Academic Curveball

by James J Cudney

“Hello,” I said, reaching my hand to her. Hopefully, the councilman's sweat had dissipated, or she'd be in for her own unpleasant shock. “Pleased to meet you…”

  My father continued talking when she failed to engage. “This is Dr. Myriam Castle. She's a professor in our communications department and has been at Braxton for… what, three years now?”

  As she nodded, I felt a distinct temperature drop in the air between us. It wasn't just the crisp, stark power suit molded against her thin frame. The deeply-pointed collar on the pink dress shirt covered her entire neck and had a small opal and silver broach clasped over the top button. The lines on the shoulders, sleeves, and pant legs were as sharp as a knife blade, but the sensible black pumps convinced me she was a no-nonsense gal.

  “Yes, three at the beginning of this last term. How are you enjoying the party the college has so thoughtfully thrown for you? It must have cost quite a small fortune to put on this show, but you are beloved around here for your… generosity,” she replied with a tartness one only experienced when tasting something exorbitantly sour. “Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.”

  I looked from her to my father anticipating an insightful and punishing retort. I believe she quoted Shakespeare's Henry VIII in her petulant dig about virtues. Could she be the blogger he's worried about? The acerbic tone of her words matched the profile of the anonymous villain.

  “Oh, Myriam, ever the clever one. I'd love to chat, but I must prepare for my speech. I hope you'll have a splendid time despite it coming so unnaturally to you,” my father replied.

  As he walked away, I caught a snicker forming on his lips. Maybe I would have some fun at this party. “I see you have quite the banter going on. I trust it's all in good humor.”

  “Wesley Ayrwick and I have an understanding. He is aware of my contributions to the college. I am aware he'll be replaced imminently.” As a server passed, Dr. Castle dropped her empty glass on a tray and grabbed a fresh one. “So, how do you know our fine president? Do you work at the college?”

  It was at that moment I realized she didn't know I was his son. I thought I'd leave out that fact for the immediate future to see what else I might learn from her. “You know, I can't remember when we first met. Years ago, but it's all a little fuzzy for some reason. To answer your last question, no, I live in Los Angeles and am back in Braxton for a few days.” I considered my options for extending the conversation about her opinions on my father, then realized I should take advantage of my opportunities as presented. I'd little time left before the speeches started. “Dr. Castle, would you be familiar with Abby Monroe?”

  My new friend cleared her throat and slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose. “My night keeps getting better. Is that why you're attending the party this evening? Are you a guest of Monroe's?”

  “On the contrary. I've never met the woman. Might you point her out for me?” I could tell Dr. Myriam Castle was an expressive woman. All her gestures were over-exaggerated, and her words offered two maybe even three sides to them. “If you happen to know what she looks like, that is.”

  “I've had the unwelcome privilege to meet Monroe many times. I'm not one to push my opinions on other people, Mr. …” she blurted out before stopping tersely.

  She hoped I'd fill in my surname, but it was more fun leaving her with the short end of the stick. “Oh, but I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please, feel comfortable sharing whatever's on your mind.” I noticed a brief moment where Dr. Castle considered my words, then saw my father step to the podium.

  “Monroe thinks the world of herself and has made it clear to everyone at Braxton how she got her job. I'd think a young man such as yourself who seems to be intelligent and savvy will easily recognize the elevator does not go all the way to the top floor in that woman's head.” As she turned to leave, the boom of the microphone resounded.

  I found it funny the way she called the woman Monroe. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Castle. I look forward to chatting again soon, but we need to gather around the center floor.” I extended my hand in the main stage's direction and watched her head lift a few inches higher and her nose wrinkle as though something odorous wafted by.

  “Trust me and stay clear of her. While you're in town, also be careful not to associate too closely with the Ayrwicks. They might be on top right now, but it won't be for long, I'm confident.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and stepped in the opposite direction. Wait until I told Eleanor and Nana D all about Dr. Myriam Castle. They must have some gossip about the woman. I needed to find out what this feud was all about. I sent a text to Abby asking when we could meet.

  My father's speech was better than I'd expected as was Councilman Stanton's brief but remarkable words. Perhaps I could overlook the flimsy handshake if his verbal skills were a strong counterbalance. Dinner was relatively quiet. And tasty. Chicken cordon bleu, rice pilaf, and steamed asparagus. I saw a vegetarian dish at a few tables, too. Kudos to my mother for remembering other people's needs and preferences. Ever since she'd developed a shellfish allergy, she was much more attentive to food choices. Abby replied that we could meet at nine in the foyer when the party ended.

  I'd already sampled one fizzy blue drink and one glass of champagne earlier and was now standing near a portable bar cart contemplating a third when my sister approached from behind me.

  “Guess who I ran into?” she sang in an awkward, jovial tone. “Don't turn around. I'll give you three chances.”

  I thought I'd met everyone at the party given how many times I had to introduce myself in the last few hours, except of course for Abby, the one person I wanted to come across. Could my luck finally be changing? “Ummm… The Queen? Meryl Streep?” She's my favorite actress. A guy could dream, right? “Pink?” I had a crush on her for years, yet it was highly unlikely she'd show up for a retirement party. Now that my three guesses were exhausted, I could end the silly game and turn around.

  “Wrong! It's Maggie Roarke. You remember her, right?” Eleanor said while hopping up and down like an overzealous Easter bunny.

  For a moment, I thought the room stood still, and I'd been transported back nearly a decade. Even the song playing in the background felt like I'd leaped through time and was sitting on a giant comfy couch at The Big Beanery with Maggie listening to Michael Bublé croon while we sipped cappuccinos and ate biscotti. I hadn't seen my best friend and former girlfriend since the week before our college graduation when we'd broken up. “Maggie, I can't believe I didn't notice you earlier. You look… you look…” I wanted to say fantastic and gorgeous, but after ten years, it didn't seem appropriate.

  “I look good, Kellan. It's okay, you can say it.” Her luscious straight brown hair was pulled back across one shoulder. There was a radiant shine making her more attractive today than when we were in our early twenties. She looked confident and strong, traits she'd always wanted to find within herself but struggled over all too often in the past. “You're as handsome as ever.”

  I leaned in to embrace her, but our faces met and instinct took over. Before I knew it, I'd kissed her cheek and felt my body flood with an unusual yet familiar warmth. Alabaster skin shined, and dark brown eyes peered back at me almost making her look like a frozen statue or an elegant piece of porcelain. “I'm sorry, it was a surprise to see you. A welcome surprise.”

  Eleanor chimed in sensing perhaps she should give us a moment alone. “Oh, there's Mom. I've been looking for her. I'll be back.” As she stepped away, I felt the quick pinch at my waist and knew she'd planned the whole setup. Probably retaliation for my earlier comments about her crystal ball search for the future. Score one for Eleanor tonight, at least she was on the playing field.

  “I agree,” Maggie replied. “You must be so excited your father is retiring. Will your mother be leaving next? They should travel the world after working so hard for Braxton. I'll miss seeing them.”

  Maggie and I had separated when we both chose to attend different graduate sc
hools. We tried to maintain a friendship, but I think we were both secretly upset with the other for not trying to make a long-distance relationship work. We'd emailed a few times that summer, yet once she left for Boston, all communication had stopped. It suddenly occurred to me what she'd said about missing my parents. “Don't get me wrong, it's great seeing you, but what brings you to the party, Maggie?”

  “Oh, you don't know? I started working at Braxton this semester. I'm the new head librarian. I recently moved back from Boston after the job fell into my lap. Do you remember Mrs. O'Malley?” Maggie indicated it was too loud near the rest of the crowd. We stepped over to the far corner.

  Mrs. O'Malley had been the head librarian for over thirty years when we'd attended Braxton—a fixture who knew everything and everyone on campus. She'd once caught Maggie and I making out behind the ancient microfiche machine and rather than scold us for getting intimate in a public place, she embarrassed us for picking the oldest piece of equipment in the building as our romantic hiding place. I remember her telling us even she had the intelligence to take Mr. Nickels, the cable car's engineer, to the downstairs reference section where no one had ever gone. Imagine a sixty-something lovesick woman shaking her finger at two college seniors over that.

  “I haven't thought about her in forever. I guess she must have retired,” I said. I'm not a granny chaser, but I'd felt a weird attraction to Mrs. O'Malley after she'd told us about her illicit affair.

  “Last fall. I'd gotten the strangest call from her. We'd kept in touch over the years, and she wanted me to know about her plans to leave Braxton. Mrs. O'Malley was the primary reason I earned my advanced degrees in library studies and got into this profession. She invited me back for a weekend to talk about the changes happening at Memorial Library, then had me meet with your father to discuss the position. Three weeks later, I gave notice to my job in Boston and moved back home.”

  I couldn't believe how much Maggie had changed. Gone was the little mouse I used to know, and well, if I'm honest, used to adore. I always wondered what might have happened if Maggie and I had made a different decision that day.

  “That's awesome. I'm thrilled and also a little shocked my father never mentioned it to me.”

  “Or your mother. She and I meet for coffee a few times each week when I can take a break from the library or she needs to get away from prospective students pressuring her for an acceptance decision.” Maggie brushed several pieces of hair away from her soft and stunning features. “You don't know anything about our weekly walk from South to North Campus along Millionaire's Mile?”

  Behind the main road between campuses were larger estates where families like the Stantons, Greys, and Paddingtons lived. It'd been nicknamed Millionaire's Mile long ago and was a key attraction in Braxton for visitors and new students who wanted to learn about the history of the town's wealth.

  I shook my head. “I'll find out later tonight. Now that I know you're back in Braxton, maybe we could grab a coffee. I'll be in town for a week, maybe more.” We chatted about what had happened to both of us in the last decade, and I discovered she'd been widowed when her husband tragically died of a brain aneurysm several years ago. My heart broke for her at having to go through the devastating loss of a spouse, but it was also a moment where our connection flourished like when we'd dated in college. It was in that instant I felt a sense of security about the future again, almost as though re-establishing a friendship with Maggie might help me find a way to move forward.

  I glanced toward the hall's entrance where my father's assistant entered the room. Even at this distance, something looked off. Lorraine's blue dress was slightly askew, and her eyes darted all around. She was clearly agitated and looking for someone. In the distraction, I failed to hear Maggie's response.

  “Kellan, where'd you go?” she asked while tapping my shoulder. “Sure, I'd love to meet at The Big Beanery to spend more time catching up on life post-college. Emma sounds delightful.”

  My gaze returned to Maggie, and I smiled. “We should do it. Definitely,” I countered and rattled off my cell phone number. “Do you know my father's assistant, Lorraine?”

  Maggie nodded. “Yes, such a sweet woman. I wonder if she's planning to retire now that your father will be leaving Braxton at the end of the semester.”

  It hadn't occurred to me nor could I remember my father saying anything about her future plans. “She's walking this way and looks quite unraveled. I hope the food's not making people sick.”

  Maggie and I both turned toward the entrance and waited for Lorraine to arrive. I spoke first. “Lorraine, it's so wonderful to see you. Is everything okay?”

  “Your father… dead body…” Lorraine struggled to respond, then fell to the floor.

  Chapter 4

  While I reached for Lorraine's left arm, Maggie helped to prop her against the table. “What's wrong? Are you ill?” I worried she was having a stroke or a heart attack. She looked practically catatonic.

  “I'm afraid your father… have you seennn hhhim?” Her breathing labored, and a look of terror possessed her face. Though her skin was usually quite pale, she looked nearly translucent.

  What did she mean by a dead body? She'd aged nearly ten years in those moments. I pulled out my phone and pressed the button to dial his cell. “What's going on, Lorraine?” Maggie slipped away returning with a glass of water. People had begun to leave the party. My phone verified it was exactly nine o'clock. The call went to voicemail. I didn't leave a message as I had no idea what to say.

  “I saw… ummm… someone needs to… check on…” She pointed out the window and covered her mouth. Exaggerated expressions produced many wrinkles on her forehead. “I'm sorry… such a shock.”

  “What?” I grew fearful over what she might have seen. “Did something happen to my father?”

  Maggie rubbed Lorraine's back trying to comfort the panicked woman. “Talk to us.”

  Lorraine finished drinking the remainder of the water. “I went back to the office to get your Christmas present. It was so lovely, and… but then I…”

  I nodded. “That was thoughtful, thank you. But surely that's not what has you so upset.” I'd no clue what was causing her to approach hyperventilation mode. “What about my father?”

  “I couldn't find him, that's why I came to you. Went to the back door… closer to my desk… working there temporarily… finish all the construction.” Lorraine paused and let out a deep breath. Her hazel eyes looked wild and panicked. “I got the key to unlock it… saw it was partially open.”

  I wasn't sure what she'd meant by temporarily working elsewhere, but I didn't want to interrupt her baffling train of thought. “Okay. Did you go inside?”

  “No, I couldn't. I tried to push the door open… wouldn't budge. It only moved an inch… crack wasn't wide enough to stick my head through. That's when I ran around to the front of the building… used the main entrance.”

  “Keep talking, tell us everything,” Maggie said, then looked at me with confusion in her eyes.

  Lorraine began to compose herself. “I walked through the hallway to the back of the building. I thought maybe I could open the other door leading into the stairwell from the inside, but it wouldn't move either. Something was sitting on the platform preventing both doors from opening.”

  “Right. It's such a tight space, two people can't open the doors at the same time since they both open inward,” Maggie responded. “Then what?”

  Lorraine explained she'd gone up to the second floor to look down the stairwell to see what was on the other side of the doors. While she painfully told us everything in detail—probably suffering from anxiety or shock over what she'd seen—I couldn't help wonder why my father had left the party. Had he gone to meet someone? Why wasn't he picking up my calls? Was there really a dead body?

  “Somebody fell down the stairs. I could see blood. I thinkkk they hit their head. Might be deaddd,” Lorraine said with a shiver.

  Maggie stifled a scream. He
r body twitched from the tension. She'd been leaning against me as we tried comforting Lorraine. “Who was it?” she asked.

  Lorraine's eyes opened wider. “I was too afraid to go down and look. Will you checkkk the building next door?”

  Maggie said she'd stay and take care of Lorraine while I went to the other building. My stomach sank in fear something horrific had happened to my father.

  “No, I have to come with you,” Lorraine whispered. “I locked the front door after I left. I… I… didn't know what to do and just came running over here.”

  I hoped Lorraine had either drank too many fizzy blue concoctions or was imagining things in the dark, but intuition told me she was genuinely frightened over something real. The three of us left the retirement party and took off toward the temporary office space. Meeting Abby would have to wait a little while. I pushed the ladies to run faster anxious to see if something had happened to my father or someone else.

  “I'm going as fast as I can,” Lorraine added. I could feel the heaviness in my chest and a jabbing pain in my gut. Please don't be my father. I'm not ready for him to get sick or die.

  When Maggie, Lorraine, and I arrived at the building, it became clear she'd been referring to Diamond Hall where I'd spent many hours attending literature, art, and media lectures. It hadn't occurred to me when Lorraine said the building next door she'd meant literally next door to Stanton Concert Hall. My father's normal executive office building was further away near the cable car station. Had he hurt himself? Would he be okay? Was the call I'd overheard the night before really that serious?

  Diamond Hall was an old colonial-style mansion converted into a series of classrooms and departmental offices a few decades earlier. A limestone façade mined from local Betscha quarries in the 1870s covered all three stories of the impressive building. The primary entrance was well-manicured with a winding slate path, burgundy shutters adorning large, crisscross lattice windows, and giant rhododendron bushes growing in the front gardens. On the first floor were four large classrooms each capable of seating at least thirty students, two single bathrooms, and a small supply closet. In the front entrance was a staircase set between two center walls taking visitors to the upper floors, and in the back was another small staircase—previously a servant's access passage—allowing professors direct access to their offices without having to go through the main classroom area.