Page 69 of Pied Sniper

“Lexi?”

“Have you found anything about a trust fund in Tiffany’s history?” I asked.

“How far back should I look for that?”

“Her teenage years.”

“I’m still looking into the past few years,” said Solomon. “But I can tell you there isn’t any drip feed from a trust fund account and no savings account attached that could have been one.”

“Perhaps the money’s all gone,” I said, although privately I wondered if it were ever there. I clicked the link in the email and a browser opened with the school’s online brochure. Beautiful photos showed an old brick building with lead windows, towering chimneys, and double wide doors that opened onto a parquet entryway. Class pages showed state-of-the-art equipment, an enormous library, and a sports facility that could rival a small college. The equestrian block boasted English-style riding lessons, barns for boarding horses and medals and cups from past competitions. All the kids wore neat blazers, shirts with ties and pants or plaid skirts. Even their leisure wear was smart. I found a phone number and dialed it.

“The Clare School,” chirped a young woman’s voice.

“Hi, I’m calling in regard to the scholarship donation,” I said.

“I’ll transfer you. Who shall I say is calling?”

“Grace Underwood, PA to one of the former students,” I lied.

“One moment please.” Pop music barely played a few bars before the line was connected. “Hello?” came the voice. “Scholarships Office. How can we help you help the children of tomorrow?”

“I’m calling on behalf of Tiffany Rose,” I said. “She was a former student. I’m her assistant, Grace. Tiffany wanted me to talk to you about making a donation.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. It’s wonderful when our former students want to push it forward.”

“Tiffany is happy to do so.”

“I don’t recall her name. Does she now use a married name? Some of our former girls do.”

“No, she’s not married. She would have graduated just over ten years ago.”

“Let me check our records,” she said, tapping the keys. “Her surname is Rose you say?”

“Correct.”

“We don’t have any records of a Tiffany Rose at our school. We do have a Rose listed as a first name. Is Tiffany Rose hyphenated?”

“Yes, that’s right. My mistake, she only used Rose back then. I’m kinda new,” I said, playing along. “What surname do you have on file?”

“Busch. A very bright scholarship student too. I believe there’s still a photo of her on our accomplishments page.”

“I’ll check that out. I understand the school was very kind to her after her parents passed,” I said.

“Her parents? Oh, no. I don’t think Rose’s parents passed. They always wanted to visit us but after her junior year and that incident with her cous… um, yes, Rose was a quiet girl,” she trailed off.

“Oh? How come?”

“I don’t recall,” she said stiffly. “Are you sure you have the correct school?”

“I must have gotten my wires crossed,” I said as I navigated to the accomplishments page. I scrolled down, skipping the most recent few years before I stopped. An old photo of a smiling girl with big glasses and braces, her hair held back with a velvet alice band. Underneath the caption read, “First prize for creative writing awarded to Rose Busch” but there was no mistaking it. Rose Busch was a very young Tiffany Rose.

Chapter Fourteen

I made my excuses and hung up. “We’ve made a mistake,” I said.

Solomon paused, his hands hovering above the keyboard. “What kind of mistake?”

“We’ve been looking for the past of aTiffany Rose. Her real name is Rose Busch.”

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