Academic Curveball

by James J Cudney

  Everything was important to him. “I know,” I replied in an understanding tone. Lorraine wanted to say something, but I wasn't sure how to pull it out. “Is that the only thing on your mind?”

  “You've always been so perceptive, Kellan. I'm worried about this situation. I seem to be at the center of it all.”

  That's when I remembered Coach Oliver's supposed event schedule. Maybe he could prove her alibi. “Didn't you say no one saw you after eight that evening?” I continued after Lorraine nodded. “Coach Oliver mentioned handing you a schedule outside Diamond Hall,” I responded casually watching for any reactions. I trusted her despite it feeling strange she'd failed to mention anything.

  “Oh, that's right, I forgot,” Lorraine said. She appeared slightly uncomfortable, but it wasn't overly alarming. “The whole exchange happened so quickly, just a few seconds after I'd left the retirement party. It wouldn't have helped prove much.” Her gaze seemed to bore holes in the floor.

  “You might want to mention it to Sheriff Montague. My mother saw Coach Oliver. There's a chance he also noticed something or someone without realizing it.” I rested my hand on her shoulder.

  “Your mother saw the coach? I'll tell the sheriff.” She smoothed out wrinkles in her blouse.

  Lorraine was hiding something, I would bet money on it. I'd have to wait until she was comfortable enough to tell me the rest. “You went to get something for me, right? Did you ever find it?” I wasn't worried unless the gift could help prove her alibi.

  “No, that's part of what's bothering me. I can't find your present anywhere. I could have sworn I left it on my desk. I meant to wrap it before I left on Friday but got too busy. I was planning to find gift wrap in the supply closet, then bring it over to you at the party.” Lorraine wouldn't give me any details other than mentioning I'd been upset the prior fall. She wanted to do something special for me.

  I couldn't recall the specifics but figured I'd find out soon enough. “Where could it be?”

  “I wish I knew. That's not the only thing vanishing into thin air. A student reported something lost this week. I also can't find the new… ugh, never mind,” she said throwing up her hands in the air. “Three different things don't just get up and walk away by themselves, Kellan.”

  That activated my alarm bells. “Is Sheriff Montague aware of the thefts?”

  “It didn't come up when I spoke with her.”

  “Are you going to inform Connor? Someone should know about them,” I said.

  “To be honest, I thought maybe with everything going on among the temporary office move, the extra work with Siobhan being out, and the retirement party plans, I must have misplaced your present. I'm still looking around for the other two missing items, but I'm gonna check your father's desk. It might have gotten put in a drawer accidentally before it was sent to storage. It wasn't high on my list this week. I'm so sorry. I'll find it for you soon,” she replied then clicked a few keys on her keyboard. “Looks like I have a meeting coming up soon. Anything else I can help you with?”

  I couldn't help wonder if the missing items were connected with Abby's death. With only a few minutes of her time left, I asked Lorraine to describe more about the grading process. I also mentioned the scratch marks I'd found near Striker's name in Abby's book.

  “That's bizarre,” she said. “When the semester started, I met with the professors to ask them how they wanted me to assist with day-to-day operations while Siobhan was on leave. Almost everyone said they'd love it if I could handle all the computer work for them.”

  “Really, even Abby? What about the last few days, was anything different?” I asked thinking I'd latched on to something potentially important.

  “Most professors would grade the papers or exams, then give me the printed documents with their notes to scan and upload before returning to the students. Some professors recorded the grades in their books in case students asked before I had a chance to load the details into the computer. Abby didn't want any help with putting hers online. She told me specifically to stay out of her way. I'd assumed she was old school and didn't like me given everything going on with Alton and the divorce.”

  “Lorraine, this is helpful. Do you have any idea where I can find the students' exams from Abby's classes this semester?” A picture began to formulate in my mind. If Abby was somehow involved with Coach Oliver, could she have changed Striker's grades to ensure he played in the upcoming game? That would clarify how those two were connected, but not why Abby was murdered. Unless she changed her mind, and Coach Oliver, Stanton, or Striker killed her in revenge. I needed to focus on Striker's grades and the decision on which pitcher would play in the game. That felt like a place for a motive to lurk.

  “No, as I said, Abby kept everything to herself. The only tasks she asked me to do was sort her mail and schedule any student appointments. I must leave, Kellan.”

  Once Lorraine left the office, I sat at the top of the stairs processing all I'd just learned. I needed to get access to the computer system to find out if Abby had entered grades for any of the students. I decided to ask my father before approaching anyone else about my concerns with the grades. I called his cell when I couldn't reach him at home. No answer. I left a voicemail and followed it up with a text message saying I needed to see him as soon as possible. I took the cable car back to North Campus excited to stumble on something that could identify Abby's murderer.

  On the walk back toward my Jeep, I skimmed the last two months of journal entries. There was an entry the week before she was killed hoping Derek would call soon about the Dark Reality contract. There was an entry in early January about an exciting night out with W. A. I flipped a few more pages only to learn things with W. A. had gotten complicated—she might have feelings for him even though she knew how wrong it was. Still no full name or clear clues. Then I read how Abby wanted to get revenge and expose W. A. for what he'd done to her. This must have been the exclusive story she was talking about in the email to Derek and on the call with me.

  Stumped over the identity of the mysterious W. A., I was about to give up until a nauseating idea popped into my head. W. A., Wesley Ayrwick. My father had been acting strange lately. He had several nights where he wouldn't mention where he was going or what he was doing. He said his relationship with Abby was complicated. Could my father be having an affair? Cheating on my mother with Abby? I sat on the bench for another twenty minutes trying to convince myself there had to be some other explanation. Why wasn't my father calling me back? What kind of situation did he get himself into? What did this have to do with that call in his study the night I'd arrived home?

  A few students rushed by yelling they were late for class which reminded me I needed to get to Danby Landing. Tea was promptly at three o'clock, and Nana D would drink it whether I was there or not. I tossed my backpack on the passenger seat and drove across town in a bit of a fog debating if I should bring up the journal entry to Nana D. I parked in Nana D's driveway, waved to the farm's operations manager who was unloading a wheel barrel in the compost pile near the orchard, and entered through the side door into her kitchen. “I'm here, Nana D. What's going on with you this afternoon?”

  Nana D hung up the phone. She still had an old-fashioned buttercup yellow handset with a curly cord installed next to the refrigerator. I always loved thinking about her standing in the kitchen twirling it as we chatted on the phone while I was home in Los Angeles. She had cordless extensions in other parts of the home and her cell phone, but she preferred her kitchen have a touch of the past.

  “Welcome back, my brilliant grandson. I was just on the phone with your mother. She's gone off the deep end again,” Nana D rambled while checking the tea. “Glad to see you can still read a clock.”

  “Of course. You didn't think I'd be late, did you?” I teased. “What's Mom's problem?”

  “Oh, a little of this and that. That daughter of mine never could handle stress.” Nana D uncovered a plate of desserts sitting on the counter. “I
made us shortbread with lemon icing and mini pecan pies.” She was dressed to the nines in a fitted gray skirt, dressy blouse, and black suit jacket.

  The pies looked delicious. I'd be having a few of those most definitely. She'd made at least three dozen bite-sized concoctions small enough to toss between my lips, big enough to force my mouth closed and not to say something I shouldn't. “Mom seems to be doing okay with everything going on as far as I can tell. Just some minor agitation. What happened today?”

  “A fight with Eleanor about her job at the diner. Your father seems to have done something she wasn't too happy about last night. I think she had a hangnail, too.” Nana D shrugged her shoulders, finished pouring the tea, and carried the tray to the table—a beautiful old slab of oak my Grandpop had cut down from one of the trees on their farm. He shaped, sanded, and varnished it himself, even leaving some of the burnt edges scalloped and slanted to lend it an old-world charm. I made Nana D promise not to give it to anyone else in the future. She accused me of wishing her off to an early grave, but I assured her I only meant if and when she no longer had a reason to keep it. I think that got me out of hot water, but you never know with Nana D, Braxton's longest holder of senseless grudges.

  “Any idea what Dad did?” I asked worried my latest theory might be true. I ate my first mini-pecan pie. No one baked better than my nana. The level of gooeyness in the filling and crunch in the crust… to die for! “Eleanor's been a little cranky lately, too. I can see that bothering Mom.”

  “I'm staying out of it. Twinsies can solve their own problems. Did you set Eustacia straight about me not trying to date her fella? I ain't going to the baseball game with Lindsey Endicott anymore, so you'll be my escort. The whole town's gone crazy thinking I'm always after them.” Nana D plated some desserts for herself and took a seat next to me. “Eat up, I have another meeting shortly.”

  In between three more pecan pies and two lemon shortbreads, I downed a few cups of tea and inquired about Nana D's meeting with Marcus Stanton. “By the way, how'd your discussion go earlier with our fine councilman?” I braced myself for a litany of his latest crimes and misdemeanors.

  “Oh, I'm on to his skullduggery. The con artist claims he has no clue who donated the money. He said the entire board wanted it to benefit the athletic facility. He's hiding something, but I can't figure it out, yet. He also didn't have anything nice to say about Abby Monroe,” Nana D said as she checked all the notes from her discussion with him. “Stanton thought she had it out for Striker and purposely failed him. Maybe he killed her!”

  “I can't imagine the councilman would murder a professor over a disagreement about his stepson's grades and playing in a baseball game.” From what I could recall, Marcus only left Stanton Concert Hall the night of the party to attend that board meeting, but I couldn't be certain of his every move. The motive for this crime just wasn't making full sense to me based on what I knew so far.

  “Have you heard the rumor about a Major League Baseball scout coming to the game?”

  Nana D shocked me with that one. “That's certainly a reason why someone might be desperate enough to kill!” As much as I loved the place, Braxton wasn't a top-tier school nor known for its sports programs. Why would a Major League Baseball scout be coming here?

  Nana D said she'd keep after the councilman to find out anything she could. I updated her on my progression on the Abby Monroe investigation excluding any fears about my father or the actual initials. She was most intrigued by Lorraine's three missing objects, one of which may or may not be the murder weapon. “It seems to me you need to sit Coach Oliver down, then talk to Sheriff Montague again. I don't like the way that Coach Oliver acts around women. I wouldn't put it past him to apply some pressure on Abby about the grades. Before I fancy him as the killer, we need to learn more about his little rendezvous at the woman's house. All seems a little too Tanya Harding versus Nancy Kerrigan to me.”

  Nana D was right, we didn't know what the relationship was between Coach Oliver and Abby. If Abby was dating W. A., would she also be romantically involved with the coach? “I think you may be right about Sheriff Montague, although she's none too happy when I try to insert myself in the case.”

  “You pay her salary, Kellan. She should be happy to get some free help. That woman always had a mean streak to her, especially after…”

  “I don't live in Braxton, Nana D. You might pay her salary, but I don't,” I replied realizing too late that was exactly the topic of conversation Nana D was trying to bring up. By her giant grin, I could tell I'd put my foot in my mouth again. I should charge an entry fee. Except I'd be paying myself. Never mind.

  “Speaking of where you live, how about you take me up on that offer to come live here at the farm? I could use someone else to talk to during the day.” Nana D filled the tray with the empty teacups and dessert plates, then walked to the sink to begin washing them. “It'll be fun to gab all night!”

  Maybe the sheriff was right about Nana D. I packaged the remaining cakes and pies sneaking two into my pocket for the ride back home, then joined her at the sink. “I might have news to share with you tomorrow about staying in Braxton when I pick you up for the game. Does twelve sound good?”

  “Make it eleven. I need to see some folks before the game kicks off. I hope you cleaned up the crumbs you dropped on the floor when those two cakes accidentally fell into your pocket, Kellan.” Nana D began singing Kenny Rogers The Gambler as she turned the faucet off, then danced her way across the kitchen. “I would slap your bottom silly if I didn't let you get away with everything, brilliant one.”

  I shook my head at her. There would never be any way to control my nana. I hugged her goodbye and drove back home wondering who she was meeting with that evening. Then I realized it was time to plan several interviews of my own to make traction in finding Abby's killer. It'd become a personal quest to solve the case before the sheriff. Perhaps to get Derek off my back, too.

  As I pulled into the driveway at my parents' house, my father stepped down the path toward his car. “I can't talk now, Kellan. I'm meeting your mother for an early dinner.”

  I wasn't letting him avoid me anymore. “Nope, we need to chat tonight, Dad,” I said through the window, then parked and jogged over to his car, but he'd already slammed the driver's door closed. To his credit, he did roll down the window. “It's close to freezing out here, son. Make it quick.”

  “Listen, Dad. I think you need to know something I learned about Abby Monroe today.”

  “I understand, but I can't be late to meet your mother. She's not herself these days, ever since I started planning for my retirement. I am trying to do whatever I can to make her happy,” he replied before hitting the button to roll up the window.

  With a few inches and even fewer seconds left to catch his attention, I grunted into the disappearing space, “Breakfast. Tomorrow. Nine o'clock. Don't miss it!”

  He smiled and backed out of the driveway. Something strange was going on in my family and at Braxton. The more everyone tried to hide it, the more I wanted to dig deeper. Derek and I exchanged a brief text conversation.

  Kellan: Got into Abby's office. I found some of her research notes in the folders. Going through them again this weekend.

  Derek: Awesome. My boss is reviewing the revised materials you sent over. Didn't have time to tell him they were yours, but I'll be sure he knows how hard you worked.

  Ugh! I needed to call Emma to see how she was doing and share the news she'd be coming back to Braxton for a few weeks. I needed to map out everything I'd discovered in the investigation thus far. Then I needed to open a bottle of wine. Those were the only three things I thought might improve my night. Or maybe the rest of Nana D's baked goods. Yep, those were going to be my only evening plans.

  Chapter 13

  My mom left for a spa day early the next morning with her girlfriends. Every month, they spent one Saturday pampering themselves at the Woodland Spa on the other side of the Finnulia River. Inevitab
ly, she'd return looking refreshed and radiant, then try to convince my father to go with her the next time. He'd usually brush off my mother's invitations given his work commitments. Now that he'd be retiring, could he still get away with it?

  I'd brewed a pot of coffee, defrosted some of Nana D's blueberry scones, and tossed some turkey sausages in the frying pan. If my father were on time, he'd be arriving any moment for the breakfast I'd suggested he attend the day before. Just as I began plating the food, the grandfather clock in the living room confirmed it was nine o'clock. My father pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen. That man had impeccable timing.

  “Good day, Kellan. I believe you made a demand for my presence this morning,” he said.

  Was he attempting to be funny? “I did. We have a few things to discuss. Are you going to the game today?” I eased into the topic to avoid creating any tension too soon.

  “Indeed. I'm still head of the college, and it's the first baseball game. I'm looking forward to Striker kick off the season.” He carried his plate to the corner breakfast nook and sat on the bench closest to the back door. I suppose he'd planned a quick escape.

  “Does that mean Coach Oliver decided the starting lineup?” In all the commotion, I'd forgotten about the pep rally the night before. I joined him at the table and took a bite of Nana D's scone. The blueberry flavoring was so intense I had to close my eyes to fully enjoy the experience of it.

  “I guess that answers my question about you taking over some classes. If you were truly interested in helping, you'd have been following the college's biggest news this week,” my father said, savoring his breakfast which meant I hadn't lost him yet.

  “No, that's not exactly true. Do you think baseball is Braxton's biggest news this week?” I shook my head in amazement at how easily he could dismiss a murder just to focus on the Striker-versus-Jordan rivalry. “We'll get to the job offer. First, something came up last night. I didn't think to check on who Coach Oliver selected to pitch. Second, I'm going to the game today with Nana D.”