DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (8 page)

I almost asked her if this wasn’t a pot and kettle situation, but I didn’t want to
know if she was truly shacking up with Grandpa. I still hadn’t recovered from the
pregnancy scare. “It’s Luke Harper. I’m trying my best to keep him as a friend, but
he’s pushing for more. And I want him to push, which is the problem. I don’t think
I’ve gotten over him well enough.”

“If you both want to see each other, let him push. I didn’t listen to my friends when
Ed started sniffing around my door.”

Another image I wished had never crossed my brain. I shoved the plate of cookies away.
“So you think I should ignore the wishes of my family and the flak from the town?”

“If you really love each other, you’ll find a way to rise above it all.” Pearl snagged
a cookie. “Or you can move away together. I say, go for it.”

“My brother threatened to kill him just because Luke’s a Branson. Ever since Shawna
started her personal attacks on my business a few months back, Cody’s been anti-Branson.”
Not to mention the pictures Cody found, which I wasn’t going to mention.

“Well, then maybe it’s not such a hot idea.” Pearl dusted her hands of cookie and
finished off her tea. “Thanks for stopping by, Cherry. Just talking to you, I feel
better about the whole Tater and Snickerdoodle situation.
I’ll get her through this gestation and hook her up with a proper Sable next go around.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t feel any better about my situation. But, if the chat had smoothed
things over for Grandpa, some purpose was served.

On my way out the door, I snatched the rest of the cookies as a consolation prize.
And as a bribe to move Tater from my truck.

T
en

I arrived at Peerless in time for their crazy lunch schedule that started somewhere
around ten thirty and ended around one o’clock. As the Datsun and I pulled into the
parking lot, my eyes stuck on the Line Creek patrol car decorating the fire lane.
My brain buzzed with an adrenaline rush that juiced me into a tingling mess of nerves.
I felt like a beagle who had caught a scent, straining at the leash to charge forward.

I’d make a terrible cop. Absolutely no control over my excitement for crime busting.
They’d never promote me beyond meter maid. And Halo had no meters.

The Peerless front office buzzed with activity, but I didn’t spot any boys in blue.
While I signed myself in, students in gray and blue plaid paraded in and out of the
open space, making me wonder if anyone populated the classrooms. I had hoped for Pamela
Hargraves and her loose tongue, but another parent checked me in. This mother also
had questionably pert breasts, but blonde hair. She gazed at me from behind the counter
separating reception from the office hub.

“Which classroom are
you
visiting?” Her voice had a harsh drawl, not true Georgian. “I’ll call for a student
to accompany you.”

“Theater department, ma’am. Mr. Tinsley’s class.”

Her lip injection made it difficult to scowl but Tinsley’s name caused a mild tremor
in her botoxed features.

Using the tips of her gelled French manicure, she tapped a few keys on the phone,
and held the receiver away from her ear. “Tinsley,” she spit out the Tin and swallowed
the sley. “You have a visitor.”

Dropping the receiver into its cradle, she blinked at me. “Lucky you.”

“You’re not a Tinsley fan.”

Her eyes cut to the gaggle of students wandering the office. “Not really.”

My heart leapt at the immediate opportunity to explore Terry Tinsley’s detractors.
I would kick investigation butt at this rate. “Any reason why? It’s my first time
working for him. I’ve heard he can get pretty vicious on his blog. I’d appreciate
any advice.”

“I don’t read
Tinsley Talks
.” Her nose scrunched up, straining her forehead muscles. She dropped the scrunch.
“He’s a little egomaniac. You know that much, right? If you don’t suck up to him,
he’ll cut you.”

“Cut you with a sharp object or cut you from something?” I leaned on the desk, dangling
her opportunity for a story.

“The stage.” She glanced around the office. “My Audra is very talented. We came to
this school just for the drama department. At age five she had her first part in
The King and I
. You’d think Tinsley would appreciate her experience. But she refuses to kiss his
butt and become one of his psychopaths.”

“I think you mean sycophants
.
” I smiled.

“Tomato-tomato
.
”
T
he mother rolled her eyes. “Tinsley accepts fifteen students into his advanced acting
class and those students get all the best roles. Guess what number Audra landed?”

I didn’t want to guess. “Not in the top fifteen?”

“Sixteen. Audra’s agent is shocked. Shocked.”

“She has an agent?”

“Of course she has an agent. He says Tinsley is a total nudge. If Tinsley didn’t bring
in so much money for the school, they’d get rid of him. I’d like to get rid of him,
that’s for sure.”

My brain shelved that statement into a motives-by-crazy-parents category. I wondered
if Audra’s mother knew how to ghost text. “I thought Tinsley was admired in the theater
world.”

“They’re all actors. Who knows what any of them really thinks?” The mother’s gaze
swept over me. “By the way, are you helping with auditions? Audra’s trying out for
Juliet tomorrow night.”

“I’m the art director. I have nothing to do with the play itself. Other than the art.”

“Just in case, it’s Audra Paulson. Paulson like Paul and son.”

I stuck my hand out, and she gripped it like she was noodling a catfish. “Nice to
meet you, Mrs. Paulson.”

“Oh, I’m not Mrs. Paulson. That’s Audra’s stepmother. I’m Danielle Dobbs.”

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whipped around and found the kid with the inside out
coat and curly mohawk retracting his tapping finger into his pocket.

“Are you my ride?” I asked.

“Are you Miss Tucker?” When I nodded, he pivoted and trudged toward the door with
his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Laurence Mayfield, put your coat on right,” called Danielle Dobbs.

I glanced back at Danielle, who had cast her slitty eye look toward Laurence. I guessed
Laurence was on her “non-fan” list, too. I hurried to catch up with him. My boots
skidded across the polished lobby floor, and I called for him to slow down.

“Hey Laurence, are you Tara’s brother? She told me you were going to work on the set
with me.”

Laurence didn’t slow, but amped his steady trudge down the hall.

I scooted to catch him. “Do you have a hearing impairment, son? I asked you a question.”

He shoved his fists deeper into his pockets and turned up the speed on his walk.

Jogging beside him, sweat broke on the back of my neck. “Can you slow down? I’m not
used to this much physical exertion.”

Yanking a hand from his pocket, he pointed toward the end of the hall. “You see that
set of doors with the curtains and gold sign? That’s where you’re headed. Don’t feel
like you’ve got to keep up. I’ve got stuff to do.”

He motored down the hall, leaving me in front of the art wing doors. I stuck a hand
on the wall, leaned over, and tried to catch my breath. I really needed to start working
out.

The art door swung open and Camille Vail poked her head out. “What’s with the shouting?
What’s going on?”

I shot up and straightened my dress. “Sorry ma’am.” I darted a look down the hall,
but Laurence had disappeared into the theater department. I’d been busted without
my accomplice. Felt like school all over again.

“Keep it down. I have students trying to focus.” Dr. Vail squinted at me. She wore
another floaty smock dress. Probably handwoven from flax or bamboo. She took her art
s
y look seriously, but when you had a Ph
D
in Visual Arts, you couldn’t afford not to take yourself seriously. You can’t jack
around with that much in student loans and not look like you have something to show
for it.

“You’re the new art director for
Romeo and Juliet
,” she accused.

“Yes, ma’am.” I rubbed one boot against the ankle of the other, wishing she’d let
me go.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” A man called from behind Dr. Vail. His dark buzz rose above her
tight cap of curls. “You’re blocking the doorway.”

Dr. Vail moved to the side to allow the middle-aged man carrying a computer hard drive
to pass. Despite his sports coat, I recognized the buzz cut and bearing as police
officer material and guessed this was one of Line Creek’s finest.

“Are you a student?” he asked me. “You don’t have a uniform. Where’s your visitor’s
pass?”

I patted my chest, realizing I forgot to wear a visitor’s lanyard. Dangit. No hall
pass. Busted twice in a matter of minutes. “I forgot to put it on. I’m helping Mr.
Tinsley.”

The officer jutted his square jaw toward the lobby. “Better follow me to the front
office and get your badge.”

I smiled, then noticed Dr. Vail’s scowl. “Sorry, ma’am.”

She glared at me, then glided through the art doors.

I traipsed down the hall, glad the officer didn’t keep a similar pace to Laurence
Mayfield. “My name’s Cherry Tucker. Are you with Line Creek PD? Actually, my grand
d
addy’s good friend is Sheriff Will Thompson. You know him?”

The officer smiled. “Sure, I know Thompson. Tell him Detective Daniel Herrera said
hey.”

“I sure will. Looks like you’re confiscating some evidence. Is this in relation to
the Maranda Pringle suicide?”

Detective Herrera pivoted and stopped in front of me. “What do you know about Maranda
Pringle?”

“Nothing, really,” I said. “I just started here yesterday and found out same as everyone
else. I’m going to do art work for Mr. Tinsley and he’s worried about the texts going
around.”

“Is he now?” Herrera’s face remained impassive, but I was tuned to cop behavior. I’d
just put Tinsley on a person of interest list. “Why’s that?”

“He didn’t say, but seems it’s common knowledge that Miss Pringle got
a
revealing text that might
’
ve pushed her over the edge.”

“Be careful with rumors,” said Herrera. “They often turn out not to be true.”

“Yes, sir. But what about in Pringle’s case? Did she get a text? Maybe if it was known
her suicide had nothing to do with the text attack, everyone will feel better.”

“Nice try
.
” Herrera smiled. “I’ll tell you this. Pringle was a troubled woman. And don’t worry
about the text prankster. Probably some kid with his own issues.”

“Are you Line Creek boys using a code name for the anonymous texter?” I grinned. “I’ve
heard some creative codes used by the Sheriff’s Department.”

“If it was code, what would be the point in telling you?” Herrera chuckled and shifted
the computer.

“Mr. Tinsley calls him the Phantom,
after
the
Phantom of the Opera
. There’s some connection
, but
I’ve never seen the play.”

Herrera smiled. “I like that. The Phantom Texter. Don’t spread it around, though.
The kids will probably think it sounds cool and a mess of copycats will start.”

“Yes, sir.” I saluted him. “Speaking of copycats, you think there’s any connection
to the Ellis Madsen suicide last year?”

Herrera’s smile flipped to a scowl. “No, I don’t think there’s a connection. That
was a case of cyberbullying and a teen whose parents didn’t check her computer or
phone to see what was going on in her life. These parents are too concerned with respecting
their kids’ privacy and not enough for their safety.”

“Pretty bad, was it?”

He looked past me. The lines around his eyes and mouth tightened and lengthened. “No
one stood up for Ellis Madsen. She felt completely alone in those attacks. Her friends
abandoned her, fearing they’d get made fun of, too. Assholes
,
every one of them.”

“So, Miss Pringle’s text was completely different?”

He lost the far-off, pained gaze and settled his sharp, brown eyes on me. “Are you
this nosy with Sheriff Thompson’s cases?”

I laughed. “Pretty much. But I figure there must be something to this Phantom Texter
or you wouldn’t be confiscating computer equipment.”

“Didn’t say this had anything to do with anything. Maybe I like to carry around computers
for kicks.” He hoisted the hard drive to his hip and pointed to the office. “Go get
your building pass, hon’.”

“See you around, Detective Herrera.”

He smiled and trudged toward the front doors.

Herrera worried about copycats and called the Phantom a prankster. But he didn’t deny
that Pringle had gotten a message from the Phantom. I needed to know how many other
faculty members had gotten texts, too.

When I had finally stumbled through the theater wing doors with the proper identification
hanging around my neck, I found Laurence lying on a bean bag, reading a book. He didn’t
look up from the book, but pointed toward the far left set of doors. I pushed through
and found myself in yet another hall of doors. Some had gold stars. Some were marked
for the girls and boys facilities. Others were labeled for props and costumes. All
locked. Which I knew because I’m snoopy.

Someone should have drawn me a map. Or Laurence should have been more obliging. If
he was indeed Tara Mayfield’s brother, Tara must have hoarded all the helpful genes
in that family.

And why wasn’t Laurence in class? As I pondered the differences between my own and
a Peerless education, I found the back entrance to the stage.

Hearing voices, I followed them until I encountered Tinsley holding class. With the
cape draped around him, he sat cross-legged on a table, in cool teacher mode. Below
him, the students adopted his cross-legged stance on the floor of the stage, gazing
up at the Dali Lama of Theater.

He descended from his table to introduce me with grand, sweeping gestures that put
Vanna White to shame. “Ms. Tucker will design our set and assist our set technicians
in creating our underwater alien planet of Verona.”

I smiled and waved. The students flicked an unimpressed gaze on me, then switched
to adoration for Tinsley.

“The back drop’s been delivered. Primed, flameproofed, and ready to paint.” He pointed
to draped fabric attached to a thick metal rod spanning the back of the stage. The
drop had been suspended by wire from ceiling rigs, but lowered to my approximate height,
puddling the extra length of fabric on the floor. “However, I’ve been thinking that
we should also use periaktoi. I’ve eight prisms constructed from our production of
Lysistrata
. I feel Shakespeare would approve of our Greek scene device.”

The students nodded.

I felt as sharp as a bowl of
J
ell
-O
. “Do you paint these periaktoi? I don’t know what they are. Sounds like some kind
of dinosaur.”

Two students rolled their eyes and one snickered.

“But if I can paint them, I’ll figure it out.” I eyeballed the snickerer.

“Of course
.
” Tinsley waved a hand at a group of tall, flat sided pillars. “They are placed together
to create a backdrop. Each one rotates for three easily interchangeable scenes. You
just need to paint over them.”

“I can do that.” I walked over to the prisms and pushed on one. Moving on wheels,
it turned to reveal two more painted sides. “Painting these will be faster than building
a set.”

“Excellent. We will have some side sets, but I also have the stairs and balcony pieces
from previous plays.”