Academic Curveball

by James J Cudney

  He nodded. I waited for him to keep talking, but the scotch and the silence in the room overtook the possibility of him leading our conversation. “Any traction with the search for a new head honcho?”

  “The Board finished all the interviews and asked me to meet with the final two candidates again this week. As you know, I'm not at liberty to provide details, but they've been considering both internal and external options. I'm partial to one candidate, however, we're doing separate group panels with them both tomorrow before we make the final decision.” He swung the chair away from the window and looked toward me with narrowed eyes. “How long are you planning on staying this time, Kellan?”

  I'd been theorizing ever since returning two days ago when he would ask that question. He'd suggested a few times over the Christmas break it'd be beneficial for Emma to be around both sets of grandparents. I thought for a moment he'd discovered my late wife's dirty family secrets, but if that were true, he'd not yet revealed it to me. “I'm trying to figure that out. I have work that might keep me here for the rest of the week.”

  “I see,” he responded clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  “So, I was trying to get hold of you last night after finding Abby's body at Diamond Hall.”

  My father cleared his throat. “And what of it, Kellan? I didn't have the ringer turned on, so I could enjoy the party in peace. I didn't realize you'd been desperately trying to find me,” he replied in a bitter tone as he poured another scotch and opened his laptop.

  Ouch! I wasn't sure what I'd said to deserve his scathing retort, but I'd obviously hit a nerve. “I wasn't desperate, although if finding a dead body isn't a reason to seem desperate, I'm not sure what counts for it these days anymore. Don't you agree?”

  My father dismissed me through a combination of shrugging his shoulders, lifting his eyebrows, and ignoring me as he typed away on the computer. I'd wanted to find out where he was and whom he'd threatened on the phone the night I arrived, but I took my cue and ate dinner in the kitchen by myself. Something odd was going on with the whole situation. I wanted to determine if I should excise myself or jump in a bit deeper to protect someone I knew.

  * * *

  I'd fallen asleep in bed the night before while surfing the internet and reading the show bible for a second time, but at least I'd been able to ascertain several interesting facts about the late professor, or Monroe, as Myriam Castle had referred to her. I'd researched that churlish woman, too.

  Abby had spent most of her life specializing in broadcasting and media studies following a similar post-undergraduate degree path as I had just at different schools. As near as I could figure with my calculations, Abby was at least fifteen years older than me. Although I'd made it to Hollywood, she'd been working in the academic world her entire adult career hopping from college to college until settling at Braxton nearly ten years ago. She must have started right after I'd graduated and been promoted to chairman of the communications department when the incumbent retired. At Braxton, the communications department included media and broadcasting, literature, theater, writing, public relations, and art majors. Abby taught three courses this semester—Intro to Film, History of Television Production, and Broadcast Writing.

  I was somewhat surprised to discover Myriam Castle was one of the professors who worked for Abby in the communications department. Her specialty was literature and theater productions, which made sense given her exaggerated facial expressions at the retirement party. On paper, Dr. Castle was clearly more qualified to be running the department, but Abby had been put in the role before Dr. Castle joined Braxton. No wonder there was tension between the women. It would be an interesting discussion with my father when he graciously stepped off his high horse and spoke to me again.

  I'd also found a website where Abby referred to co-authoring a few articles in a widely published journal with her husband, Alton Monroe. The news filled in one of the blanks from a scrap of paper I'd seen on Officer Flatman's desk at the sheriff's office. Could Alton be someone to help me get a copy of any remaining notes Abby still had on Dark Reality? I cross-checked the names with online directories and came upon an address on the north side of the county. I made a note to swing by while on campus meeting Lorraine and Maggie later on that day.

  I braved the near-freezing temperature when I left the house and dodged a few icicles beginning to drop off the roofline as I hopped in the Jeep. Twenty minutes later, I found a lucky parking spot down the street from the Braxton Campus Security (BCS) Office.

  The last time I'd been there was after a rival fraternity, the Omega Delta Omicrons, complained we were having a loud party our senior year. I spent forty-five minutes trying to convince the previous security director not to report us to Fern Terry, the Dean of Student Affairs, but he wouldn't budge. I'd left his office after a few less-than-kind words that evening and found myself with a slap on the wrist the following morning when Dean Terry told me I'd personally disappointed her for my childish word choices. Was she one of the two final candidates vying for Braxton's presidency? Maybe I should stop by the administration office to see if she still worked on campus. I hadn't seen her the night before at the party, yet I assumed she would've shown up if she still worked at Braxton.

  As I walked up the cobblestone pathway, I considered what kind of security director Connor would be. He was always the goody-two-shoes who cautioned not to let the fraternity get into trouble, but at the same time, he would stand up and protect me from taking the fall on my own when we'd been caught doing something wrong. Not that any wrongdoings happened often, but Connor was a dependable and honorable guy. In theory, it made sense that he went into security work, yet I had trouble imagining him sitting on the opposite side of college administration.

  I stepped into the foyer of the single-story security building and gave it the once-over. Very little had changed, possibly a coat of fresh paint and a series of new digital cameras and computer systems. Connor stepped out of his office a few minutes later. He no longer looked uncomfortable in a tan suit and Braxton tie, yet he still busted out of his sports coat and jeans. “Kellan, I didn't expect to see you today. What's going on?”

  “Got time for a cup of coffee? My treat,” I suggested hoping he'd take me up on the offer. When he nodded and told a student worker to call him promptly with any issues, I realized Connor had become an admirable and responsible adult.

  He suggested The Big Beanery on South Campus. I was more than happy to visit our old stomping grounds. The car ride took less than five minutes likely because he was in a BCS vehicle, and everyone stopped to let him through the streets first. Must be good to have that kind of power—maybe even come in handy one day if I needed his help.

  When we arrived at the coffee shop, Connor grabbed a table while I ordered two black coffees. I'd wanted creamer in mine, or even a cappuccino, but when he mumbled something about too much sugar, I decided to follow suit and pulled up a chair across from him. “So, working in security at Braxton. That's quite a leap from what we used to do on campus ten years ago, huh?”

  His laugh was hearty and deep. “Ten years is a long time, Connor. People mature. I can see you've done some changing yourself. Seems like you even go to the gym now.”

  “Well, no competing with you, man. You look like a brick wall!” And he did. I bet he could throw me across the room if necessary. Not that I'd do anything to encourage it, but I'd be glad to have him on my side in any bar fight or street brawl. I had an urge to call him Double-O-Seven.

  “I've always wondered what happened to you. We sorta lost touch, huh?” he asked after taking a giant sip of his coffee. I watched his eyes continually scan the room behind me as if he was looking for someone. It's probably a normal thing for the head of security to always check out his surroundings. “Gotta admit, it pissed me off when you left town that summer. I know you went off to grad school, but you were my best friend back then.”

  “Yeah, I felt bad about it. Life has this funny way
of making decisions you don't understand at the time. When I look back, I had some growing up to do, didn't I?” I suspected Connor carried a bit of a grudge over the past. I might have a harder time trying to re-establish a friendship than expected.

  A few students waved at him. It looked like one of the girls was trying to flirt. If he'd noticed, he ignored her. We shared a few minutes reminiscing about our lives from the last few years. Connor had spent a year living in Anguilla with his mother's family to rebuild after a series of devastating hurricanes took its toll on the people living on nearby islands. He'd also worked as a police officer in Philadelphia for several years, then left the force after dealing with too many violent gang fights and deaths. It was a year ago when he heard about the opening at Braxton and jumped on it.

  “Married, any kids?” he said.

  I always hated that question. It's never easy telling someone you lost your wife to a drunk driver. They inevitably feel uncomfortable for asking the question, then you feel weird for delivering the awful news. No one should feel bad except the idiot who stepped into his car after drinking a six-pack and thinking he was totally fine to drive. To this day, they never caught the hit-and-run driver.

  We covered more basics. He was still single, dated on and off through the years but nothing serious. I got the distinct impression when the topic of Maggie came up that he'd been smitten with her since she'd returned from Boston that semester. While I was in no frame of mind to consider anything more than rebuilding a friendship with Maggie, somehow the thought of her being with someone else didn't sit well with me. I changed the topic and asked if he had any news on Abby's death.

  “I'm not sure I'd have the latest. Murder is the jurisdiction of Wharton County. Sheriff Montague's been in contact to discuss protocol, but we haven't established all the boundaries,” Connor said. “They're searching for signs of any struggle other than the gash in Abby's head.”

  “True. I just meant how were you handling it from Braxton's perspective.” I signaled to the young waitress clearing a table nearby that we wanted two more cups of coffee. If Connor was gonna share any information, I knew from experience he needed to be kept caffeinated.

  “Sheriff Montague wants everyone to think it was an accident. Braxton's public relations department was quite pleased to take that approach,” Connor said while slurping the last of his coffee.

  “Murder won't help the upcoming admissions cycle,” I said with a laugh. “Did you know her?”

  “Met at a few college functions. She stopped in to discuss things from time to time. Abby had it in her head that because I was from the Caribbean, my family practiced voodoo. She wanted me to hook her up with my shaman. What a kook! I don't even know what a shaman is.”

  The waitress dropped off the coffee refills asking, “Who do you think will end up leading Saturday's big game, Director Hawkins? Striker our man? Or Is Jordan gonna overtake him?”

  I'd not been sure which sport they were talking about until remembering Eleanor's story about the baseball team at the Pick-Me-Up Diner. “Those the two choices for pitcher?” I tossed out my question though her gaze barely left Connor's lips.

  Connor replied, “Yep. Striker was last season's star, but his teammate, Jordan, suddenly jumped into the race based on his new curveball in the pre-season games. It's a close match.”

  When I went to hand her a ten-dollar bill, she waved me off. “Nah, we don't charge Director Hawkins. He checks on us from time to time to make sure we're doing okay.” She backed away nearly tripping over her own feet because she couldn't peel her focus off Connor. I was still being ignored.

  “Someone thinks you're cute, huh?” I teased.

  “Drop it, Kellan. She's a kid.”

  “I know. Seems like you're king of the hill around here these days. I'm happy for you.”

  “Yeah, I didn't ask for it. Just doing my job. I should head back soon. You need a lift?”

  I declined as I planned to find Abby's house, and the access road to her neighborhood was closer to South Campus. “Before you go, do you think there's any chance I could take a look at Abby's office? It sounds funny, but I was supposed to meet her for some information for my boss, and I didn't get to before she died. We think it's probably somewhere buried on her desk.” I felt awful asking for a favor from Connor after all these years, but I wasn't doing anything overly wrong. Abby did the research for us, so in a way, we were getting back something owed to the network. I couldn't convince myself I wasn't stretching my justification especially since the contract had never been signed.

  “I don't have a problem with it as long as Sheriff Montague clears it. She might want an officer to be present.” Connor stood, then smiled as someone walked to the table. “Speak of the devil,” he said.

  “Devil? Something you care to explain, Connor?” Sheriff Montague asked. Her arms were crossed against her chest, and she had the look of a woman ready to pounce. Whether it was to kiss him or chastise him, I couldn't tell. Based on appearance, she was only two or three years older than us.

  Connor excused himself indicating I could fill in the blanks. I watched him exit the side entrance of The Big Beanery. As I pointed a hand to the open seat across from me, Sheriff Montague sat and said, “That is one fine man there.”

  I spit out a mouthful of coffee, then apologized making excuses about it being too hot. “What Connor meant, Sheriff Montague, is I need to collect some papers from Abby's office on a project we were working on together. May I get in there anytime soon?”

  The sheriff had only moved to Braxton two years ago. I never had a chance to get to know her. Did she remember me from the one time I bailed out Nana D? It didn't seem like she'd made the connection, but I'd think someone in her position as county sheriff wouldn't forget too many faces, especially not one associated with the frequently vocal Seraphina Danby. I got my answer rather quickly after soaking up the spilled coffee and stopping myself from commenting on her motorcycle helmet hair.

  “You might think your family has some control in Braxton, Little Ayrwick, but let me assure you, I will not be pressured into any further special circumstances or favors. I've got a murder investigation to lead, and I will run down anyone who gets in my way.” When she finished, she stared at me like I might be dinner that night. I wasn't sure whether to wet my pants or put up a fight.

  “You don't mince words, sheriff. I'm sorry if I came across the wrong way. When it became clear this wasn't just an accident, I worried it might have something to do with research Abby Monroe was handling on my television show, Dark Reality. Are you familiar with it?”

  Surprisingly, that almost shook loose her attitude. “That's your show? I watched the whole first season. My girlfriends and I can't get enough of it!” she replied in a syrupy tone as her eyes grew wider.

  Wow, I'd lucked out in that department. If I played my cards right, maybe I could make an ally out of Sheriff Montague. “Yeah, definitely, I could get you a couple of tickets…”

  “Cut the beeswax, Little Ayrwick. I don't watch the show. I've got better things to do than burn my eyes to their core from reality TV garbage. No offense to you if that's your thing.”

  Ouch, did I misjudge that one! “You got me there,” I replied with my tail between my legs. “Seriously, I'll help the investigation however I can. Do you have any suspects?”

  “A few,” Sheriff Montague replied. “I'm not here to give you a hard time. I'll take all the help I can get, but you're a private citizen. We're not usually in the business of giving out that kind of information.” She cupped her hands together, then cracked both sets of knuckles considering my offer as she stood. “We're focusing on a few people who had the means and the opportunity. We're still searching for the motive. I'm on my way to meet with a witness who claims she overheard a fight between Lorraine Candito and the victim.”

  I couldn't hold in my shock. “Lorraine? She wouldn't hurt a fly. I've known her for years, and I can vouch for her. Gentler than a Girl Scout or a newborn
puppy. She might nibble from time to time, but there must be some misunderstanding.”

  Sheriff Montague shook her head vigorously. “A student worker Connor met this morning claimed to overhear the words 'over your dead body' coming from Lorraine Candito's lips.”

  I'd been certain the fear on Lorraine's face was genuine. Could it have been guilt? “I'm meeting with Lorraine this afternoon. I can ask her about it if you'd like a second opinion.”

  “Leave the investigation to us, Little Ayrwick. I'll be in touch about access to Abby Monroe's office. Have yourself a good day.” She adjusted one of her sleeves, looked at me a second time with laser eyes to ensure I got the message, then idled toward the counter to order something to go. Her sturdy gait and minimalist approach to dressing or wearing any makeup clearly showed she'd cared little about her appearance. Would it be wrong of me to ask Eleanor to give her a makeover in the hopes she'd win Connor's affection? I could think of no one else better to put a smile on the sheriff's face.

  I wanted to warn Lorraine, but on second thought, it wouldn't put me in good standing with the sheriff. It seemed most advantageous to give April Montague time to meet with the student worker and Lorraine before I dug any further. I'd pissed off enough people since returning to Braxton. It was time to let my spectacular curb appeal charm the rest before I found myself on the wrong side of town living in a doghouse. In ten years, I'd managed to foolishly forget what really went on in a small village.

  Chapter 7

  Locating Abby's house proved less difficult than I'd anticipated. It was only a twenty-minute walk if I stuck to the path along the waterfront. Although it was still fairly cold, any snow on the ground had melted away, and since I wasn't likely to get to a gym that afternoon, the extra cardio would be more than welcome. When I arrived at her street, I made a right and ambled past the first few houses before finally finding one with a number. Most of the homes in the immediate vicinity were three-bedroom ranches on small parcels of property with fenced-in front and backyards for children and dogs to play less any worry about balls rolling into the street or wild animals roaming in from the mountains. The occasional bobcat had been sighted years ago, but as the area became more urbanized, the wildlife retreated further into the Wharton Mountains.