DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE

by Larissa Reinhart

  It ticked me off that the whole sorry mess didn’t have anything to do with Ellis Madsen. She had been used as a tawdry scandal to throw people off Pringle’s murder as a guilty suicide. All because Cooke had been helping herself to Peerless’s coffers and finally been caught by the social-misfit-cum-business-braniac Maranda Pringle. Then flagged again by the overworked Amber Tipton.

  The shameful use of Ellis Madsen’s death gave me renewed vigor. I had been tasked with finding the Peerless Phantom and found her.

  Along with a bunch of other crap.

  But it was time to put the Phantom to rights. I was not going to let her get away. I staggered down the arts hall, taking a quick detour into the fine arts wing, figuring Preston must have hid there. I hollered for Preston to go to the stage and assist Luke, then snagged a chisel from the lathe tool set.

  Which wouldn’t do me much good against a Smith & Wesson, if Cooke had taken Luke’s gun. If only Peerless had been a military school, I could have raided their armory. Instead, I armed myself with art equipment.

  I staggered from the studios and stumble-jogged toward the front doors. Outside, blue and red lights flashed. A team led by Herrera and Amelia Wells ran toward the front doors. I could hear the scream of an ambulance in the near distance. I glanced toward the office. Through the glass, I saw Cooke standing before the counter. With a hand on Preston’s shoulder.

  I lurched forward, chisel in hand, and slammed through the glass doors. At my approach, Cooke turned and screamed. Very effective with blood still dripping from the cut on her head.

  “Get your hand off of him,” I croaked, wielding the chisel.

  “Dude, did you take that from the art room?” Preston blinked. “That’s wicked sharp.”

  “I told you she’s dangerous,” said Cooke. “Let’s go, Preston. Quickly. Out the back.”

  “The police are here,” I said. “It’s over. Let Preston go.”

  “Preston, to my office. We’ll wait until I feel it’s safe.” Cooke glanced through the windowed wall. “Let us go, Miss Tucker.”

  “No way am I letting you take Preston to your office.” I positioned myself near the end of the counter, holding the chisel before me.

  Preston struggled beneath Cooke’s grip. “I’ll go. You two stay.”

  “No, she’s armed,” said Cooke, stepping behind Preston and pulling him toward the back wall. “Stay with me. I’ll see you get home safely.”

  “Cherry?” called Herrera from behind the glass door. “Who’s all with you?”

  “Principal Cooke and a student, Preston King.”

  “Where’s Officer Harper?”

  “On the stage.” Fixing my attention on Cooke’s right hand, still in her suit pocket, I searched my brain for the police ten codes I had memorized in my youth. “Herrera, you’ve got a possible 10-32.”

  A person with a weapon. Or open alcohol. I always got those numbers confused, but hoped Herrera could figure it out.

  “Get the hell out of the way, Cherry,” yelled Herrera. “Immediately.”

  “The police can’t shoot us through that glass, can they?” asked Preston.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Cooke. “The police aren’t going to shoot us. They’re here to capture Miss Tucker. Besides, that glass is fire and impact safety-rated. We buy the best products to keep you safe.”

  “I don’t feel safe right now,” mumbled Preston.

  “That’s because your principal is holding a gun on you,” I said, gripping my chisel. “Keep cool, Preston.”

  “Officers,” screamed Cooke. “Help me! This woman has threatened me and has a weapon. Just look at the wound on my head. And we need emergency services for the man on the stage. I thought he was going to hurt me.”

  “She poleaxed Luke with a lamp,” I called over my shoulder.

  Behind the door, I heard Herrera’s rapid staccato, delivering orders to his crew.

  “Cherry’s dangerous,” cried Cooke. “Apprehend her and I’ll come out willingly. She has a concussion and has been creeping around the school. I had to tase her and she still wouldn’t calm down. I fear for my life.”

  “Cherry, I mean it,” yelled Herrera. “Get out or get down.”

  I moved forward, focused on Cooke. “You tried to drug me, strangle me, then bash my head in. And that doesn’t even include last night’s concussion.”

  “She’s unstable,” hollered Cooke, backing toward the wall and gripping Preston as a shield. “Tinsley confessed, didn’t he? You have your culprit.”

  “Tinsley didn’t hurt anyone.” I stalked closer. “You sent those texts. And you murdered Maranda Pringle, Amber Tipton, and Camille Vail. Then you tried to murder me and Luke.”

  “Everyone calm down,” called Herrera. “Stop where you are, Cherry.”

  “Help,” cried Cooke. “She’ll hurt us. That instrument is sharp.”

  “I’d like you to come out of the room one at a time,” said Herrera. “No one’s going to get hurt.”

  “Cherry first,” said Cooke. “Then I’ll go. I don’t trust her.”

  “If you think I’m leaving you alone in here with Preston and a gun, you’re crazy,” I said.

  “Look my hands are in the air,” she said. “As soon as Cherry drops her weapon and leaves, I’ll move.”

  I looked toward the glass door, knowing what would happen if we didn’t leave this room willingly. Officers would enter the administration area through the back door, ready to take Cooke out. But she had positioned herself with enough coverage that only Preston would be in danger. Cooke was forcing my hand. She counted on me to do something. Did she think I would leave or stay?

  Oh dear Lord, I thought. What do I do? Would she really come out peaceably? Or would she use Preston as a human shield? She must know of the evidence mounted against her now. Evidence she couldn’t get rid of before the police arrived. Namely me and Luke.

  I had my decision.

  “Exit now, ladies,” called Herrera, “Or we’re coming in with our guns drawn to arrest you both for resisting.”

  “Let’s go, Cherry.” Cooke lowered her hands to her pockets and smiled at me. A winning smile. The smile of someone who had her story figured out, even on the fly. Who had years of counseling experience to learn how to manipulate people and the system.

  Which pissed me off.

  Warning bells sounded in my head, screaming at me to check my idiocy, but I couldn’t stop myself. I dove at Preston, knocking him to the floor. My tackle left Cooke gripping the gun.

  Pointed at my head.

  But my body covered Preston’s, and I felt good about that.

  Thirty-Six

  A moment later, Cooke realized a half-dozen weapons had been aimed at her from several different directions. I scooted Preston and I in a sandwiched, reverse army man crawl until I felt safe. Popping up, I pulled on Preston’s trembling hands, until he had climbed to his size thirteen feet.

  “Dude.” His voice shook and his face had paled. “How are you not freaking out?”

  “This is why I get paid the big bucks.” I faked a smile for show. “Although Tinsley’s checks will most likely bounce. However, I am ready-made for emergencies. I don’t know why. Something’s wrong with the safety part of my brain, I suppose. I am better at action than thinking.”

  “Which means you’re an idiot,” said Herrera. “And you just proved it.”

  “That is true,” I agreed. “But you have apprehended your perp. ‘All’s well that ends well.’”

  “You’re coming to the station. You’ve caused me a shitload of paperwork.” Herrera glared at me, then pushed us back to allow his officers to walk the handcuffed Cooke to a squad car. “And you just took about ten years off of my life.”

  “I know you want me at the station, but I need to check o
n Luke. And find out about my brother. He was arrested today. By Luke.”

  Herrera gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I’ll cuff you now, if that’s what it takes. Officer Harper is on his way to the hospital in an ambulance with a broken collarbone. He followed you down the hall. My officers had to hold him back to keep Harper from apprehending you himself.”

  My eyes rounded and fire licked my cheeks. “He saw me corner Cooke and tackle Preston?”

  “And nearly get your head blown off with his own piece? That he did.” Herrera fished out his handcuffs. “Put your hands together. Or I’ll cuff them in the back.”

  “Really?” My voice shook. “You’re arresting me?”

  “I told you to get out of this room. You resisted my orders and obstructed Cooke’s arrest.”

  “Damn,” said Preston. “That’s harsh.”

  “You’re coming, too,” Herrera said to Preston. “Trespassing and destruction of property.”

  “Dude,” said Preston.

  “Dude,” I agreed. “That’s harsh.”

  After my forced visit to Line Creek Police Department, I decided I missed Tamara’s ferocity. At my familiar law enforcement establishment, my idiocy was only implied and not called out as an introduction. And where my friendly Sheriff’s Office deputies often threatened obstruction, it turns out Line Creek doesn’t joke around.

  They really needed to lighten up.

  Figuring my family had enough jail visits for one long day, I made my bail call to Max. I felt surprised when he posted in person the next morning. I guess it took the hope of seeing me in an orange jumpsuit to finally get him out of the house.

  “Suspicion of obstruction, Artist?” The Bear hustled surprisingly well on crutches. I guessed he wasn’t overly fond of police stations. “I had hoped to post bail for something more exciting.”

  “Herrera’s just ticked that instead of one of his officers, I saved Preston,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “I’m pretty sure they’ll drop the charges.”

  “You’re assumptions are always enlightening, Artist.” Max paused to let me push open the outside doors. “You’ll still owe me for the bail. But we’ll talk about that at another time.”

  That statement distracted me from the further humiliation of walking out Line Creek Police Department’s front doors and into the chilly morning sunshine. Talk about a walk of shame. The sight of Max’s sporty Maserati didn’t even cheer me up. With two arrests in one day, Cody and I had just shoved the Tucker name into white trash territory. As soon as the biddies got an eyeful of the Halo Herald’s local arrests column, our name equaled sheep dip. I’d have to convince Dot at the Herald to write an exclusive on my takedown of Assistant Principal Cooke to give my arrest a more positive spin.

  Which would also make me look as trashy as a celebrity selling her baby’s pictures to a tabloid.

  We kept our thoughts quiet on the ride home. Mine on saving face for Grandpa. I imagined Max focused on how to squeeze blood out of a Cherry Tucker turnip. But after parking the electric blue Granturismo, Max cut the engine off and spoke his mind.

  “As no one else is likely to say this, I congratulate you on finding your phantom.”

  “Thanks.” I toyed with the seatbelt. “My successes always seem to be outweighed by my failures.”

  “You have failed because you prevented an innocent man from a homicide investigation? From saving a child in the hostage crisis? For proving a woman did not take her own life? And exposing the culprit who stole three innocent lives in order to cover her embezzlement?”

  I unclicked my belt and straightened in my seat. “Thank you, Bear.”

  “You are most welcome.” He grinned using his teeth. “I’m glad to hear your gratitude.”

  “Wait a minute.” I reevaluated his tone. “Gratitude for what?”

  “My success in the investigation. For uncovering the financial fraud. It was through my efforts you have caught Cooke.” He leaned a large hand on my leather seat back. “Perhaps I should claim Tinsley’s check as service.”

  “My ass.”

  I raised my chin and continued. “I got you that info. You thought the phantom was an anarchist when Cooke is the extreme opposite. A puppeteer control freak buying Louis Vuitton purses and Gucci scarves to use as mortal weapons. She loved the power of orchestrating the future careers of talented students. You could see it on her face when she talked about her famous alumni. Maybe she thought it would pay off someday, I don’t know. But I think Cooke liked wielding authority over rich parents who want their child to become the next Disney star or whatever. She also liked controlling the faculty, pitting popular teachers, like Tinsley and Vail, against each other to keep herself at the top of the pyramid.”

  “Feel better? Guilt does not become you as much as umbrage.” He laughed at my scowl. “What of the real principal?”

  “Cleveland was only a figurehead. He just signed off on whatever Cooke told him. The danger happened when Pringle noticed. Remember that email where Cleveland asked Pringle to send the first quarter statements to Cooke? Pringle flagged the questionable accounts and sent them back to Cleveland. Those are the same emails Amber saw. Pringle didn’t seem the type to rat, but she had Cleveland wrapped around her finger. I bet Cooke worried Pringle might blackmail her, or at least spell it out for Cleveland and let him deal with the embezzlement accusations.”

  “The art teacher, too?”

  “Vail seemed pretty vindictive. She would have turned Cooke in just to upset the imbalance towards Tinsley.” I shook my head. “Peerless had a lot of money pouring in and Cooke managed everything herself.”

  I pointed at the Bear. “You might have seen the discrepancies in their accounting, but I knew Pringle wasn’t the type to commit suicide. Or Vail.”

  “All right. It is your win. Now, what about Tinsley? Will he continue in the theater?”

  “While I was knocked out, Tinsley had turned himself in to the police. Although Cooke convinced him to confess to cover her own embezzlement, he did fudge his own accounts. And try to bribe a Tiny Tony judge. But Tinsley does win a lot of awards for Peerless. I guess Cleveland will decide if Tinsley can keep his job.” I folded my arms. “I hope Cleveland can pull Peerless back on track. The parents will be scary angry.”

  “I imagine they will want the social media shut down again.”

  “Probably. Although that cat left the bag years ago.” I sighed. “Kids are inventive. Cooke stole the anonymous texting idea from the students. They did it to Ellis Madsen the year before. Cooke just wanted the appearance of social bullying against the staff so Pringle’s fake suicide would have a motive. That’s why the texts stopped after Pringle died. There are too many ways and means to spread information. That’s why I got the PeerNotes finger-pointing and texting rumors confused. Herrera firmly believes parents need to police their kids more. Schools can’t be held responsible. Unless, of course, you have a sociopath running the institution.”

  “Maybe more brilliantly desperate than sociopathic,” said Max. “And you? Do you have closure on this successful fiasco?”

  I stole a look at my hands. “Have you heard how Luke Harper is doing?”

  “One would think a bail call wouldn’t include demanding her benefactor to visit police in hospital, but as you faced spending the night in jail, I gave in to your request. It appears your policeman will need surgery to fix some screw or the rod for healing of clavicle.”

  “That sounds terrible. Did you see anybody with him at the hospital?” I crossed my fingers for luck.

  “His mother. And the bouncy blonde girl.”

  “Tara Mayfield. She’ll drive him crazy.” I sighed. “Or he’ll realize girls like Tara Mayfield don’t get his collarbone broken.”

  Max rolled his eyes.

  “Collarbones heal. What kind of m
an should worry about injury when love is at stake? If he prefers the Tara Mayfield, he wants the boring life. And the boring life is not for you,” Max said.

  Maybe I should stick with Todd who craved an unboring life, I thought. I could guarantee him one.

  I avoided the Bear’s piercing winter stare by turning toward the view of my house. Casey’s Firebird sat behind Todd’s Civic. Pearl’s Lariat had been parked in the grass. “I guess I should face the family inquisition. Bad enough I missed Cody’s arraignment for the making of my own.”

  Max touched my arm. “Your brother pled innocent. He claims Shawna Branson went with him willingly, although they did argue in the Tru-Buy store parking lot. He wanted Shawna to have the DNA test. He offered some old family photos as an incentive for her to accompany him in his car.”

  I turned back to Max. “That’s just wonderful. Cody’s pleading blackmail instead of kidnapping? With photos he had originally stolen from Shawna. To prove that they’re related? That idiot.”

  “He had the DNA kit in his car. It is evidence now, but if the results of the test can be relinquished, I would advise you to use this information to your advantage.”

  “You want me to steal evidence from the county Sheriff’s Office to blackmail Shawna myself?” I picked up my jaw and thrust it forward. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

  “She would likely drop kidnapping charges. Charges that would give your brother a minimum ten year sentence.”

  “I just got out of the pokey myself, remember?” I opened the car door. The engine of an approaching vehicle caused me to glance down the street, but I turned back to Max. “I do thank you for your help. But I’ll handle this Branson mess myself. Without any additional crimes to add to our count.”