Tup and Stern and the Skipping Rope Scandal.
At Tampin's Stern Mystery.
Written by S.
D.
Hudson Performed by Stephanie Poppins.
Chapter 5 It was mid-morning,
And Tup and Stern had finished making her rounds under the guise of pastoral concern.
In reality she was gathering all important intel and everything she learned she added to her little black book.
Walking past the game of cricket in the school field,
Because nothing short of nuclear war interrupted games at St Ethelburg's,
She headed for the school canteen and Sharon Stanning the school flirt.
She pushed open the doors to a smell of gravy,
Victorious sponge and blusted bleach,
The village's own brand.
On the wall above the hot plates,
A laminated poster of the food pyramid curled at one corner,
Hopelessly out of date.
Just like the metal counters underneath it,
And the dinner lady's verdict on anything containing garlic.
Next to the tug shop hatch,
Someone had blue-tacked a faded photocopy notice.
It read,
Tuck money,
£1.
50 maximum.
No pogs available since we locked down.
Pogs for a massive playground game.
Rooted in milk caps,
Named after a Hawaiian fruit juice,
Players would stack a number of them face down in a single pile,
Whilst another heavier one would strike the stack,
And any pieces that flipped over were kept by the player.
It's amazing the things people argue about.
Thought tuppence in amusement.
She made her way through the kitchen and there was Sharon beating a spoon into a bowl with the force of a man twice her size.
Sharon Stanning was what the girls called vicious.
But Tuppence reasoned at least she was honest.
And that counted for a lot in a situation like this.
With a long crimson mane sprayed into submission with what Tuppence suspected was an entire can of Elnett hairspray.
And matching fake nails clearly acquired on a day trip somewhere with a name like Nail Heaven.
Sharon's stunning was something to look at.
In the background,
A cassette player played something off a compilation tape.
Probably now that's what I call Music 34.
Although it was hard to tell over the extractor fan.
Tuppence wasn't quite sure what Sharon's opinion on all this was.
But Sharon had an opinion.
Sharon always had an opinion.
Malcolm Marshall was a man.
Yes,
He was a dead man.
But a man,
Nevertheless,
And alive or dead,
Men were Sharon's speciality.
Tubble stood watching as her first suspect sliced bananas into yogurt pots with an exceptionally sharp knife.
Sharon.
She began abruptly.
Tell me everything you know about Malcolm Marshall.
Sharon refused to look up.
She didn't appreciate Tuppence's forthright ways.
For one,
Who did Stern think she was,
Looking that good at her age?
For another,
She preferred the more subtle approach,
The sort favoured by the problem pages in Just Seventeen magazine for girls.
But this wasn't the day she was going to get it.
No good morning or how are ya?
Good morning Sharon,
How are you?
Sharon rolled her eyes.
There was no getting away from Tup and Stern whatsoever.
Alright.
Malcolm Marshall was an idiot.
She hissed.
Simple as that.
I suppose I shouldn't be speaking ill of the dead.
Dragging a stool away from the preparation station.
And closer to where Sharon stood.
Tuppence had a feeling this was going to take some time.
Sharon's stunning would take some manipulating.
She was not about to go down easily.
But Tuppence hated the subtle approach.
Black and white was how she preferred things,
Facts and figures,
Truth or lies.
This beating around the bush was not her style at all.
But needs must,
Information was key.
Okay,
Can you elaborate at all?
I'm trying to help everyone out before the post-mortem and the invasion of the blood-stained busies.
This would soften her up,
Tuffens reasoned.
Sharon came from a travelling family who were proud to say they hated the local police and everything they stood for.
Are you sure you've got the time?
I hear it's a full moon tonight and Pluto's retrograde.
Tup instead.
She knew this was a dig at her fascination with astrology,
But she wouldn't be rising to it.
Her hobby was not limited to the horoscopes on the back of the TV times.
She used the planetary positions and energies to understand personality traits.
And right now,
She reckoned,
Mars must be in conjunction with Saturn if Sharon's repressed tension was anything to go by.
If this lunch is late,
Tuppence,
You've only got yourself to blame,
Added Sharon,
Putting down the knife.
It can wait,
Tubman's reassured her.
We've got to close ranks,
Haven't we?
And the only way to do that is to stick together.
Sharon sighed.
Well,
I suppose you're gonna find out anyway.
Can't keep anything a secret round here.
Malcolm Marshall and me had a thing when he arrived.
Why wouldn't we?
He was a hunk,
In that oiled-up action figure kind of way he had.
Like one of them gladiators off the telly.
And me,
Well,
You just have to look at me.
But it didn't last,
She added quickly,
Seeing the funny expression on Tuppence's face.
That last week,
I saw him chatting up the bursar's niece.
Giggling,
He was,
Like a pathetic little schoolboy.
Well,
I wasn't going to have that,
Was I?
So I ended it there and then.
Good move,
Tubman's agreed.
I know the feeling.
Tuppence didn't like talking about herself,
But girl code,
She reasoned,
Drew her suspects in every time.
Exactly,
Sharon continued,
But then he turned all desperate and said I was being dramatic.
That made me see red,
I can tell you.
Can't stand a weak man,
Do you know what I mean?
So I told him exactly where we could stuff his dumbbells.
Oh,
Sounds painful.
And when was this?
Just before we croaked.
Tuppence winced.
Sharon wasn't known for her bedside manner.
But she did make a surprisingly good scone.
Swings and roundabouts.
Well,
You're well out of it,
Sharon,
It seems.
He's obviously been mixed up in something nasty.
Did he seem rattled to you in any way?
Like he was hiding something?
Who knows?
Many.
Now I better get on with dessert otherwise Boners will have my guts for garters.
Spotted Dick today for the old school and I've only got one earner custard working.
Then it's Tuppence's turn to leave,
Sharon added.
Your husband left you,
Didn't he?
For a younger woman.
Tuppence paused momentarily.
You could say that.
Now we all have to help Sharon,
Otherwise the school will close and we'll all be out of a job.
This scandal could destroy us.
If you know anything more.
.
.
It is best to tell me now.
Sharon shrugged.
Why did that woman never take the bait?
Well,
Maybe he was a bit jumpy that last day.
I put it down to him sneaking around behind me back.
But looking back,
There was probably more to it than that.
When we first met,
He did say he'd found something in the archives.
Oh,
Records or something.
But he wouldn't quite say what.
Honestly,
I thought he was just trying to impress me.
Tuppence frowned.
Hmm,
Interesting.
So that's it then,
You're done with the Spanish Inquisition.
Tuppence looked closely at the heavily made-up 30-something.
She was pretty in her own way,
She thought,
But it was difficult to see beyond the three feet of orange foundation.
She probably applied it with the same trowel she used on her Victoria sponge.
Meanwhile,
Sharon met Toppence's eyes with contempt.
She didn't like being questioned,
Especially by a woman who was more attractive than her.
Hold on a minute.
You don't think I had something to do with this,
Do you?
I was mad at him,
But I wasn't that bad.
You're not the only one who had a reason,
Sharon,
" said Tuppence quickly.
I'm just trying to find out who had the nerve.
The next person on Tuppence's radar was Mr Danforth,
The other gym teacher.
Younger than Malcolm Marshall,
Eternally sweaty and suspiciously enthusiastic about early morning circuit training.
He was the kind of man who considered a tracksuit formal wear,
And owned by Tuppence's estimate,
No fewer than four pairs of Reebok pumps.
And a walkman permanently clipped to his waistband with a single unmarked mixtape rattling around inside it.
He was out on the field now,
Blowing a whistle like he was leading troops into battle against an enemy that appeared to be,
On close inspection,
A set of orange cones.
Beyond him,
The flag on the chapel tower hung limp against the sky the colour of old exercise books.
Somewhere in the distance a tannoy crackled with the tail end of a notice about lost cricket bats.
No one was listening though.
Talpint's Watch.
She was standing in the pavilion now,
A drafted wooden structure with a peeling honours board nailed above the door.
That poor bloke looks guilty as sin.
She thought.
Then Bart turned up with a clipboard and a pair of binoculars,
Last used as far as Tuppence knew for birdwatching on a tour of Edinburgh trip in 1991.
Peering through them,
Bart said.
Mr Danforth looks very confused.
And quite rightly so.
He had a fight with Marshall apparently.
A loud one in the locker room.
Two days before Marshall died.
Tuppence turned excitedly.
And your sauces?
The caretaker's niece.
Year 8 she is,
Steals biscuits from the staff room.
She's incredibly reliable and she always tells me everything.
Bit like Neighbourhood Watch,
But with worse handwriting and better hearing.
They sat there for some time,
Watching Mr Danforth as he ran backwards and forwards,
Backwards and forwards across the field.
Then a year's seven ran across to them,
Telling Tup and she was wanted in Mr Bonus's office.
Getting up,
She made her way to a room so well wall panelled it looked like the inside of a gentleman's club.
Found as portraits scowled down from the panelling in cracked oils.
A glass cabinet in the corner held a row of tarnished silver cups.
No one had won in a decade.
And alongside the school's Latin motto,
Stitched onto a faded pennant.
With the names of girls that long ago found their own way into the world,
But still held St.
Ethelberg's affectionately in their hearts.
Martin Bonus,
Meanwhile,
Watched her enter from behind his enormous mahogany desk.
He wore a charcoal suit and a perfectly creased frown.
A gown unworn was draped over the back of his chair for chapel later.
The overall effect was rather undermined by the fax machine behind him,
Which chose that exact moment to begin shrieking its way through an incoming transmission.
Tuppence he said with a smile.
Martin.
I heard you've been canvassing.
Canvassing.
No,
Eavesdropping.
That was one of the skills I learned when I was training to be a teacher.
But I will be careful.
Their eyes locked.
Something unspoken passed between them as it always did.
Attention laid with affection and a generous pinch of regret.
Not unlike the awkward silence during the slow dance at the last star of Christmas do.
And what have you found out so far?
Well,
Sharon Stanning seems to have a beef.
And as for Mr.
Danforth.
.
.
I don't know.
I'm just getting to the bottom of it.
It will take some time.
Martin looked at her through determined eyes.
Well,
Time is of the essence,
Tuppence.
You know that.
We have less than a week now.
Tuppence paused,
Unsure whether she should say anything,
But determined to do so nevertheless.
I understand,
Martin,
And I am doing my best.
I just wondered if you'd noticed Miss Weed nosing about more than she should?
I'd ask you to refer from speaking about our colleagues in such a way.
Now please make sure you keep me updated on everything that goes on.
The last thing we want is for Inspector to have his way.
And make a complaint against Ethelbergs.
The man won't be happy until he's shut this place down.
That night Toppens found it very hard to sleep.
Her rooms,
A narrow creaking set above the old dormitory block.
Did nothing to settle her mind.
He'd played and replayed Sharon's words,
The gossip and the inconsistencies.
Malcolm had been sniffing around the archives.
But why?
At midnight,
She crept out and padded across the lawn to the gym.
Past the boot room with its rows of muddy plimsolls and lost property baskets that hadn't been emptied since the last term.
There was the gym,
Looming in the dark.
It was lit only by the moonlight.
The doors creaked as she slipped inside.
Since the murder,
It was no longer locked.
She wandered over to the scene,
Her torchlight leading the way.
She wondered if she had missed anything.
There was the stack of crash mats,
The skipping rope box.
Then an ancient horsehair vaulting box.
And a climbing rope frayed almost to strength.
But there behind it,
A single faint footprint she saw.
Chalky.
Not a man's shoe though.
It was too small to be a man's shoe size.
And beside it.
This lingering scent she couldn't place at first.
It didn't smell like the rest of the gym.
Was it lavender?
She froze.
Lavender.
That's signature scent.
The smell of a school assembly,
The laminated card that read BREATHE came back to her quickly and she stepped back slowly,
Heart thudding.
Now I have something to really work with.
