DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE by Larissa Reinhart Read Free Book Online Page A

studios?”
    “If we must,” he sighed, plodding toward the entrance. We entered an anteroom lined
     with more doors. “The sculpture lab is on the far right. Computer animation and graphic
     design over there. Drawing and painting in the middle. I believe there’s also some
     kind of press in one. And something for textiles.”
    I peered through each of the narrow windows set inside the doors. “These are nicer
     than some of my classrooms at SCAD.”
    “Did you attend college in Savannah or Atlanta? I know a few faculty members in Atlanta.”
    “Savannah . ” I backed away from the last window as a tall, thin woman with a short crop of salt
     and pepper spied my gawk.
    The door swung open. The tall woman stepped into the vestibule, crossed her arms over
     her chambray tunic, and fixed a cold, death-ray glare on Tinsley. “I told you to stay
     out of the art wing.”
    Tinsley shrugged. “Calm down, Camille. I was just showing your facilities to the
     art director for the new production.”
    She set her cool, hazel eyes on me. “The art rooms are not available for outsiders.
     Don’t even think about using my supplies.”
    “I hadn’t thought about it, ma’am,” I said, disappointed to start on the wrong foot
     with a fellow artist. “I figured the theater department had their own stuff.”
    “They have plenty of ‘stuff.’” She whirled around, slamming the door behind her.
    “Well,” said Tinsley, ushering me back into the arts hall. “I certainly lose to Dr.
     Vail on dramatic outbursts today.”
    I reminded myself of the zeros on the check and kept my mouth shut.
    At the end of the hall, the double doors had been draped with red satin swag. A gold,
     sparkling lettered sign, entitled “Tinsley Town,” hung next to the door. Like the
     art wing, these double doors led to a room with more doors. This area had been painted
     green and crammed with a table and beanbag chairs. Students were draped across and
     over the seating, all with various devices in hand. One mop-topped boy lay on the
     long table, viewing an electronic tablet held above his face while he popped goldfish
     crackers into his mouth.
    “Ignore the denizens,” said Tinsley, readopting his grandiose voice that included
     the wide arm sweep.
    I did my best to ignore as I tripped over gangly teens, making our way to his office
     entrance, complete with another gold, sparkly sign.
    The office had the wood and leather vibe that reminded me of my friend Max Avtaikin’s
     office. I wandered behind a full length mirror standing before floor to ceiling bookshelves.
     With my back to Tinsley, I scanned the shelves holding stacks of both bound paper
     and hard cover scripts, various knickknacks that I took to be props, and framed theater
     programs. I felt surprised to find no personal photos of him, his family, or the students.
     The room appeared as staged as his gimmicky caped character.
    “Have a seat.” Tinsley pointed toward a chair before his mahogany desk. “Would you
     like some coffee? I always need a stimulant this time of day.”
    I thanked him, glad he had dropped his booming affectation and wild gesturing. Dropping
     into the chair, I watched as he gathered coffee materials from a credenza. Without
     his audience, his posture slumped and his facial features relaxed, exposing a fine
     network of lines around his eyes. Doling out ground coffee into a press, he added
     hot water from an electric tea kettle, then massaged his goatee , waiting for the coffee to steep.
    Four minutes later, I held a delicate china cup and no fix on the real Mr. Tinsley.
     “Good cup of joe. Thank you.”
    He gave a small bow. “The extra effort is worth it , don’t you think? I feel the same way about my little theater projects.”
    I had a feeling his theater projects weren’t little.
    Circling the desk, he sank into a leather office chair cranked to its fullest height.
     Either that or someone had sawed the legs off my chair and his desk.
    He