Lost Distinction

by Rachel Sharpe

  My eyes remained on the speedometer until it leveled off at seventy. “No, I understand. My parents had certain plans for me, but I didn’t fall into line. My sister stayed in-state, went to med school, and then, she married a lawyer. She’s pretty perfect and my mom loves reminding me all the time.”

  She glanced at me sideways. “That’s pretty tough.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, they never abused or abandoned me,” I trailed off, thinking about my old friend Natalie, whose mother walked out when she was young and never looked back. “They paid for private school and college. They even offered financial support when I was first starting out as a PI. I just, well, I’ve never felt like they’ve been proud of me, not like with her.”

  She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sure they care. They probably just worry. My parents are supportive of my decisions but they live across the country, too. It’s been two years since I’ve been home and seen everyone. Eddie keeps saying we’re going to get over there, but things keep coming up. I might just book my own flight and go to Hawaii one day. Would you like to come?”

  I laughed. “Go to Hawaii? Sure, I’d love that. I don’t know if I could afford it, but—”

  She waved her hand. “Oh, it would be my treat. I’d just enjoy your company. The food there is amazing. I can never find a shave ice here and clam chowder does nothing for my appetite when I’m craving a loco moco.”

  “Come again?”

  “A couple of my favorite foods. Loco moco is hamburger steak and egg over rice covered in brown gravy. It’s so good.”

  “How do you stay skinny eating that? That sounds like an artery-clogging, fattening heart attack on a bun.”

  “It’s not made with a bun.”

  “Oh, well that makes it so much healthier.”

  She laughed. “You see? This is what I need.”

  “What? A dietician?”

  “No. A friend.”

  I felt guilty for rejecting her assistance earlier as it became clear to me she needed to help me more than I needed her help. My own family drama seemed trivial compared to what she described to me as we made our way into Connecticut. Gatlin Cross had a greater influence on his sons’ lives than I realized. Despite this, Michelle made it clear she harbored no ill feelings toward her father-in-law.

  “Sometimes I just wish Eddie would take a stand, like Arthur does.”

  “Arthur really is the black sheep, isn’t he?”

  Michelle merged onto Connecticut Highway 9 North toward Essex-Hartford. “I don’t like labeling people, but if there was a label for him, it would be that.” She paused and laughed. “Then again, I guess I could receive the same label in this family.”

  Crowell Academy was located on the outskirts of Middletown, Connecticut, a city west of the Connecticut River. Even though it was almost eleven when we arrived, as Michelle drove down the deserted streets with small town businesses on either side, which included a barbershop and a curio shop, something about its clean, quiet look of Americana suggested that this was a safe city. As we continued, I noticed there were no stoplights in town, only stop signs. Michelle paused at the corner of Main Street and Fourth Avenue.

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t remember how to get there exactly.” She frowned. “I’ve only been here a handful of times and Eddie always drove.”

  I sat in the passenger seat of the idling vehicle and stared across the dashboard into the darkness. As I sat there, I continued to marvel at the situations in which I constantly found myself. I was in a luxury car in a strange town in the middle of the night with a woman who I had only met the day before.

  I pulled my cell phone from my purse. The best course of action was to Google the school and get driving directions. That plan was aborted as soon as I realized that my cell phone battery was dead.

  Groaning, I turned to Michelle. “You don’t happen to have a cell phone, do you?”

  “Well, yes, but not on me. The only phone calls I ever get are somehow related to my political obligations. I try to forget it whenever I can.” Frowning, she added, “I guess I should rethink that strategy.” She glanced up in the rear view mirror. “Hey, I don’t want to alarm you or anything, but there’s a car right behind us and it hasn’t moved or honked since I stopped.”

  “What?” Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I glanced at the side view mirror. I was blinded by a set of bright headlights. Blinking my eyes to dim the spots, I muttered, “You’re right. We should get out of here.”

  “Right.” Gripping the steering wheel tighter, she pressed down on the gas. The car shot forward, then stalled.

  “What happened?”

  “Damn!” she groaned, slamming her hands on the steering wheel. “The stupid engine has been stalling lately. I told Eddie to bring it in before we left yesterday. So glad he listens so well.”

  “I’m sorry about your car, but we’ve got bigger problems,” I replied, my eyes focused on the dark figure in the side view mirror as it grew bigger. My mind went back to the dark shadow in the parking lot earlier. Michelle turned around and gasped. I shook my head. “We’ve got to do something. Do you have a gun?”

  “Not in the car,” she whimpered. Cursing beneath my breath, I began searching for something to use as a weapon as I ordered her to try to start the car again. Terrified, she just gripped the steering wheel and stared at the sleek dashboard.

  I opened the glove compartment and sifted through piles of receipts and manuals. Beside me, Michelle sat mute with a desperate look in her eyes. I felt around under my seat. Nothing. Behind us, the other driver had walked so swiftly, he was only a few yards away. Frantic, I dug through my purse and grabbed a small bottle of perfume.

  Glancing at the side mirror again, I slowed my breath and unbuckled my seat belt. Gripping the perfume in my left hand and the door handle in my right, I waited. As soon as the figure was close enough, I threw open the door. Jumping to my feet, I sprayed the liquid into the dark figure’s face. Then, I punched him in the chest and with all my might, drove my heel into his shoe.

  Chapter 8

  He doubled over and let out a yelp of pain. As my eyes adjusted, I was horrified when I realized it was Rick. I dropped the bottle. It shattered as soon as it made contact with the pavement, but my thoughts were not on cosmetics. I reached for Rick’s hands to pull them away from his eyes. He turned from me and continued to keep them covered. Behind his fists, I saw tears.

  “Why did you spray me? And punch me? And heel me? I think you broke my toe.”

  “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you! Why were you following us?”

  He removed his hands from his face and besides his blood-red eyes, I noticed his left cheekbone was red and puffy with signs of blue and purple bruising. Common sense told me perfume could not have caused that swelling. I reached toward the cheekbone. “What happened to your face?”

  He looked up into the midnight sky and blinked several times, tears running down his face as he did so. “I ran outside in time to see you two pulling away from the club, so I hopped in Stuart’s car and followed you, which was not easy to do with speed racer over there behind the wheel.” He groaned. “I tried to call your cell, but it went straight to voice mail. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to check out the school to see exactly when Arthur went missing, since everyone is being so evasive. I mentioned it to Michelle and when you and William started fighting, we thought it would be a good time to get away unnoticed.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me where you were going?” His eyes, although still red, were not tearing up any longer. He continued to blink rapidly but directed his gaze at me. “I would have come with you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I felt my face flush. As I stood there, I realized how thoughtless my actions must have seemed to him. He had been assaulted by his wormy cousin while trying to protect me and I showed my appreciation by running off and not telling him where I was goin
g. I tried to hug him, but he pushed me back.

  “Jordan, what you did isn’t cool. Everybody’s on edge with Arthur and then you two, well, you should’ve told me.”

  I realized Michelle was standing behind the car and looking over the roof at us. She offered the same guilty expression that I did. “Did Eddie say anything?”

  Rick stared at her. “He’s upset, but he was in no condition to drive. I was in a hurry to follow you guys. I promised to call him when I found you.” He pulled his phone from his pants pocket.

  “Would you mind if I called him? I think I owe him that much.”

  Rick nodded and when she walked around the car, he handed her the phone. Sighing, she dialed the number and strode away. As soon as she left, I turned my attention back to Rick’s eyes.

  “How are you?”

  He shrugged. “Fine.”

  “Do your eyes sting?”

  “Not that much.”

  “May I ask what happened to your face?”

  “William sucker-punched me when I turned to see where you went.”

  Angry now, I shook my head. “I’m so sorry.”

  Rick wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. The redness was beginning to fade. “Why are you apologizing for this?” he asked, pointing to the shiner. “You didn’t provoke him. That guy has always been bad news. He thinks he’s some kind of Don Juan or something, but he’s really just a creep. And when he’s drunk, well, as you saw tonight, things escalate.”

  I walked closer and hugged him. He sighed as he put his arms around me. “I’m sorry for all this. It seems like this weekend has been stressful for you since we arrived. I know I didn’t help the situation by running off. It was just a spontaneous impulse. I want to help find your cousin and I feel the best place to start is at the school. Do you forgive me?”

  Rick kissed my nose. “Yes, I forgive you. I won’t be buying you any more perfume, but I forgive you.”

  I chewed my lower lip. “I’m sorry about your eyes. And your toes.”

  As we stood there, Michelle cleared her throat awkwardly. We both turned toward the sound and she handed the cell phone to Rick. “Eddie wants to speak with you.”

  Rick accepted the phone, frowning. “Hello? Yeah, they’re fine. No, the car’s fine, too. Yeah, I think she got lost. Are we heading back now?” Rick glanced at me. I pleaded with him silently. “No, Ed, we have to take care of something here, but we won’t be long. Really, don’t worry. It’s fine. Okay, bye.”

  He shoved the phone in his pocket and crossed his arms. “All right. Now what’s the plan?”

  Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of a five-story, red brick structure complete with gables and surrounded by large, oak trees. I climbed out of the driver’s seat and Rick climbed out of the passenger one. Although he insisted his eyes were fine, I still didn’t feel comfortable with him driving, so he agreed to navigate. Moments later, Michelle pulled up next to us. She climbed out of the car and stared up.

  “Kind of ominous, huh?”

  Rick shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around. “This is Ridgeley Hall. It’s the science and math building.”

  I walked across the grass, wet with dew, and stopped on the sidewalk directly in front of the building. Rick followed, as did Michelle. She crossed her arms and shivered. The cool night air whipped up around us. They both looked at me. I glanced around. To the left and right of Ridgeley Hall were two other similar structures I assumed also housed classrooms. Between each building was a sidewalk.

  “Okay, Rick. You used to go here. Where would Arthur spend most of his time?”

  Rick blinked. “In his classroom or in his faculty apartment.”

  “They have faculty apartments?”

  Rick nodded. “Oh, yeah. In fact, the school wants the faculty to live on campus along with the students. The married professors tend to rent homes in town.”

  “Why do they rent instead of buy?” Michelle inquired.

  Rick scratched his neck. “Well, it’s like college, I guess. Good professors tend to migrate to higher paying jobs and they’re the ones who don’t buy because they don’t plan to settle. The irony is those are usually the ones the school is desperate to keep. Good teachers are hard to find.”

  We walked between Ridgeley Hall and another imposing structure to the left of it, which Rick informed us was the language arts building. Behind them was a large, open courtyard with rows of peonies and hydrangeas that circled a bronze statue in the center. The statue was a man in Revolutionary War attire. In his hands was a musket with a bayonet. On his face was a steely look of determination. The moonlight danced upon his enduring expression in an eerie way.

  “That’s Phineas Crowell,” Rick explained. “He was a major for the Continental army and was responsible for protecting the Connecticut River in this area from the Redcoats. Middletown’s sailing port wasn’t where it is today, but there was a small one the colonials used and he was responsible for keeping the British away from it.”

  “Sounds like you admire him,” Michelle commented, staring up at the figure.

  Rick took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. He glanced at the statue. “What he did was brave, but there were many men and women who aided in the protection of this region. Okay, let’s head to the dorms. I think if there’s anything here, it would be in Arthur’s place.”

  We followed Rick as he led us across the courtyard and past another triad of red-brick class buildings. As we continued, behind the second group was a steep incline. Rick took it in stride but Michelle and I held on to each other for balance as we confronted the hill in heels. At the bottom of the hill, there was yet another group.

  Michelle whistled. “How do you know which building is which? I mean they’re all identical!”

  Rick smiled. “Freshmen orientation. Plus, when you’re running late for biology with Professor Niven, you learn fast.”

  As we approached the door to the dorm in the center, a light shone in my face. “Who the devil are you?”

  I turned toward the gruff voice, but I was temporarily blinded. I blinked, trying to readjust my eyes. Before I had a chance, Rick spoke. “Mr. Brack? It’s Richard Michaels, Professor Cross’s cousin.”

  By this time, my eyes were adjusted and I stared at the stocky, middle-aged man with leathery skin and thinning salt-and-pepper hair. He pointed the flashlight in Rick’s face. After a few moments, he exclaimed, “By God! Richard Michaels. I remember you. You and Professor Cross were always causing trouble when you were students here. I never found out who had the bright idea to cover our founder’s statue in shaving cream and silly putty, but I always suspected you two. Would you like to confess to it now?”

  “No, sir. I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.”

  Mr. Brack crossed his massive arms and laughed as well. “You kids were a lot more fun to chase after, I’ll give you that. You boys always snuck out, did things. These kids now. Everything is online. Nobody breaks the rules anymore, except sending text messages during class.” He sighed. “Makes my job almost obsolete. What are you doing here, Richard? I don’t think I have to remind you girls are not allowed on campus after seven, even during the summer sessions.”

  Rick nodded sheepishly. “Yes, sir, I remember. But they’re here for a reason. This is my cousin Edward’s wife, Michelle—”

  “The judge?” He shifted his weight and dropped the flashlight. It landed in the lush, green grass. He immediately snatched it and glanced at me. “And who is this?”

  Rick put his arm around my waist. “This is my girlfriend, Jordan James.”

  Mr. Brack studied my face in the moonlight. “Isn’t she the P.I. from Boston who solved your father’s murder?”

  Rick’s arm dropped and he stared at Mr. Brack, dumbstruck. “Well, yes, but how did you know?”

  “We do get the news here. Middletown isn’t in Siberia, you know.” Although I couldn’t tell in the darkness, I sensed Rick was flushing. Mr. Brack exhaled. �
�All right, Richard, what say you tell me why you are here at this time of night with these ladies?”

  Rick cleared his throat awkwardly and shoved his hands in his pants pocket. This man managed to turn back time. I felt like I was staring at a nervous teenager instead of my confident boyfriend. “Well, we came here because Arthur—”

  “Wait, Professor Cross? He’s not even here. He isn’t teaching this summer. He had to go home to take care of a family matter. That’s what he told us. That is where he is, isn’t it?”

  Before Rick responded, I stepped forward. “Yes, he’s taking care of some personal matters and he asked us to come here and pick up his, uh, lesson plans. He forgot them and wanted to fix some things before the fall.”

  Both Rick and Michelle stared at me but remained silent. I waited as Mr. Brack processed the information. “If Professor Cross needed his lesson plans, why didn’t he come get ‘em himself?”

  “Because he’s not at his Massachusetts home,” Rick offered. “He’s in London for the Ambassador.”

  Mr. Brack’s eyes widened as he considered all the possibilities associated with this statement. Despite his surprise, he led us into the building and we followed him up the stairs to the third floor. The inside offered beige walls that smelled freshly painted and light, wood floors, recently polished. Small bulletin boards affixed to every door displayed an array of academic information as well as personal memos to and from students.

  Mr. Brack paused in front of Room 307. The name “Professor A. Cross” was displayed at the top of the bulletin board and there were several hand-written messages to Arthur and most of them were humorous.

  Mr. Brack pulled a ring of keys from his pants pocket and scanned through several small, silver ones slowly. Finally, he took one key and unlocked the door. After he pushed it open, Rick led us into the room. He turned on the light before addressing Mr. Brack again.

  Offering his hand, he said, “Thanks for your help tonight, sir. I really appreciate it, as does Arthur. I promise we’ll lock up before we leave.”