Academic Curveball

by James J Cudney

  Myriam had chosen a dark brown pantsuit with a vibrant orange, open-collared blouse. Rather than add a tie or broach, she wrapped an elegant silk scarf around her neck. She looked impeccable, and I couldn't argue with her taste in clothes. Her hair, however, hadn't changed since the last time I'd seen her causing me to wonder if she'd owned a collection of identical wigs. Not a single strand looked like it was pointed in any different direction than last time. Working in television and research, my mind had begun to function like a photographic memory—too many nights spent verifying continuity between episodes. I controlled the desire to peel back a section of Myriam's hair to see if it said Monday somewhere. After all, she was a professor in the theater department.

  While Myriam selected a cup of herbal tea and a fruit salad, I ordered a double espresso and a slice of coffee cake needing the extra boost to get through the morning. “I appreciate you making time for me this morning to get situated with Abby's classes. I taught some undergrad courses when I was getting my doctorate in…”

  “Mr. Ayrwick,” she interrupted. “I'm more than glad to do my part for Braxton to ensure the students aren't impacted any further than they've been already. However, your father certainly slipped you in under the radar. He could have told me at the retirement party you were his son. What is it Brutus said in Julius Caesar… 'The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power,' I believe.”

  She was correct in her quote but must have also felt some amount of guilt over the derogatory remarks she'd said about my father. “Perhaps. My father has tunnel vision in those circumstances and does the minimum to get…”

  And she did it again. I was getting a complex between the frequent hang-ups and interruptions. “Not that it would have changed anything I said. I stand by my words, and this is another case of Wesley Ayrwick thinking he can play God,” Myriam replied taking a few sips of her tea. She dabbed a cotton handkerchief from her coat pocket against her lips, then sat taller on the seat.

  “Well, rather than get caught up on the past, how about we focus on the classes I'm taking over this morning?” I had finished reading all the materials the previous night and was excited to revisit some of the introductory content I'd long forgotten.

  “I'm willing to assume you can handle this coursework. I reviewed your qualifications, and while I'm appalled at the way your father ushered you into Braxton, I'm pleased you've way more experience than Monroe. Where you lack specific roles as a college professor, you probably make up for it with all you've accomplished in your career.” She stuck her fork in a piece of grapefruit I swore I could hear wince as it entered her mouth. “And that's not a compliment. Just an observation and comparison. I expect when we hire a full-time professor, we will be more judicious in our candidate search.”

  This was going to be an uphill battle worthy of Attila the Hun. Myriam and I spent an hour discussing everything she'd known about Abby's current courses and upcoming deliverables from the students. In between discrete barbs and jabs, I found a way to bring up the grading process.

  “Monroe didn't upload the grades on that first exam, I did. There was some sort of mix-up in all the commotion when the sheriff was going through things last weekend,” Myriam said while tossing her bowl in the trash bin. “When I received access to the building again, I found the folder with all the exams in my office mailbox. It appeared the woman had graded everything already, but the marks still needed to be keyed into the system.”

  “You didn't give the folder to anyone else?” It was odd she found them in the first place.

  “I'd normally give them to the office manager, but given how late it was, I entered this round myself to prevent further delay of the results to the students. I approved them on Wednesday evening.”

  A few Braxton students took seats at nearby tables. I nodded at Connor while he ordered his morning caffeine boost. I turned back to Myriam, then said, “Did you come across Striker's exam?”

  Myriam wrinkled her nose. “I'm not familiar with that name.”

  Was she serious? Everyone knew about the baseball rivalry last week. “Craig Magee, I believe, is his real name. He was struggling in Abby's class last year, and this was his second chance.”

  “Yes, your father specifically asked me to look at that exam. It would seem he's gotten private tutoring or decided to focus on his studies more than his sports career. I don't understand why your father allows that athletic director to pull so much weight around…”

  It was my opportunity to interrupt this time. “Do you know Coach Oliver? Was he a regular visitor to the communications department?” I'd been convinced he had something to do with the grade being changed on Striker's exam. I was certain Striker had gotten an 'F' based on the entry in Abby's book. Someone must have swapped his exam to ensure he passed well enough to play for the game.

  “I barely know the Neanderthal. As I said, the point of the athletics programs at Braxton is meaningless to me. I'm still shocked at how many donations seem to come their way,” Myriam replied while devouring the last of her tea.

  “Are you familiar with the blog that's had a lot to say about the allocation of Braxton's donations?” I asked hoping to make her slightly uncomfortable and to confirm my suspicions.

  Myriam huffed and stood from the table. “I've been made aware of it. I don't usually read anonymous blogs, but this one certainly has hit the nail on the head, wouldn't you say, Mr. Ayrwick?” She gathered and secured her notes in her briefcase. “I'll stop by later today to see how your first day of classes went. If you need me, I'll be in my office making final stage blocking decisions on our upcoming production of King Lear. I thought it was a perfect selection for the change in leadership this year.”

  As Connor saddled up to the table, Myriam exited. If I had time to respond, I'd have reminded her Lear was one of the more beloved characters by the time the play ended as well as asked her which of Lear's daughters she'd modeled herself after. I certainly had my vote etched in stone.

  “Kellan, today's your first day,” Connor stated rather than asked. I assumed he had to update my campus security clearances which explained why he knew I was working at Braxton.

  “Yes, just on my way over to Diamond Hall now that we have access to use the classrooms again.” I was glad Connor came by even though the topics I had to bring up made me nervous.

  He joined me on the walk to the classroom. “I'm sure you'll do well. Sheriff Montague cleared everything in Diamond Hall last night. I think she's ready to make an arrest tomorrow.”

  I was sure they found enough evidence if there was a major break about to occur in the case. “Has she checked the phone records to see who Abby was meeting? Any chance you know specifically what was used to kill Abby? Perhaps a clarinet?”

  “They've completed testing a few objects and have verified the general size and shape of the weapon. The call you overheard came from someone in Grey Sports Complex. I'm working with the technology group for the exact location. Things aren't looking too good for Lorraine.” Connor checked his phone and responded to an incoming message he'd be at the security office in ten minutes.

  Based on his explanation, Lorraine must have reported the missing items. I also hoped Lorraine had updated Sheriff Montague on meeting Coach Oliver on campus that evening, too. “There's no way she could have done it, Connor. I'm certain this has something to do with grades being changed to ensure a certain member of the baseball team could play in the big game. Lorraine has no motive when it comes to who pitched last Saturday.”

  “I think Sheriff Montague is smart enough not to arrest Lorraine without proper evidence. You know Lorraine was angry about Abby's treatment of her brother, Alton.”

  “What about Dean Terry's lack of an alibi?”

  The shock on Connor's face revealed he hadn't known. “Does she have a motive?”

  His question was important. Other than a few odd looks at Coach Oliver during the game, I couldn't come up with anything peculiar enough. “But she misled
the sheriff over her whereabouts…”

  “Lots of people don't remember their exact movements that night, Kellan. I've had to help interview everyone, and there are still some people who don't have an alibi during the thirty-minute window when Abby was killed.” His face squished together tightly like he was growing annoyed with me.

  Although he had a point, I wasn't ready to give up. I remembered to ask Connor about the initials from the journal. “That may be true, but Abby was seeing someone named W. A. Might you know anyone on campus she could have been involved with?”

  Connor gave it a few seconds of thought. “Besides your father?”

  “Yes. Anyone else?” I replied hoping he didn't get sidetracked by thoughts of Abby and my father together. It'd already made me sick. “Also, do you have access to review the student system's security logs?” I repeated what Myriam told me about the day and time for uploading the grades.

  “Kellan, you need to stay out of this investigation. You've got way too many theories going on in your head. The sheriff knows what she's doing. You can't sneak back into Braxton and insert yourself into everything just because you want to,” he said with more than a hint of frustration in his voice.

  I began to think his attitude went beyond my interest in Abby Monroe's death. “I appreciate the advice. Fine, I'll let it go for the moment. Seen Maggie lately?” He wasn't being open-minded about the investigation, so I changed topics. I hadn't meant to be so blunt, though.

  Connor stopped walking and grabbed my shoulder. For a second, I worried about his next move, but then he stepped backward and took a deep breath. “Maggie and I have gone out on a few dates. I'm not sure where it's going, but there's chemistry. There's always been chemistry,” Connor said before turning away from me and staring at his phone.

  “Always been?” I said shooing away the stabbing pain in my side.

  “Yeah. I never told you this before, but it's time you knew,” Connor replied.

  I learned nearly twelve years ago when we were all friends at Braxton in our sophomore year, Connor, too, had a crush on Maggie. He'd asked her out the same day I had, but she told him she needed to think about it. He never understood why until a few days later when I'd announced she and I were a couple. The pain in my side got worse as I recognized how much he'd kept to himself years ago.

  “Why didn't you say something? I never realized you had such deep feelings for her,” I replied sensing a rush of guilt. “You never seemed upset when we went out without you.

  “Trust me, I was angry. But we were all best friends. I didn't want to lose either of you, so I swallowed my pride and focused on school,” Connor said searching for car keys in his pocket.

  I remembered him giving us space in our final years at Braxton, but I missed the real reasons why. “I'm sorry, man. I wish I had known.”

  “That's why I lost touch after graduation. When you broke up with her, it nearly killed me. I should have fought for her back then, especially if you were gonna ditch her for the first opportunity to leave Braxton,” Connor replied. I noticed the volatile frustration building inside him.

  Everything became more obvious as I thought back to the last conversation he and I had on campus that day. “So, is that what led to this dramatic change in what you look like?”

  Connor nodded. “I needed to forget everything and to focus on my future. I threw myself into working out and the security field… it felt like the best place to concentrate my efforts.”

  “But when you and Maggie ended up working together at Braxton, you decided to…”

  “Give it a chance,” he added. “She's an amazing woman. I didn't want to screw up twice.”

  I had to ask even if the answer would hurt. “Is that why you stopped calling Eleanor back?”

  “What? No…” Connor looked at his phone again. “I gotta go. Sometimes you can be a real jerk.”

  As Connor walked toward the BCS vehicle, my jabbing pains eased up finally knowing there was indeed something between him and Maggie. I wasn't happy about it, but at least it wasn't hidden anymore. Then I worried about how serious it was and whether it meant Eleanor would be in for heartbreak. Unfortunately, I had classes to teach and couldn't wallow in my concerns.

  I went up the back stairs ignoring the cold sensation overtaking my body as I stepped through the vestibule where we'd found Abby's body. I dropped off my briefcase in her office—my temporary workspace—and went to the main area on the floor to catch Lorraine. She was on the phone but waved and said she'd find me after the first class.

  A few students were already hanging out and talking when I slipped back downstairs and took my seat at the corner desk in the classroom near the front entrance of the building. I said hello and that I'd be with them in a few minutes, then recognized Jordan Ballantine texting on his cell phone. While preparing my introductory remarks, a few remaining kids walked in including Striker and his girlfriend, Carla.

  “Couldn't hack it on Saturday, Striker?” Jordan said lifting his head. Deep brown eyes focused on his competition. With his shoulders squared and his chest puffed out, he looked somewhat menacing. Jordan was confident in his talent and voice and clearly not afraid to stand up for himself.

  “What'd you say?” Striker replied. “I'm pretty sure Coach Oliver only took me out of the game to give you an opportunity to be seen by the scout. He felt bad for picking me over you.”

  “That's not how it happened,” yelled Jordan. “Your grades magically…”

  “Guys, come on. You're supposed to be friends, stop this silliness,” added Carla. “Be happy you both had the chance. And we won! That's what counts.” Her lips were full and pouty.

  It was then I remembered where I'd seen Carla before. She was the girl smiling at Jordan in the fitness center while cycling. I wasn't sure whether the conversation with Connor had impacted my judgment, but it seemed like there was some sort of hidden agenda playing out in the classroom.

  “Yep, we won because I saved the game in the end. Striker shouldn't have been playing. He's on academic probation,” Jordan said while shoving the phone into the pocket of his designer jeans. “I guess something must have changed, huh?” he snickered.

  Carla's face brightened quickly. “Yeah, maybe he studied hard and passed. Leave him alone.”

  “Exactly,” Striker replied. “Coach Oliver wouldn't have let me play if I didn't ace that exam.”

  “Or something like that,” Jordan said. “All seems kinda funny to me how quickly things improved once Professor Monroe died. I was supposed to start!”

  When Striker stood and reached a fist in Jordan's direction, I raised my voice and called out, “Welcome back to Diamond Hall, everyone. I'm sure you're curious who I am…”

  I delivered my intro speech which seemed to settle the room even if it didn't settle me. If the students gossiped about the peculiarity of Striker's grades changing so quickly, there was something of substance behind my intuition. I'd return to digging into it once I finished teaching classes for the day.

  The first lecture went well. I covered a generic timeline of how the film industry evolved in the late 1800s and the first quarter of the twentieth century. When I dismissed the class, Carla ran out after Striker followed by a few other students. I took the opportunity to introduce myself to Jordan while he packed up to leave.

  “Good meeting you, Professor Ayrwick. Would you be related to the president?” he asked.

  I confirmed, then asked him what had happened before class began. “I noticed a little tension between you and a few other students. Anything I need to worry about?”

  Jordan sniffed. “We're all friends, just like giving each other a hard time. Striker and I are cool.”

  “I saw you pitching last Saturday. You've got a fantastic curveball. I'm sure the Major League Baseball scout was impressed,” I added. And it was true, Jordan definitely saved the season opener.

  “Thanks, sir. I appreciate it.” He clasped a button on his checkered shirt that had come loose.<
br />
  Sir? He called me sir. Not even Derek called me sir. “Professor Ayrwick will do. I heard you share some concerns about how the grades were determined. Is there something you'd like to discuss?”

  Jordan shifted his weight and tossed his head back and forth. “Nah. If he passed the exam, I'm sure it was legit, I mean, unless maybe Striker did something… never mind, it's just, you know…”

  “No, Jordan, I don't know. I'm new here, so if you have information to share, I'd appreciate your candor,” I said. He looked as if he wanted to tell me more, but I could see he was nervous.

  “I'm gonna be late for my next class.” He made a mad dash toward the cable car stop.

  I had an hour before my next class, so I gave the sheriff a quick call. It had been a few days, and I needed to thank her for letting me obtain access to Abby's office. Officer Flatman answered. “Mr. Ayrwick, how was the visit with your grandmother yesterday?”

  “It's always a pleasure to see her. I appreciate you letting me go so easily,” I replied unwilling to let him know I'd known that he'd known he'd gotten the better of me. “She cooked a delicious brunch. Any chance the sheriff is available?”

  “Excellent. I'm happy I ran into you yesterday. I can't say for sure why, but my day certainly improved afterward,” he spouted before putting me on hold. Was that a southern accent I'd heard?

  A few seconds later, Sheriff Montague picked up the call. “What do you want now?”

  “Just to extend my hearty thanks for granting access to Abby Monroe's office. It made teaching her classes today a lot easier.” While explaining my new temporary job, I made a list of things to mention about the case should she try to hang up quickly. It'd been a recurring theme in my life lately.

  “Seems you wormed your way into things, Little Ayrwick,” the sheriff replied. “I've got an arrest to make shortly. Just waiting on the findings from some samples of fibers we found under the deceased's fingernails. Make this quick, please.” If there were fibers, it meant there was a struggle before Abby had been hit on the head with the mysterious and missing murder weapon.