Schooled in Deception: A Michael Bishop Mystery

by Anthony J. Pucci

  “Speaking of doing something, after that lunch, Dan Morehouse came up with an idea to save those jobs. Apparently, he went into Sister Ann’s office and told her that he was going to contact the other board members and some other heavy hitters in the community for special donations to prevent any staffing cuts.” It was obvious that Ron was heartened by the gesture. “And he’s making the first donation of $25,000.”

  “That’s awfully nice of him, but don’t you think that it’s too little too late?” Bishop didn’t want the faculty riding an emotional roller coaster. What was the likelihood that Dan’s initiative would raise the $1.2 million needed within the next few weeks? And what guarantee did they have that whatever money raised would actually be used for the purpose for which it was intended? Sister Ann had a tendency to direct funds where she wanted them to go.

  “You’re probably right,” Ron conceded as he munched on a handful of chips, “but I’m glad that we have a guy like Dan on the board.”

  “You should head out to dinner before you lose your appetite.”

  “Me? Lose my appetite on a few chips?” he laughed. “I could polish off the whole bag and still be hungry by the time I sat down to eat.” His friend didn’t disagree. “Listen, there’s one more thing I wanted to tell you before I go.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve been pulling in some kids, trying to get a lead on those locker room thefts.” He stopped again as he took a drink of something to wash down the chips. Bishop knew that Jennings had a good rapport with the students. He was the one administrator in the building that they knew they could trust. “I didn’t come up with any suspects, but I did find out that the problem was worse than I thought. Some of the girls who lost money didn’t report it because they were afraid their parents would find out. In the last few weeks, more than five hundred dollars has been taken.”

  “Ouch! I hope you’re telling these kids not to keep valuables in their lockers.”

  “Not that it does much good.”

  “I know what you mean. Well, enjoy your dinner, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Enjoy your leftovers,” Ron laughed before ending the call.

  ***

  The Sonata in B Minor had just begun as he turned up the volume. Bishop propped himself up on the sofa and closed his eyes as Maestro Horowitz delivered a dazzling display of virtuosity. A couple of years of piano lessons as a child had convinced him that he would never become a concert pianist. He sometimes thought that he would be one of the world’s best performers; the only problem was that the instrument with which he would achieve that stardom hadn’t been invented yet. His lack of musical talent, however, did not prevent him from an appreciation of the work of others, and he had the CD collection to prove it.

  When that piece ended, he lowered the CD player’s volume so that he could make a call. He hoped that he might catch Debbie at home, but he reached her voice mail instead. He left a brief message expressing his hope that everything was okay, left his number, and urged her to call him when she had a chance. Next, he called Christy’s Pizza and ordered enough pizza and wings for forty people. What did it say about his eating habits that Christy’s phone number was in his list of contacts? Fortunately, his penchant for fast food had not led to an increase in his waistline. He knew from experience most of the faculty and staff would partake, especially since the school had started charging for lunch. He told the owner, Luigi Catania, that he would settle the bill on delivery. This surprise treat for the teachers was going to cost him much more than what was left of the donations for the copy paper, but he didn’t mind. The end of the school year was always a stressful time, this year more than most, and a little pizza party might lift everyone’s spirits, if only temporarily.

  He poured himself a small glass of red wine and ate the leftover chicken while seated on a stool at the kitchen counter. With his laptop next to his plate, he checked his email and caught up on the day’s news, weather, and sports online. Over the years, he had noticed the decline in the quality of television network news. They provided little depth to important stories, and instead played up human-interest stories in the hopes of winning the ratings game. In addition, it seemed that the pharmaceutical industry dominated the commercials as they peddled the latest drugs. When it took longer to list the possible harmful side effects of a medication than it did to explain the drug’s benefits, he decided that the fewer pills people took the better off they were.

  After cleaning up in the kitchen, he turned on a reading lamp in the darkened sunroom and sat in his favorite chair. Using a lap desk, he started grading a set of vocabulary quizzes. There were many ways to test vocabulary including matching, fill in the blanks, and word banks. He had always insisted that in addition to the meaning, students know the part of speech and how to use the word in a sentence. Evaluating sentences took more time, but he was convinced that his students were more likely to remember the word and its meaning if they felt comfortable using it in a sentence. He was moving through a stack of papers at a satisfactory clip until he read this sentence from the paper of Nancy Dunwoody: “I feel apathy for the starving children of Africa when I see pictures of their tear-filled eyes and distended bellies.” Good context clues, Nance, but shouldn’t that be “empathy” that you feel? Was it possible that she really did feel apathetic? Was it possible that Nancy had used the word incorrectly as a test for the teacher? Did he really read all of those sentences thoughtfully, or he did just skim them and place a grade at the top? Whatever the case, she was unlikely to confuse “empathy” and “apathy” in the future.

  He had a hard time concentrating on his work after Nancy’s paper and decided to put the rest of them aside for the moment. He picked up the remote and flipped through the channels looking for a good ball game. He settled on the Mets game against the Cubs for at least this half inning as he noticed that the Dark Knight, Matt Harvey, was on the mound. He watched as three straight Cubbies flailed at Harvey’s high heat and lunged at his devastating hook. He felt that he was striking out as well in his attempts to find Ed Cooper’s killer. At first, Jack Slater appeared to be a good possibility. He had a temper, he didn’t like Ed, he knew about the trap door, and he was unusually defensive of late. But did that make him guilty? Amy Davis was another candidate when Bishop thought that she might be a jealous lover. But she turned out to be his half sister who gave the guy a place to crash when he had no place else to go. Then there was Ryan Baxter, Amy’s boyfriend, who might have been jealous of Ed. But Amy’s revelation had squelched that theory, and if his alibi checked out, he was nowhere near Trinity when the crime took place. Strike three.

  Bishop decided that he would have to alter the baseball analogy. Instead of using the rules of a regular season game, he preferred to think of his quest for the killer as the Homerun Derby. In that case, a batter was allowed ten strikes for each turn at the plate. He hoped that he wouldn’t need all ten.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Strangely, he could hear no noise in the halls as he sat in the straight-backed wooden chair in Sister Ann’s office. She kept waving a paper in the air. Bishop wasn’t sure if she was trying to fan herself or swat at a fly. Sister Pat, a.k.a. Sister Meany, who was in the office as well, was eating a large slice of pizza with pepperoni. “This stuff always gives me heartburn,” she said as she took another bite.

  “Tell me again,” the principal demanded. “What does ‘Avignon 1868’ mean?” There was a real sense of urgency in her voice. He had the impression that this meeting wouldn’t end until he told them what they wanted to hear.

  All he could do was tell them the truth as he had done previously. “Avignon is the city in France where Genevieve Devereux founded the order of the Sisters of the Holy Rosary in 1868.” He couldn’t understand why they kept asking the question since both of them undoubtedly knew that that was true. Sister Pat laughed hysterically as she picked up a chicken wing from a plate on the principal’s desk and started gnawing at it. With her mouth still
half full, she managed to ask her friend, “Got any beer?”

  The principal opened a small fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out a bottle of Heineken, twisted off the cap, and handed it to the assistant principal who proceeded to chug about half of the contents. Bishop didn’t have a problem with a nun having a beer, but drinking during the school day was a different matter. A teacher doing the same thing would have been fired on the spot. Bishop wanted out of that room. “If you don’t have further questions, I’d like to go now.” He glanced at his watch. It seemed as though he had been in the office for hours, but not even a minute had passed. Maybe his watch battery had died. He checked the wall clock. It read the same time as his watch.

  Sister Ann was waving the paper again as if she were waving a checkered flag at the Indy 500. “You’re not going anywhere until you sign this!” she screamed as she slammed the paper down in front of him. Bishop picked it up and read it. What were they up to now? It was a letter addressed to the principal containing only one sentence. It was his letter of resignation.

  “I didn’t write this!” protested the veteran teacher.

  “Doesn’t matter,” snapped Sister Pat as she took another swig from the bottle. She was chewing noisily on another piece of pizza. “Just sign it!” Both nuns were laughing diabolically as the principal placed her pen on top of the letter. Although every fiber of his being told him not to relent, he reached for the pen. As he did so, the pen turned into a snake, and he awoke.

  ***

  While in the shower, the memory of his nightmare faded. He could still visualize that pen turning into a snake. Earlier in the week, he had reviewed some Hawthorne short stories with his freshmen. In “Young Goodman Brown,” the main character believes that the old man’s walking stick had turned into a snake. Of course, Goodman Brown had been dreaming as well, or had he? One part of the dream that seemed plausible involved the nuns trying to force his resignation. He had thought about it seriously after his wife died. The years since then had proven that he had made the right decision. As long as he enjoyed the classroom, he had no intention of retiring in the near future. And when he did decide to leave, it was going to be on his terms, not theirs.

  He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that the hot water was beginning to run out. Grace, who could take a shower in just a couple of minutes, often teased him about the length of his showers. She suggested that they purchase a tankless water heater that supplied hot water on demand. Fearing that he would take even longer in the shower, he resisted the idea. He used that time to think about the upcoming day or to work through a problem. Once the hot water started to run out, he knew that he had to finish up quickly. He dressed and had a quick breakfast of cereal, tea and toast. He grabbed his briefcase and headed out at the usual time although he sensed that the day ahead would be far from usual.

  ***

  On his drive in, he stopped at a convenience store a few blocks from the school to pick up some paper plates, cups, napkins, and soda for the faculty lunch. The place was fairly busy with people buying coffee, cigarettes, morning papers, and lottery tickets. There was only one clerk on duty, but the checkout seemed to be moving right along. There was a young woman behind him holding a baby in one arm and a large package of disposable diapers in the other.

  “Why don’t you get ahead of me in line?” he said to her as he moved his cart out of the way.

  Her face brightened. “Thanks!” she said as she slipped past him.

  Despite the floppy sun hat that she was wearing, he thought he recognized her. “Aren’t you Amy Davis’s friend?”

  The question caught her off guard. “Yeah, I am,” she said as she took a closer look at this elderly gentleman, trying to figure out how he would have known that.

  “I was at Amy’s place yesterday when you stopped by to pick her up.”

  She moved up to next in line at the checkout. “Oh, you must be one of the cops that was questioning her. I only saw you for like two seconds. I don’t know how you recognized me.”

  “I guess I have a good memory for faces.” He didn’t say that it would have been even easier to recognize her if that hat wasn’t covering her blonde spiked hair with the purple streaks. “And I’m not a cop, by the way. My name is Michael Bishop. I teach at the school where Ed worked, and the detective thought I might be of some help.”

  “I’m Lori,” she said. “Nice to meet ya.” She gave the cashier a twenty, got her change, and as she headed out, she looked back and smiled. After Bishop paid for his items, he loaded everything back into his cart. He always managed to pick a cart that had squeaky wheels, and this time was no different. As he approached his Toyota Corolla, he realized that Lori had parked her Dodge minivan next to him. With the hatch wide open, she was almost finished changing the baby.

  Hearing the approach of the squeaky cart, she looked in that direction. “Am I in your way?” she asked politely.

  “Not at all,” said Bishop as he popped the lid of the trunk and began transferring bags. “What a cute baby! What’s her name?” Content with a fresh diaper, the baby was kicking her feet in the air.

  “Thanks. Her name is Ivy,” she answered as she smiled at the baby who smiled back. She picked up the baby, and closed the hatch with one hand. She must have received a text message as she pulled her phone out of her purse and studied the screen for a moment. Bishop was about to return his empty cart to the designated location when Lori tapped in a quick response, and tossed the phone back in her purse. With a sigh of exasperation, she simply said to no one in particular, “Men!”

  “Is something the matter?” he asked although he realized that it was none of his business.

  “Not really. My girlfriend, the one we were just talking about, broke up with her boyfriend. Just like Ivy’s dad. Lies, lies, and more lies.” As she spoke, she placed the baby in her car seat and snapped the buckle in place. She closed the rear passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “Sorry to hear that,” he responded, realizing that that would be of little comfort to either Lori or Amy. As she backed out of her parking spot, Lori waved at Bishop who stood there with the empty cart, lost in thought. He realized that the lives of these young people were so much more difficult than his own. Nancy Dunwoody’s quiz paper came to mind. What he felt was “empathy” for Lori, a single mom, and Amy who had lost her half brother and her boyfriend within a week.

  As he drove to school, he wondered what lies had caused Amy to breakup with Ryan. Just yesterday, she had been so adamant in defending Ryan from any involvement in her half brother’s death. What lies had he told her? Could she have found out that Ryan wasn’t at work at the time of the murder? Amy had said that the two men had never argued. Might she have been lying as well?

  ***

  He pulled into the faculty parking lot later than usual. A couple of boys were walking by at that moment. Neither one was carrying any books or bags. Normally, it irritated Bishop that some students never seemed to need to bring books home. Didn’t they have homework? Was it possible that they could complete it all during a study hall? Even more troubling to him was the reality that some teachers arrived and left school on a regular basis with nothing more than their car keys in hand. In this case, however, he was happy to find these boys empty-handed as he enlisted them to help him bring all of the items that he had just purchased into the building.

  Sister Pat had taken up her usual position near the main entrance. The antithesis of a Wal-Mart greeter, her frequent response to a “Good morning!” from any unsuspecting student or teacher was a grouchy “What’s so good about it?” Most had learned not to greet her or even make eye contact. Similar to running a gauntlet, the goal was simply to walk past her without incurring a nasty comment or disapproving glare. The two young men helping Bishop were not so fortunate. “Stop right there!” she barked. “What are you doing with all that stuff?”

  “They’re helping me, Sister,” Bishop said in as much of a non-confrontational to
ne as he could muster. He directed the boys to drop the bags off in the kitchen and thanked them for their help. They seemed relieved to escape Sister Meany.

  With her hands on her hips in disbelief, she spoke slowly. “You’re not having a party, are you? You know that classroom parties are strictly prohibited!” She made it sound as if having a party was the equivalent of dumping toxic waste in the town’s supply of drinking water. Bishop noticed some students and a few teachers silently move by, grateful that they were not her current target.

  “Actually,” he said with a slight smile, “I am having a party.” He hated to admit it, but he rather enjoyed provoking her outrage.

  “Well, we’ll just see about that!” She practically spit out the words as she turned, undoubtedly to report him to the principal.

  Before she had taken a step, Bishop clarified. “It’s a party for faculty. We’re having pizza and wings, and of course, you’re invited.” What he didn’t say was that her presence would put somewhat of a damper on the festivities, but that was an unavoidable consequence. The prospect of good eats had a remarkable effect on her demeanor. Without a word of apology or of thanks, she stepped aside. As he walked past her, he had a vague flashback to his nightmare vision of her laughing diabolically over a plate full of chicken bones.

  ***

  After that skirmish, he realized that he was running late. He brought the remaining items for the faculty lunch to the kitchen. The ladies were well into their morning routine preparing lunch for the students. He looked around for Debbie, but she was nowhere in sight. Lee Davidson, the kitchen manager, was at her desk going over some paperwork. Bishop told her to expect a delivery of pizza and wings from Christy’s before noon and that he and a few others would take care of setting up and cleaning up afterwards. Lee mumbled an acknowledgement, and Bishop turned to leave as she spoke. “It’s a good thing that you didn’t expect us to help. We’ve been shorthanded all week.”