“Did that folder with the exam in it turn up?”
“No, damn it! And that troll of an assistant principal is insisting that I come up with an entirely new one.” Bishop was certain that the lilacs were an attempt to curry favor with the troll.
“Everyone have a good day!” Bishop said to his homeroom as the period ended. As his colleague headed back toward his own room, Bishop said, “Good luck with that exam, Charlie!”
As his first period class came in, he pulled the index card that Terry had given him out of his pants pocket. He looked at the number and recognized it instantly. It was the same number that Amy Davis had given Ron and him the other day.
***
After his first two classes passed uneventfully, Bishop grabbed his car keys and headed out to buy the copy paper at the closest big box store. He checked his mailbox before he left and found a message from Lieutenant Hodge asking him to return his call when he had a free moment. As he passed the main office, he made eye contact with Terry and gestured that he would be out of the building for a while. She grabbed an envelope and waved it in the air. He signaled a thumbs up, but didn’t stop to pick up whatever money the envelope contained. He made a mental note to see Terry at the end of the day. It would also serve as a test to determine whether or not he could still function with mental notes.
He was curious to know why Hodge had called, so he decided to touch base with him while he drove to the store. Luckily, Hodge was at his desk.
“Thanks for calling back so quickly.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I ran that license plate number that you gave me.”
“And?”
“It sounds like you’re driving. You could get a ticket for using your phone while driving, you know.”
“Don’t worry. I have you on speakerphone,” he said with a laugh. “Now, what about that plate?”
“It belongs to a Ryan Baxter, 28. He lives out on Railroad Avenue.”
“Anything else?” Bishop asked hopefully.
“Arrested twice for simple assault. Bar room fights. Charges dropped in both cases. Arrested once for disorderly conduct. Paid a $100 fine.”
“Sounds like a man with some issues. I know that Amy was upset with Ed for not giving her any money for expenses. Maybe she asked Ryan to use a little muscle on Ed to get some cash. Maybe Ryan was jealous of Ed living in Amy’s trailer even though, according to Amy, nothing was going on between those two. Maybe …”
Hodge cut him off right there. “That’s a lot of maybes,” he said with a laugh. “Maybe I’ll pay Amy a little visit this afternoon.”
“Do you mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all. It might actually be helpful if you’re there. What if I pick you up at school at 4:00 p.m.?”
“Perfect! I’ll see you then.”
There weren’t many people shopping for copy paper at this time in the morning. When he realized that there were only eight reams in a case and that a case cost twenty dollars, he decided to buy four cases. He had no idea how fast the faculty would run through 16,000 sheets of paper. Making copies of final exams would take up a good portion of that. If needed, he could always come back for more. He put the purchase on his credit card, and one of the stock boys helped him load the paper in his trunk.
As he drove back to Trinity, he tried to understand the decision of Sister Ann and Sister Pat to cut off the teachers’ paper supply. Saving a few dollars here and there wouldn’t make a dent in the school’s deficit, but it would affect teacher morale at a time when it was already about as low as he had ever seen it. It crossed his mind that he could solve the school’s financial crisis if only printing money weren’t illegal.
He parked his car close to the entrance, popped the trunk, and walked into the building with a case of paper in his hands. The halls were empty except for one young man who was headed upstairs. When he saw Bishop, he walked up to him and asked, “Do you need some help with that, Mr. Bishop?”
The student obviously knew who he was, but he didn’t know who the young man was. All of the boys wore the same uniform consisting of khaki trousers, a white dress shirt with the “HT” monogram on the pocket, and a navy blue tie with a similar logo. His red hair was parted down the middle, and he wore dark-rimmed glasses. This fellow was taller than Bishop. Many of the students, even some of the 9th graders, towered over him. Students these days were taller than students from the past, but it was also true that he had lost an inch or two over the years.
Just as he was about to answer the young man’s question, he heard Sister Pat bellowing at him from a distance. “What are you doing out in the hall? You better get somewhere fast before I put you on detention!” Bishop hadn’t been in her line of vision. Maybe she would have threatened him with detention as well. He stepped forward so that Sister Pat could see him. Her next directive was aimed at him. “I want that boy out of the hall this instant!”
“This young gentlemen is helping me, Sister Pat.” He was pleased to rescue the student from her senseless overreaction. He had long ago concluded that Sister Pat’s aggressive and bullying behavior was her way of coping with her own insecurities. Sister simply grunted at Bishop’s explanation and returned to her office.
He turned back to the student. “What’s your name?”
“John Fisher.”
“Nice to meet you, John. Are you supposed to be in a class right now?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. I could use your help. I’ve got some more boxes in my car that are needed in the teachers’ copy room.” Since he was still holding the box, he gestured with his head toward the open trunk. Within a few minutes, all four boxes were stacked neatly in a corner. Bishop thanked John who replied, “No problem.” As he took off down the hall, he glanced in the direction of Sister Pat’s office, obviously hoping that he could avoid another skirmish with her.
There weren’t any teachers in the room at the time he made the delivery. Just as he was about to leave, Sister Pat confronted him. Her presence in the doorway effectively precluded his exit. “You like playing the big hero?”
In most cases, it was best to simply ignore her comments, but on this occasion, she left him little choice. The fact that no one else was in the room created the perfect opportunity for him to respond. He tended to speak with his hands, and this occasion was no different. He tapped the fingers on his left hand with his right index finger as he tallied his points. “First of all, you may be playing games by cutting off the paper supply, but I’m not playing.” Sister Pat took a step backward as if she had gotten too close to a hornets’ nest and was about to get stung.
“Secondly,” as he tapped again, “if anyone is big around here, it certainly isn’t me.” He decided to leave his meaning ambiguous so that she could interpret it any way she wanted. “And thirdly, buying some copy paper doesn’t make me a hero. Just trying to help out my colleagues. Isn’t that what Christianity is all about?” Without giving her a chance to respond, he took out his red pen, walked up to the sign posted above the copy machine that she had made, inserted a caret between the “n” and the “e,” and added a big red “d.” “By the way,” he added as he walked past her, “you misspelled ‘remainder.’”
Chapter Eleven
Lunch turned out not to be as relaxing as he had hoped. The best lunch periods were the ones in which people talked and laughed about just about anything other than school. Bishop much preferred a discussion about sports or some news event to rants about what a student or a class did or didn’t do. He was certain that Sister Pat would be in Sister Ann’s office recounting and dramatizing his exchange with her in the copy room. That meant that the faculty could speak openly at lunch, and that they did.
People were still grousing about the fact that their lunches were no longer free. Frank Wilson was the most vocal. His concerns, however, extended beyond the salary freeze to the rumors of staff cuts. He directed his anger towards Dan Morehouse, the
board member who had announced the freeze the previous day. “It just doesn’t seem fair to make cuts this late in the school year. What chance would any of us have to find another job for September?”
Dan had been meeting with the principal earlier and had decided to grab a quick lunch here before he went back to his car dealership. It was a decision that he was undoubtedly regretting at this point. “Listen, Frank. I hear what you’re saying, and I agree with you. We’re working on a lot of things to solve this financial mess that we’re in.”
Frank was so focused on this issue that his grilled cheese sandwich and cup of tomato soup sat untouched on his tray. “What kinds of things, if I may ask?”
Dan looked around the room to be sure that Sister Ann and Sister Pat were not there. “You didn’t hear this from me, but they are looking at a significant tuition increase.”
Bishop, who had been content to eat his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, injected himself into the conversation. “That would be a disaster in my opinion. Again, the timing is part of the problem. It doesn’t seem right to hit parents with a big increase without advance notice. Many families are on a tight budget, and I’m afraid that some of them might be forced to pull their kids out of Trinity. That, in turn, would cause an additional loss of revenue and further damage the school’s financial situation.”
“Believe me, Mike, I know exactly what you mean. The board was against the salary freeze and against a large tuition increase also. You know, as well as I do, that the board doesn’t really have any power. It’s an advisory group.” He made a quotation marks sign in the air as he said “advisory.” “That doesn’t mean they take our advice. Sister Ann pretty much does what she wants.”
Frank addressed his next comment to Bishop. “That’s why I think we should go on strike.”
Bishop shook his head in disagreement. “That would only end up hurting the students, Frank, and it would only cause Sister Ann to dig her heels in even more firmly. I think that it’s the wrong thing to do.”
Diane Ramos, who had been following the discussion, threw her hands up in frustration. “There must be something we can do!”
Eric Redstone, one of the guidance counselors, spoke up. “What if we all refused to do all the extra things we always do?”
“Like what?” asked Frank.
Eric had obviously given this some thought. “We could refuse to chaperone the senior prom. That’s not part of our job.”
That hit Bishop like a small jolt of electricity. It wasn’t that Eric’s idea was a good one. It wasn’t. It was that he had completely forgotten that the prom was this Friday. He had promised the kids a couple of months ago that he would chaperone. “I agree with you,” as he made eye contact with Eric, “that it’s not part of our job, but I personally still think that it’s a bad idea. If we all refuse to chaperone, the seniors will lose their prom. Without at least some teachers as chaperones, Sister Ann will cancel that dance without a second thought.”
“I guess you’re right, Mike. I hadn’t thought of that. It wouldn’t be right to take that away from the kids.”
As the lunch period ended, everyone left the room with the frustrating realization that certain events were out of their control.
***
His afternoon classes went quickly. Other than the AP students who were working on their presentation, everyone else was preparing for their final exams. It wasn’t unusual for students, especially the younger ones, to spend more time worrying about exams than actually studying for them. One group of freshmen seemed to be more stressed than the rest.
Tiffany Hanson raised her hand. Taller than most girls her age, she was already playing on the varsity basketball team. Her straight dark hair fell to her shoulders. “There’s so much stuff to study,” she said as she exhaled her frustration. “I don’t know where to begin.” A few other students nodded in agreement.
“I understand what you’re saying, Tiff,” Bishop began, “we have read a substantial amount of good literature.” Dylan, seated near the front of the room, began flipping through the pages of his notebook as if to emphasize the futility of trying to master all of that material.
“You have to remember what I said previously when I outlined the exam for you. You aren’t expected to know every single detail for every single work. Much of the exam is geared toward applying what you have learned over the course of the year. For example, instead of asking questions about a specific short story that we discussed months ago, one section of the exam contains a story that we didn’t read during the year, one that isn’t even in our text. Your task will be to analyze that story using the strategies that you’ve learned. That’s why I say that this exam is going to be fun.” That last statement was met with facial expressions of disbelief and confusion.
“What’s so fun about taking exams?” asked Tom Miller, a rather chunky, red-faced young man. “I tend to draw a blank when I take a major exam.”
Bishop took his comments as an opportunity to make an important point. “There’s no question that exams can be stressful. It’s quite normal to feel some anxiety. I’d be more worried if you didn’t. It shows that you care enough to want to do well.” As he spoke, he moved away from the cardboard box that served as his podium and stood between two rows of desks. “This class has been all about developing skills in reading, writing, and critical thinking. When you look at it that way, all of you have been preparing for this exam since the first day of classes. Now you have a chance to demonstrate those skills. You should be looking forward to that opportunity. That’s why I say that this exam should be fun!”
One of the young men seated in the back of the room quickly reacted. “I can think of a lot better ways to have fun!” When he smiled, he revealed a mouthful of braces. Everyone, including Bishop, had a good laugh as various possibilities came to mind.
“You’re absolutely right, Kevin,” as he recaptured their attention. “However, you are going to come out of this exam knowing more than when you went in. If you’ve put in the work all year long, and I know that most of you have done that, then you don’t have to panic over this test. You’ll do just fine.” The class period was just about over. He knew that he hadn’t convinced many that taking his exam could be fun, but he hoped, at least, that he had lessened some of their fears.
***
When the dismissal bell rang, Bishop remained in his room in case any of his students came in with a question. He straightened up his desk and packed his briefcase for the evening. The stack of papers that needed grading was getting smaller as exams approached. As he sat in his green leather swivel rocker, all of the worries that he was able to suppress while teaching returned. Foremost among them were the questions of who killed Ed Cooper and why. Ed clearly didn’t have much money so that eliminated greed as a motive. If not money, perhaps he knew something that someone perceived as a threat that had to be eliminated. Could he have been killed in a jealous rage? Amy, Ryan, and Debbie each might have wanted to lash out at him. What if there was no motive? He might simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Such musings always led him back to Jack. His dislike of Ed was obvious. Equally obvious was Jack’s knowledge of the trap door to the storage area. Jack’s temper had flared more than once in the last couple of weeks. Could he have killed Ed in a fit of rage? If he hadn’t done it, was it possible that he knew who did? There were so many questions, and at this point, still no answers.
Lieutenant Hodge was picking him up in thirty minutes. He locked his room, grabbed his belongings, and headed downstairs. As he approached the main office, he saw that Sarah Humphries, sometimes referred to as Sarah the Gabber, and Terry were engaged in a private conversation. Although both were in their mid-forties, Sarah could pass for a college student with her Taylor Swift haircut and her trendy wardrobe. From the looks on their faces, the topic of conversation was something other than the lilacs that Terry had received that morning. Sarah’s job as a counselor was a tough one. She listened as others unburdened t
hemselves of their problems, and offered encouragement and advice. Her most noticeable flaw, however, was her penchant for sharing bits of gossip with her friends, one of whom was Terry. Bishop wondered which one of the guidance counselors the administration was planning to cut. Could it be Sarah?
Bishop greeted them both with a warm smile. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. I just stopped by to pick up that envelope. I’m lucky that I remember much of anything at my age!” A little self-deprecating humor wasn’t a bad thing.
“Mike, you’ve got the memory of ten elephants!” Sarah teased. “Anyway, I was just on my way out. I’ve got an appointment with my hairdresser.” Maybe the Taylor Swift look was on the way out as well.
Terry handed over the envelope. “There’s over a hundred bucks in there!” she said excitedly.
“That’s more than I spent!”
“When Dan Morehouse heard about it, he threw in a twenty. That was awfully nice of him. I think he feels bad about the way you-know-who is handling the situation.”
“He definitely seems to be stuck in the middle.” He thought for a moment and came up with an idea. “I think I’ll use the rest of the money to have some pizzas delivered for the faculty tomorrow.”
“Maybe you should wait to see if you’re going to have to buy more paper. That copier has been humming all day,” she said with a grin.
“You’re right, I guess, but I still like the pizza idea. The faculty could certainly use a bit of a morale boost.”
Just as Bishop was about to leave, Terry said, “Aren’t you going to ask me what Sarah and I were talking about?” Her tone of voice, and even her body language, suggested that she was dying to share her newly acquired information with someone.
Schooled in Deception: A Michael Bishop Mystery Page 9
