DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (26 page)

Th
irty-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
.
”
S
he waved her hand. “But let
’
s continue our discussion on Tinsley. Why is his cape criminal evidence?”

I yawned. “I saw someone wearing the cape outside Dr. Vail’s last night.”

“I see,” she said. “Is that why the police are looking for you? They called the school.”

“Dammit
.
” I blinked. “Sorry. I really should go.”

“Don’t worry. The police don’t know you’re here. When they called I had no idea you
were in the school,” she said. “It seems you are in a lot of trouble. Found at a possible
murder scene. You mentioned your brother. And Tara’s unhappy with you. Tell me why.”

“For some odd reason, Luke Harper loves me and not her,” my words slurred. “Isn’t
that the damnedest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Because you’re not worth loving.” Not a question, but a fact. “You lack the better
qualities Tara has.”

“That’s an ugly way to put it. But yes, my mother abandoned me for Shawna’s father.
That’s a pretty crappy way to start off in life. Red says I have self-worth issues.”
I wondered why my lips decided to spill all this sensitive information to a woman
I hardly knew. My bottom slipped forward on the plastic lined cot and my head bumped
against a book shelf. “Ouch. You’re better than Red in getting to the heart of my
problems.”

“I’ve counseled students for twenty-five years. I told you I was good at summing people
up. Don’t you wish you could make the pain go away?”

“Dang right.” I peered at her through foggy eyes. “But that Advil you gave me is working
pretty
well
. Didn’t even feel that bump to my head.”

“Would you like more? Maybe you should rest before going to the police. You seem unable
to speak properly.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a vial of pills. “You
must be sleepy.”

“In a minute
.
” I nodded. Or at least my brain sent the signal. My head flopped back.

“I’ll just leave them with you.” Cooke nudged the pills into my hand, closing my fingers
around the bottle. “Your water bottle is in your other hand.”

“By the way
.
” I spoke with my head cranked back, watching her through half-closed eyes. My thoughts
climbed through our conversation, landing on a passage. “How did you know thirteen
of your staff received messages? Most haven’t shared with anyone.”

Cooke’s cheeks brightened. “I’m obligated to know anything related to this school.
Occasionally, I check the staff email accounts. I’d rather nip a scandal in the bud
before it erupts.”

“So you knew about the love triangle between Cleveland, Pringle, and Coach Newcomb?”

“That was obvious, although I wouldn’t call it a triangle. I hadn’t realized what
an idiot Cleveland would become around someone like Maranda Pringle.” She shook her
head. “His wife left him a few years ago. That should have been a red flag.”

“So Cleveland’s ineffective?” I tried to lift my head, but couldn’t manage the effort.
Damn concussion. “But you keep him as principal? Does he know what’s going on with
the accounts?”

“The accounts? No
.
”
S
he laughed. “Cleveland likes the prestige of the school. His own private school background
was great for PR. And the children like him. But he leaves the grunt work to me.”

“The Bear said something’s wrong with your finances,” I mumbled and tried to watch
her reaction. “Maranda sent Cleveland an email about it. So did Amber.”

“A talking bear? You’re not making any sense. Why don’t you rest, dear? I’ll be back
later to check on you.”

“I need to go.” I told my brain to tell my body to move, but everything south of my
neck had shut down. The water bottle slipped from my hand and rolled to the floor.

“Do you want my help?” Cooke asked. “Does your head still hurt?”

“I’m not sure,” I mumbled. “I’m really tired.”

“Here, dear. Let me help you.” Cooke shook out a handful of pills, dropped them into
my slack mouth, and poured water after them.

I moved the pills around with my tongue, shoving them into my cheeks. Water ran from
my lips and dribbled over my chin.

Cooke massaged my neck with her scarf and wiped my face. “This will make you feel
better. I promise.”

“Just lie down.” She pulled on my legs and my body slid, collapsing on the cot. Through
slitted eyes, I watched her dust her hands and don her dark trench coat. One that
when she turned, blew out behind her. Like a cape.

Dammit. The expletive cut through my drowsy thoughts as I tried to spit out the pills
that were not Advil. Cooke made a good phantom. And an even better killer.

My tongue searched for the last pill, and I rolled it to the edge of my lips where
it fell off my chin. Luke was going to kill me for coming back to the school, I thought,
edging toward sleep.

If I weren’t already dead first.

T
hirty-Two

I woke to cramped muscles, a throbbing head, and a god-awful taste in my mouth. Whatever
I lay on felt like a cold slab. In a dark room. One alarming thought, quicker than
its sluggish cohorts, feared I had landed in a tomb.

Or, said a brighter thought, the cot in the Peerless book room.

My dim mind sorted through the last events. Panic over my missed police visit and
Cody’s kidnapping pushed my heart into my throat and cleared my head. How long had
I slept? I held up my watch arm, bare as usual. Couldn’t see in the dark anyway. I
stretched my other limbs, checking my mobility. Tinsley’s keys rubbed against my thigh.

She hadn’t searched my pockets.

Maybe Cooke wasn’t as wicked as I thought. Maybe she was just a very bad dispenser
of medicines. What the hell had she given me? Fear washed out the remaining grogginess.
And what about Tinsley? Was he still in the school or had he turned himself into the
police?

Were we the next suicides? One victim of scandal and one broken heart?

Slinking off the cot, I stumbled forward in the dark, slammed into a desk, and found
the door.

The handle wouldn’t turn.

I felt along the wall, seeking the switch, and shut on the lights. I blinked as the
fluorescent bulbs twitched, then flared overhead, illuminating the book room. I prayed
the lock worked both ways, fumbled on the ring for the master key, and jammed it into
the lock. The handle turned.

The darkened hall did not bode as a good sign. I shivered in the stillness, my thoughts
flitting to
Twilight Zone
plots. Maybe it was the end of days and I had gotten my just desserts. Left in a
school forever. My personal ring of hell.

Fear for Tinsley led me deeper into the school rather than toward escape. I headed
toward the front lobby rotunda and its spoked hallways. The office or a hall? I hesitated,
then chose the arts hall. I bounded forward with Tinsley’s pocketed keys rubbing against
my groin and my flannel shirt slapping my thighs. At the end of the passage, the double
doors of the drama wing loomed like a shot from a horror movie. My chest heaved as
I lurched toward the growing doors. Slamming to a stop, I yanked on the levers.

Unlocked. Which made me pause, but I hauled open a door anyway. Running through the
bean bag strewn vestibule, I tried Tinsley’s office first. Unlocked and empty.

“I don’t like this,” I said to Tinsley’s mirror.

I spun out
of
his office and tried the stage door. Also unlocked. I stumbled up the steps, almost
collided with the props table, and fell onto the wooden floor. My eyes began to adjust
to the soft glow of the ghost light left on the stage. Hopping up, I felt along the
table, letting my fingers bump along until they recognized a hammer someone had forgotten
to put away. I smacked the metal head into the palm of my hand, then shook the ouch
off my palm. Creeping forward, I pushed through the dark curtains. The caged ghost
light cast an eerie glow on the stage. Darkness shrouded the theater.

I expected to find Tinsley left in some kind of macabre hara-kiri scene. Instead I
found my turquoise backdrop raised and covered in graffiti. Well drawn graffiti, but
graffiti nevertheless. A lanky boy of about eighteen tossed his can of spray paint
to the stage floor and held up his hands. His frightened eyes cut my exclamation short.
I realized I held a hammer above my bandaged head, like some wild stalker from a slasher
movie.

“Who are you?” I said, then eyed the backdrop that featured a spray portrait trinity
of Dr. Vail, Amber Tipton, and Maranda Pringle. He had written “R.I.P. Peerless” above
their heads and “Rage, rage against the dying light” beneath. Reminiscent of the PeerNotes
messages quoting
Evita
and
Romeo and Juliet
. Was this the phantom texter and not Cooke? I couldn’t seem to hold a fixed idea
in my brain. As soon as I thought I knew the culprit, the facts slipped from my fingers.
But then why had Cooke drugged me? My perspective was skewed. Was the phantom and
the killer not one in the same? Fear and frustration edged me toward anger.

“You are Preston King,” I amended. “The art genius.”

He bobbed his head, edging backward.

“Preston,” I said, swinging my hammer. “Did you publish all those announcements on
PeerNotes? The ones about Tinsley and Amber Tipton’s death?”

His eyes on the hammer, he nodded and bumped into the director’s table.

“Why?” I stalked toward him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought it was funny?”

“Funny?” My voice rose. “You thought it was funny to harass the staff? That kind of
funny is illegal. It’s called cyber stalking. And this kind of funny is illegal, too.”
I pointed at the backdrop. “It’s called vandalism.”

“Dude, you don’t know what it’s like to go to this school.” He pushed his hand through
his sandy brown hair. “Dr. Vail was the only teacher who stood up for me.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to go to this school
.
” I slapped the hammer into the palm of my hand. “But I know what it’s like to not
fit in. That’s a bullshit reason to scare adults.”

“I wasn’t trying to scare anybody. I’m just sick of all the fuss over
Romeo and Juliet
when the focus should be on real people.” He had the effrontery to tear up. “Real
people dying, like Dr. Vail. And I didn’t like her, but nobody seemed to care about
Miss Pringle. And Ellis.” His voice broke and tears spilled over his cheeks. “The
theater geeks’ jealousy killed Ellis.”

I pushed on, ignoring his tears. “What about the photos you took of Tinsley? That
proves you’re stalking him.”

Preston wiped his face on his arm. “I was just trying to show the drama geeks what
Mr. Tinsley really thinks of them. He only cares about his awards. I didn’t mean it
as stalking.”

“You can tell that to the police, Preston. They have PeerNotes and the texting evidence.
If it’s not on your computer, they’ll get it off the school computers.”

“Everybody hacks into PeerNotes. They can’t prove that. Just like they couldn’t prove
who was bullying Ellis.” He rubbed his nose on his shoulder. “And I didn’t text anybody.”

“Liar. Thirteen teachers received anonymous texts.” My words slowed. The PeerNotes
announcements started last week with the outset of
Romeo and Juliet
. The anonymous texting began two weeks before Maranda Pringle’s suicide, but none
after her death. That I knew of. I eyed him. “You didn’t send text messages to Pringle
or Tinsley? Or Vail?”

Of course he wouldn’t text Vail. She was Preston’s champion. I had been examining
the anonymous messaging all wrong.

“I’ll be damned,” I spoke to myself. “The texting is completely different than what’s
going on in PeerNotes. Two different cases of cyberbullying.”

“Dude, I wasn’t cyberbullying,” Preston whined. “I meant it like art as social protest.”

“Save your contemporary art thesis for college.” I narrowed my eyes. “Did you sell
Miss Pringle some ADHD meds?”

“No, dude. I would never sell to an adult. Besides, the school nurse has a cabinet
full of that stuff. We have to keep our medications in there. Why would Miss Pringle
buy it if she could easily take some?”

Or an administrator could easily steal some. “Are you alone? Is anyone else in the
school?”

He shook his head. “They were on lockdown all day. Closed the campus as soon as school
got out. Everyone cleared out quickly. I think most of the teachers were going to
Miss Pringle’s funeral.”

“What time is it?”

“Around seven o’clock.” He gave me a look that bespoke of crazy. “What are you doing
here?”

“I was sleeping
.
” I paused. “The funeral was at four. You need to get out of here and explain to the
police what you have done.”

I held up my hand to silence his protest. “Believe me, you’ll be in much bigger trouble
if you don’t. They want whoever sent those texts. Those texts are what triggered the
murders.”

“Murders?”

“My gut was right. Pringle didn’t kill herself. The texts were sent to make Pringle’s
murder look like suicide.” Fear sluiced through me. “Preston, you need to get out
of here now.”

I didn’t want to freak him out, but I had a feeling we weren’t alone. Cooke would
have attended the funeral, but after the falderal and casseroles, she’d come back
for me. After the school had emptied.

Which was right about now.