?”
“I don’t even remember.” She waved her hand. “But let’s continue our discussion on Tinsley. Why is his cape criminal evidence?”
DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE Page 25