Academic Curveball

by James J Cudney

  “I'm excited about the opportunity to build an entire college program that could put our town on the map one day. Then again, I'm not keen on working for my father. We've struggled to get along too much in the past.” I'd been considering it in between all the activities keeping me focused on the murder investigation, but in the end, I consistently arrived at this causing a huge family rift.

  “Set some ground rules with the man. Tell him what you will and will not do. If he doesn't agree to abide by 'em, then you know it won't work out. But if he says he will, you've got an opportunity most people never see fall into their lap. I'd imagine this could help launch your own career and get one of them television shows, too,” Nana D said.

  I tended to agree with Nana D about the new role helping put me in the spotlight with the Hollywood types. I could use those connections to find support and funding for my own true crime show. Maybe even focus the first episode around what'd been happening at Braxton this semester. “I think I should sleep on it. I promised Dad I'd let him know tomorrow since the big announcement is next Monday about both the new college president and the expansion plans.”

  “In that case, tell me what's going on with the investigation. Figure out who murdered those two ladies yet? I asked the sheriff yesterday, but that woman's lips are sealed tighter than this new denture cream I'm trying out.” Nana D clicked her jaw, then proved she couldn't easily remove them.

  She was on a roll this evening. “Sheriff Montague doesn't like to take risks. I can understand that, but I'm planning to see her tomorrow. Connor mentioned they'd have the results of the analysis on what they found under Lorraine's and Abby's fingernails.”

  “I finally got the lowdown from someone else on the Board of Trustees. She's confident that anonymous donation came from Marcus Stanton himself—that's why he's been so secretive about it. If he's the one pushing for all the improvements to the athletic facility and team, then he's probably the person the blogger has it out for. Not your father as much as I love seeing him get roasted,” Nana D said.

  Nana D and I chatted for another hour despite not coming to any specific conclusions. When we couldn't come up with any reason why Marcus would want to hide his donation, we decided to call it a night. Nana D had already made up one of the guest rooms, and I crashed within minutes of hitting the mattress. Her offer to live at Danby Landing made the whole prospect of moving home a lot more tolerable. Giving the same sort of experience I had as a child to Emma was a comforting thought.

  * * *

  After a solid night's sleep, I went to the office early on Friday to accomplish as much as possible. Once the quizzes were graded, I dropped them off with Siobhan who'd stopped into the office for a few hours. She planned to scan and enter them into the student system for me, then return them to my desk, so I could deliver them to the class the following week.

  Although I tried to find a way to talk to Striker after class, he was one of the first students out the door. I was stuck answering questions from one of the more talkative kids who wanted to tell me she'd watched Dark Reality reruns the night before and loved my episodes. I appreciated the compliments, but between my desire to corner Jordan and Carla and the need to avoid brown-nosers, I wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible. By lunchtime, I was in desperate need of a break and something to eat. I'd only had a small piece of cake at Nana D's and was starving.

  Maggie was in a staff meeting again. My mother was knee-deep in reviewing profiles of all the students they'd finally settled on offering acceptance to. She needed to verify all the state's guidelines had been met so there was a fair balance of diversity among the prospective class. With no one else around, I decided to visit Grey Sports Complex in case Coach Oliver hadn't eaten. I didn't relish the idea of sitting down to a meal with him, but it'd be an opportunity to possibly gain some facts. As I began walking down the hall on the third floor, I heard loud voices in Coach Oliver's office.

  “I didn't do it. I swear. You have to believe me.” Coach Oliver was adamantly defending himself from something, but I couldn't tell who was with him.

  “If you don't cooperate with me, I'm happy to make a formal arrest in a more public scene. I am giving you a chance to do the right thing and come downtown with me willingly, but if you insist on screaming at me, I will arrest you right here and now,” Sheriff Montague replied. She was calm and rational in her approach despite Coach Oliver's behavior.

  I turned the corner and found Officer Flatman and Connor standing outside the door. In the office, Coach Oliver was pointing his finger at the sheriff and refusing to leave. Everyone turned and looked at me when I arrived.

  “Just what we needed. An audience with a penchant for being the second coming of Miss Marple,” said Sheriff Montague.

  “I'd prefer to think of myself as Hercule Poirot if I need to be compared to a literary character from nearly a hundred years ago, April.” When she frowned at me, I shrugged my shoulders and turned to Coach Oliver. “What's going on here?”

  “You have to tell her I'm innocent, Kellan. I didn't kill Lorraine and Abby. I'm being framed.”

  Connor pulled me aside while Officer Flatman and the sheriff applied more pressure on Coach Oliver to stop resisting them. He explained the results of the fingernail tests and a second test they'd run on Coach Oliver's car. I hadn't known the last one was going on, then again, I suspect Sheriff Montague didn't feel compelled to tell me anything about the case. After the sheriff revealed what she'd learned from Abby's journal, validated Abby's call discussing an eight thirty meeting had come from Coach Oliver's office, Lorraine's call to me accusing Coach Oliver of something, and the suspicious note in Lorraine's hands when she was killed, Coach Oliver admitted he'd been dating both women. He claimed when Lorraine had confronted him, they argued, and she left. When the test results on the red fibers under Abby's fingernails definitively matched the baseball team's jackets, Sheriff Montague convinced Judge Grey to issue a warrant to search Coach Oliver's house and car given his connection to both women and potential presence at the scene of both crimes. That's when the sheriff found stronger evidence she couldn't ignore.

  A few drops of blood on the passenger seat in Coach Oliver's blue sedan matched Abby's DNA. I had suspected Coach Oliver all along, yet while I wanted to pin the crime on him, I wasn't feeling confident we had the whole story—especially with the news about Marcus Stanton being the anonymous donor. Coach Oliver was assuredly part of the grade-changing scheme, but there was more going on than anyone knew at this point. I had to find a way to prove it.

  “What about Lorraine? Any evidence he pushed her out the window?” I inquired.

  Connor smiled, then breathed loudly. “There were also fibers found under Lorraine's fingernails, too. I suspect both women tried to stop him and grabbed onto his jacket. Maybe there was a brief struggle in Abby's office where she grabbed the killer's jacket, then ran away toward the stairs. In Lorraine's case, she probably reached for the killer before he pushed her out the window. In the process, fibers were transferred. The sheriff also found fragments of skin under Lorraine's fingernails. If they turn out to be Coach Oliver's, the sheriff will arrest him tonight.”

  “Can't anyone buy those jackets in the school store?” I know they were mostly for the baseball team, but it wasn't as if they'd been custom or specially given to select individuals. I thought it might have been the gift Lorraine was searching for.”

  “That wasn't the gift, Kellan, but it was the third supposedly missing item from Diamond Hall. Coach Oliver says he dropped off a new jacket for Lorraine the day of the party after he'd received the shipment, but she never saw it. These were the new jackets just issued for the upcoming baseball season. Very few had been sold or given out,” explained Connor. “Only Coach Oliver had possession of them except for the players and cheerleaders. The sheriff is checking with anyone who received a jacket to see if those might have a rip or any damage.”

  “So now what happens?” As I posed the question, She
riff Montague led Coach Oliver away in handcuffs.

  “I'm taking him into custody so we can convince him to tell us everything. When I know more, I'll share it with you, Little Ayrwick. For now, I'd appreciate you keeping this quiet. I trust you can handle these instructions,” the sheriff said with a pointed stare that gave me the chills.

  “Yep, I understand,” I replied to the sheriff, then turned to Connor and shared the details of the conversation Bridget had overheard with the scout.

  “It certainly gives more reason to why it was so important for the baseball team to do well this year. If Coach Oliver was possibly trying to get a job at the Major League Baseball organization, he needed to look good when his best friend, the scout, was onsite. Coach Oliver was probably doing anything he could to keep Striker on the team all the while working with Jordan as a backup.” Connor stepped further into the office and checked on Officer Flatman's progress, and said, “I will need a list of everything you find and take from the office. This may be a murder investigation, but this is still college property. There could be confidential information in here.”

  Officer Flatman accepted Connor's request. “We can start with this note I found under his desk.”

  I poked my head into the office to see what they were talking about. “A note?”

  “Yes, Coach Oliver had been holding it when I walked in, but when the sheriff placed the handcuffs on him, it fell to the floor. He kicked it under the desk trying to hide it.”

  When Connor asked to see the note, Officer Flatman handed it to him. He read it aloud.

  You're an amazing baseball player who deserves to be the starting pitcher at this Saturday's game. I hope I can make this happen for you. I'm behind you all the way and won't let you down again. I believe in you and will do whatever it takes to help you take the lead spot.

  Connor and I turned to one another. I was certain he had the same thought I did. “It's identical handwriting, isn't it?” I asked.

  Connor pulled up the image he'd shown me on his phone earlier in the week. We compared the two notes and smiled. “Exactly the same.”

  “But what does it mean?” It made no sense why Coach Oliver had this note in his possession. It would be stupid of him to write a message to a student in such an open manner which meant he was in all likelihood not the author of it. It also could have been about Striker or Jordan. Maybe the person who wrote the note was hoping to find a way to fix Striker's grades to get him permission to play again or to help Jordan by having Striker forced off the team permanently for cheating.

  Connor told Officer Flatman to deliver the note to the sheriff as soon as possible. He turned to me saying, “Other than Striker himself, who's been angry about him not getting to play?”

  “My first guess would be Marcus Stanton, but he was present at the retirement party or board meeting when Abby was killed. Nana D confirmed he was in a council meeting when Lorraine was pushed out the window. Carla Grey has some explaining to do regarding her waffling support between Jordan and Striker,” I replied. It was time I got to the bottom of whatever game she was playing.

  “While we wait for the sheriff's team to catalog any additional evidence, do you have a sample of Carla's handwriting?” asked Connor.

  “I might,” I hesitated while trying to remember what was in my possession. After recalling I'd left all my class materials in Diamond Hall, I told Connor I would check my office. We agreed to touch base later that evening to outline a game plan.

  I took off on foot back to Diamond Hall where I shuffled through all the papers on my desk but couldn't find the recent pop quiz. Then I remembered dropping them off with Siobhan to photocopy, enter into the grading system, and return to me before classes next Monday. I thought it was odd and quickly scanned my email to see if she'd messaged me about them. And she did. Siobhan had taken the papers home with her to get the work finished on the weekend while the babies were sleeping. Since I didn't have a phone number for her, I replied to Siobhan's email asking her to upload Carla's quiz as soon as possible and to send me a copy. I also left an urgent message for Myriam to see if she could send me Siobhan's home number.

  Two hours later, I was fully caught up for my classes but still had no updates from Siobhan or Myriam. Before I left, I texted Connor with my current status. He was just leaving Braxton for the night after the sheriff's crew had finished their search of Grey Sports Complex. The sheriff mentioned she wouldn't arrest Coach Oliver until they could review all the evidence over the weekend. Coach Oliver would be free to leave the precinct later that evening.

  When I arrived home, I offered to cook dinner since my mother was running behind visiting Eleanor. While she was changing, I made garlic bread and threw together a pasta dish with zucchini, tomatoes, orange peppers, and a white cream sauce. It was already getting late, and I didn't want to have a full stomach when I went to sleep. It would be important to get enough rest in preparation for tomorrow's game and hopeful discovery of the killer.

  I mentioned the concerns to my father about what I'd overheard in the fitness center regarding students' fears over the recent deaths. He was surprisingly grateful and understanding at the same time. After recalling I hadn't heard anything about the mysterious blogger, I said, “I haven't seen any new blog posts about you. I guess Dr. Castle is behaving herself?”

  “As I mentioned previously, the blogger is not Myriam. In fact, the whole situation has been solved.” My father reached for another piece of garlic bread and sampled a glass of the wine I'd poured with dinner. “There won't be any more blogs being written about me.”

  “Can you tell me who it was?” I inquired. If it wasn't Myriam, I had no other suspects in mind unless that was the reason he'd called Dean Terry to his office. Was she lying through her teeth to me about supporting the athletic program? Or throwing out confusion in different places?

  “Not yet. After Monday I can share the name with you. Sheriff Montague is convinced it has something to do with both deaths and has asked me not to discuss it with anyone.”

  “This is all getting too frightening,” added my mother. “I'm starting to wonder if Nana D has a point about this crime taking too long to solve.”

  “Your mother is a gossip, Violet. She's not content unless there's someone or something to complain about. This is just more fodder for her to sink her teeth into,” my father replied.

  “Nana D is right, Dad. Tomorrow is two weeks, and the sheriff hasn't made a whole lot of progress. Just today she brought Coach Oliver back in for questions, but I've been telling her all along to dig deeper into his alibis for both nights.”

  “Kellan's right, Wesley. He's more on top of this than Sheriff Montague,” my mother said.

  “Let's agree to let this go for now. Murder's no topic for dinnertime,” my father said pushing his plate away and changing subjects. “I'm finally able to move back into my regular office after tomorrow's baseball game. The movers will have my desk and belongings returned to the executive building. Things will finally be back to normal again.”

  “I'm sure moving back and forth was difficult, Dad.” It's always about his inconveniences.

  “Speaking of moving, I believe you owe me an answer.”

  “I believe you are correct. And you gave me until the end of today, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Then I've got a few hours left.”

  My father stood, raised his finger as if he wanted to chastise me but thought better of it and left the room mumbling to himself.

  “Do you really think that's how you can solve your problems, Kellan?” asked my mother while scraping food from his plate onto hers to take them to the kitchen. “I don't see how you two will ever work together if you're both so similar and intent on aggravating one another all the time.”

  Similar? What was she talking about? I was in no way, shape, or form like my father. Was I? After I retreated to my room, I stewed like a child who'd been reprimanded by his mommy for doing something bad. But I hadn't done an
ything wrong. I was given until the end of the day. It was only dinner time. I knew I needed to make my decision. When it was approaching midnight, and I still hadn't come to any conclusion, I accepted she was probably right.

  Chapter 22

  I continued to second-guess my decision regarding acceptance of the new role despite tacking a note to the door on my father's study at precisely one minute before midnight the night before. Most of the night was spent listening to the wind rustle through the trees while I laid awake staring at the ceiling. After a quick breakfast, I verified my decision was no longer taped to my father's door which meant he'd read my pronouncement. Some might say I should have told him in person, but he'd been sleeping when I'd come to my conclusion, and I didn't want to actually talk about it anymore last night. I packed my gym bag and drove to Grey Sports Complex.

  Upon arriving, I went to Coach Oliver's office to see if he'd returned from the precinct or was prepping for the afternoon's game. I was surprised to find him there with his head resting on the desk. Coach Oliver snarled at me. “Some help you were yesterday. I just got done a few minutes ago. Now I have to figure out how to motivate the team when I feel like I've been hit by an eighteen-wheeler.” The dark circles under his eyes convinced me he'd been telling the truth about being up all night.

  “Maybe it's about time you leveled with me, Coach Oliver. There's something you've been hiding. Why not get it all out in the open? Maybe you'll feel better.” I had to go with my instincts. The sheriff wouldn't have released him if Coach Oliver was the murderer. I was probably safe alone in his office. “Let's start with why they didn't arrest you.”

  “My attorney has advised me not to discuss it with anyone.” He shrugged his shoulders and squarely set his jaw, then relented. “Fine, I guess I can tell you if you promise to help me.” Coach Oliver waited for me to agree which I did knowing I could back out of it if there were anything illegal going on. “My DNA wasn't a match against whatever they'd found under Lorraine's fingernails. The blood they found in my car was a match with Abby, but her nosy neighbor was able to verify she'd watched Abby cut herself getting into my car one day while I was still inside her house on a phone call. There wasn't enough to hold me any longer.”