Connor liked to use my dreaded nickname from college days, but I was too distracted dealing with another dead body. It brought me tumbling back to thinking about Francesca. As I settled into the corner table trying to keep myself from ordering a second dessert, Maggie walked into The Big Beanery. Why did thoughts of the two greatest loves of my life always come in pairs since I'd come back home?
Chapter 5
“Hey, stranger. Didn't I just see you a little while ago?” Maggie said in a coy tone with a large smile displaying bright white teeth.
“Yes, but that was before the drama. Although I feel bad for the Paddington family, I'm glad to see you again.” Between the unexpected death and my determined attempt to avoid memories of Francesca, I'd originally thought being alone was the best thing for me. Sharing an afternoon cup of coffee with Maggie changed my mind.
“What happened?” she asked signaling to a server for a large decaf. When it was delivered, I handed the kid a ten-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. I didn't want to be interrupted again.
“I'm not sure if there's any merit to Gwendolyn Paddington's fears, but if the sheriff or coroner find anything concerning, we might have another murder in Braxton. I'm starting to think it's all because I returned home.”
Maggie cocked her head like I'd spoken some foreign language. “Perhaps you're being a little self-involved with that theory? You had nothing to do with the other deaths, and I'm fairly certain even if someone killed Gwendolyn, it wasn't because of you.”
“I didn't mean it that way. I'm not saying people are dying because I came back, I just meant…”
Maggie playfully tapped my right hand. “I was teasing.” Her fingers lingered, making me think back to what might have happened when we were stuck in the Box Office before Connor's interruption. “Gwendolyn was in her mid-seventies. There's every chance it could've been a heart attack or something else normal. Let's wait until we hear if this is anything suspicious.”
“I know. I just got strange vibes from her family. Do you know much about them?”
Maggie shook her head. “Since I've only been back for the one semester, I never had a chance to interact with Lilly. I helped Sam find a book on some rare plants and flowers several weeks ago, but we barely spent much time together. Dana and I have had a few interesting encounters in the library.”
“Really… such as?” I asked guessing it related to an intimate discussion with Arthur. “Do tell!”
“Dana is extremely boy crazy. When she gets a crush on someone, she goes to great lengths to capture his attention. Last month, she claimed to be in love with one of my student workers and snuck into the archive room. I still don't know how she got in without anyone seeing, but she'd arranged a picnic lunch and was wearing minimal clothing.”
“Was the student worker with her?”
“No, Jordan kept saying he was worried about an upcoming exam, so I finally told him to quit bugging me and leave. He mentioned accidentally leaving the door to the archive room unlocked which is how I found Dana crying and drinking from a nearly empty bottle of wine. I suspect Jordan was afraid to meet her, so he rushed out and forced me to be the one to find her.”
“Dana sounds like she's a bit of a troublemaker,” I said. Jordan Ballantine was a good kid I'd met earlier that month when he was a suspect on a murder investigation. He was also one of my students, and now that I remembered, he was Fern's nephew which made him Arthur's cousin. It seemed Dana liked to focus on guys in the same family.
“The next day, when I asked why he did that, Jordan claimed she was 'Jack Nicholson in The Shining' crazy. She'd been texting him to come find her and sending him compromising pictures. Apparently, she doesn't like to be told no.” Maggie finished her coffee, then mentioned she was meeting Connor for dinner later that evening since their date at the theater had been preempted.
I thanked for her the information, suggested a day for our dinner the upcoming week, and pretended to be happy she had a date with someone else. As I finished up my coffee, Connor called. Had his ears been burning? I explained what Nana D had done, and he promised to keep our actions quiet assuming our fingerprints didn't show up on the glass despite our supposed intent to be careful.
“Next time inform Nana D that I listen when she tells me things. That grandmother of yours is going to outlast all of us,” Connor jested.
“Did you learn any new information after I left Paddington's Play House?” I asked, curious whether he believed anything suspicious had occurred.
“The sheriff ordered an autopsy given the death happened in a public place when the deceased had just taken pills that might have been misplaced earlier that day. She wanted to know the exact cause of death before proceeding with anything else. April was angry the paramedics cleared the body before her team could investigate, but since it occurred so quickly, she couldn't say much.”
“What happens next?” I asked, debating whether any delays were going to be an issue. If there was a killer, could they be hiding any additional evidence at Gwendolyn's home right now?
“The coroner and lab will be done tonight with preliminary observations on cause of death. Both agreed to rush their analyses so the sheriff could get appropriate warrants to search the house. She's also inquiring with the family to understand if anyone thinks there's reasonable cause for this amounting to anything other than natural causes.”
“Because of what Nana D said?”
“That's part of it. April also overheard people talking about an argument Gwendolyn had with her son, Timothy, in the lobby during intermission. That's also how she knew about the issue with the misplaced pills when the nurse showed up.”
“I heard it, too. Something seemed odd in Gwendolyn's discussion with the nurse about misplaced pills.”
“Don't put yourself in the middle of an investigation again, Kellan, if there's even a need for one. Please let the Sheriff's Office do their work,” Connor grunted before hanging up.
I walked back to my SUV anxious to get home for dinner with Emma and away from the devastation of the afternoon. Although it seemed morbid at first, I'd bought my new vehicle from the estate of a friend, Lorraine, who'd been killed several weeks earlier. Her brother's highly discounted offer helped me maintain a connection to someone I'd cared for. When I asked my sister, Eleanor, whether it was a good idea, she consulted her Tarot cards and quickly learned I was meant to stay connected with Lorraine even though she'd passed over to The Great Beyond. It's not that I don't believe in spirits, but I've never met one before and honestly, it's just not my thing. I leave the supernatural and horoscope stuff to Eleanor. And if Lorraine ever showed up as a ghost riding shotgun in her former vehicle claiming she wanted to help solve Gwendolyn's murder, I'd sell the haunted SUV to the first interested party. As I started the engine, my phone chimed.
Nana D: I forced Lindsey to tell me about Gwennie's will.
Me: Isn't that a violation of some law? Shouldn't he maintain her confidences?
Nana D: Lindsey's retired. He transferred the will with Gwennie's permission to another attorney a few years ago. Besides, we won't tell anyone else, will we?
Me: Most unbecoming for a mayoral candidate. What did it say?
Nana D: That hairdo of yours is unbecoming. At the time Lindsey worked on it, Gwennie and Charles had planned to leave everything to all three of their children, but something changed right around the time Charles died. Lindsey said Gwennie was keen on altering the will again.
Me: Who inherits now?
Nana D: Gwennie wouldn't tell Lindsey anything about the adjustment. Anyone could've killed her thinking they were still included in the will and set to inherit.
* * *
As soon as I arrived home, my mother left to meet my father for dinner since he'd been away all weekend. I spent the rest of Sunday evening eating and assembling a puzzle with Emma. She'd chosen a collage of zoo animals at the bookstore earlier in the week. We baked peanut butter cookies in the shape of cows and she
ep while play-fighting over who got to work on all the puzzle corners. I let her find three out of four corners, but never them all. It was important she knew the value of being a good loser.
Since Spring Break began at Braxton on Monday, classes weren't in session for the next week. I planned to spend a few hours on campus each day, but I also wanted to help get Emma settled in second grade at her new school. The school's principal and Board of Education had agreed to let her skip forward a year based on past exam results and a successful interview the prior week. I stayed for thirty minutes to watch her interact with other kids before leaving for Braxton. If I hadn't known better, my precocious and mature daughter was trying to push me out the door.
When I got to Memorial Library, I researched an upcoming digital project required as part of one of the courses I taught. After securing enough hours with the librarians for the whole class, I finished grading my last few papers in one of the reading rooms rather than trek back to my office on South Campus. Ten minutes later, Fern waved to me and asked if she could sit for a moment. I assumed the Dean of Student Affairs also didn't have off this week and was using the time to catch up on administrative functions. “What brings you to the library today? I can't imagine you're saddled with grading papers like me!”
“I'm reviewing the proposals from this year's student committee assigned to the cable car upgrades. There are some doozies in here, Kellan.” Every year, the graduating class proposed three ideas for re-designing the interior of the cable car that ran from North Campus to South Campus.
“What do you think will win?” I asked recalling my own year's debacle over choosing a Spartan 300 theme. A picture of me in a highly unflattering outfit still hung in the Alumni Office for all to see.
“Heaven help us, but the committee's favorite is an apocalypse caused by global warming and a cyber takeover,” she sighed heavily. “What happened to the lighter sides of life? I'd even go for Star Wars again since it's become so popular.”
“Good luck with that. How's Arthur doing since yesterday's incident?” I asked cautiously. After I'd overheard him backstage, I knew he was fine. It'd be eye-opening to learn what his mother thought.
“Oh, he's surviving.” Fern squished together her lips and nose, then covered her face with both hands. “It was awful. I didn't care much for Gwendolyn Paddington, but I felt bad for her family. At least her death occurred in one of her favorite places. That's a comfort if nothing else.”
“I interacted with them in the theater while the paramedics were onsite. Did Arthur know them well?” I asked hoping Fern would innocently share something valuable.
“Gwendolyn got him the job. She was very supportive back when he was in high school, but something changed in their relationship and she turned on him. He doesn't talk about it much anymore, but I know all about what she did to him afterward.” Fern shook her head and made a tsk tsk sound.
My ears perked up. “I knew there was bad blood between them. Arthur mentioned it one day, but I didn't realize the feud had gone back so far.”
“Well, he asked her to introduce him to her contacts in New York City when he moved there after graduating from high school. She'd been coaching the drama club back then and praised his talent, but she wanted him to get a degree at Braxton so he was a step ahead of everyone before taking his chances on Broadway.”
“And things fell apart?”
“There was some sort of disagreement. She'd offered to introduce him to a few of her friends, but he was foolish. He'd gotten full of himself and used her name too much. He inherited those traits from his father. I should've left the man sooner, but unfortunately, I tried to make it work. Anyway, Gwendolyn chastised him for overstepping a boundary and blackballed him across the industry. She could be vicious. That's why he came back to Braxton to get his degree a few years afterward.”
It made sense. I'd only seen him around campus twice my senior year, but he'd become suddenly snobby and difficult. “If she was angry, why did she give him the job directing the King Lear play?”
“Well, there's the reason I know, and there's the reason I suspect.” Fern smirked and made a funny noise in her throat like she was frustrated with the whole series of events.
I laughed. “That sounds… confusing. Or intriguing.”
“Myriam was stuck last-minute when the woman she thought was going to direct the show had to bow out after getting a national tour for an up-and-coming comedy revival. I happened to be meeting with her and Gwendolyn to discuss the plans for the production. I suggested that Arthur could pitch in knowing he hadn't been able to find a job for the last few months. The doting mom in me couldn't stop myself.” A mixed look of pride and embarrassment overtook her calm and confident expression.
“So, what were the two reasons she said yes?”
“Gwendolyn felt bad about how hard she was on Arthur and wanted to give him another chance. She also despised Myriam more than anyone I know.” In the brief moment before Fern spoke again, our eyes connected and part of me wondered whether Fern realized I might be the only one who disliked Myriam even more. “I suspect Gwendolyn wanted to witness Arthur and Myriam battle it out purely for her own entertainment. Not exactly mature, but she wasn't always the nicest of people.”
“Based on what I know about her, she would do something like that,” I responded. Could Gwendolyn have been wrong thinking it was her family trying to hurt her? Perhaps Myriam or Arthur exacted revenge on the unsuspecting and tetchy septuagenarian.
“Both women had been giving him a hard time while preparing for the show. Apparently, Myriam told Arthur this morning that she no longer needed his services and set him free with only two weeks' notice.” Fern rubbed her fingers against the surface of the table while determining what to say next. “She's completely within her rights as the head of the drama department to make the decision. I'm not even sure who will represent the Paddington family anymore. I wondered if you might know who I could speak with to convince Myriam not to push my son out.”
Now I understood why Fern wanted to talk with me. “I don't know the Paddingtons all that well, but I suppose I could ask one of them.” I wasn't exactly certain how it all came together. Gwendolyn was Braxton's patron for the art and theater program. She represented the Paddington family on all decisions regarding the Play House and its operations. Was it a formal position given to someone upon her death or a volunteer role within the family to look out for the campus and its creative endeavors?
I agreed to discuss it with Eustacia knowing I was meeting her and Nana D at the Paddington mansion for lunch that afternoon. When Fern left, I finished grading my papers for the remaining classes. I felt bad giving two students an 'F,' but one had clearly plagiarized an online database of essays written by an esteemed college professor. The other failed to visit the writing center which was a requirement for the assignment. I'd counted thirty-eight grammatical and spelling errors many of which would have been caught by a word processing program's spellchecker. Despite my education and experience, I still made a few mistakes now and again, but his paper was unreadable.
I drove to Millionaire's Mile, a mile-long street running parallel to the Braxton cable car system between the two campuses, where several enormous estates resided. The Paddington mansion was set between the Grey and Stanton properties and loomed over everything in the vicinity. The house had originally belonged to Eustacia's and Millard's parents, but when they died it was left to their son, Charles Paddington, even though he wasn't the oldest son. I never understood why and made a mental note to ask Nana D how that had all worked out years ago. Charles, Gwendolyn's late husband, had assumed responsibility for running the family businesses, Paddington Enterprises, for many years before turning it over to his son, Timothy. The conglomerate was comprised of a number of financial advisory firms, shipping warehouses and docks along the Finnulia River and Crilly Lake, and real estate investment and development holding companies.
Although I'd driven by the Paddington estate
in the past, I was never invited through the gates to explore the crown jewel of all the homes in Braxton. They three-story estate had four separate wings and had been built in the early twentieth century using reclaimed materials from a Georgia manor house that was given up at auction. I parked in the small lot to the right of the main building and ambled up the cedar-chipped path. A large baroque fountain with at least six shooting sprays of water dominated the circle driveway. Home to several species of fish and floating water lilies, the crystal-clear bubbles resembled bottles of overflowing champagne. Robust gardens with shrubbery and trees shaped into forest animals adorned both sides of the house suggesting scenes of various famous paintings from the Gilded Age. They were encircled by a gentle stream of water filled with colorful flowers and sculpted rock collections.
I smiled at the beauty and obnoxious personality of the estate as I meandered the sprawling pathway and climbed the polished marble steps. Before I could knock or ring a bell, the door opened. An older, plump woman with gray curls, a pair of spectacles hung on a beaded chain, and a black and white uniform reminiscent of those I'd seen in early 1930s films introduced herself as Mrs. Crawford. “The Paddingtons are expecting you. Give me one moment to let them know you're here, Mr. Ayrwick.” Even her charming accent had made the lucrative move from Georgia.
Before the woman could leave the large travertine-tiled foyer, Nana D stepped into the slippery space. It felt like an accident waiting to happen, especially for anyone using a cane. “Don't worry, Mrs. Crawford. I'll bring my grandson into the dining room. Isn't it time you took a break? I left you a peach crumble on the counter in the kitchen. Don't you be sharing that with anyone else! It's yours alone.”
“That's generous of you, Mrs. Danby,” Mrs. Crawford said beaming with a smile that had probably never seen the light of day in the Paddington mansion.
“I've told you before, please call me Seraphina. None of my friends call me Mrs. Anything, so you shouldn't either,” Nana D replied guiding Mrs. Crawford down the west hall toward the kitchen.
Broken Heart Attack Page 6