“It gives me immense pleasure to reveal today's winner,” I said, pointing and clicking the button on a tiny remote toward the digital screen. “I've been a huge fan of these two larger-than-life characters since I was a small boy, and I often find myself involved in solving a few mysteries of my own.” A series of conversations between Agatha Christie's famed detectives, Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, materialized on the large screen behind me. Various quotes and images from the books, movies, and PBS shows would appear inside the cable car to share different interpretations of the characters.
“It's because you're our inspiration for solving those two murder investigations,” Jordan Ballantine shouted followed by a bunch of cheers. “We wanted to honor your service to the campus!” Jordan was one of the graduates who'd be leaving Braxton to attend an MBA program in New Orleans.
In my three months at Braxton, I'd solved a couple of murders and been deemed a campus hero. I looked at Fern, Jordan's aunt, and smiled with humility. We'd come a long way from her disciplining me when I'd been the president of my fraternity pleading forgiveness after various mischievous activities. Fern beamed back at me and lifted her hands in the air as if to say 'holla' like the bellowing students. Somehow the image of a sixtyish woman built like a quarterback in a gray pixie-style haircut performing such a move was frightening beyond any comfort.
As I thanked everyone for their votes, I noticed one of the graduates, Sam Taft, speaking with my brother, Gabriel. I'd caught the two of them in a cozy embrace last March shortly after someone had killed Gwendolyn Paddington to ensure an inheritance of the family fortune. I'd been shocked to see my brother after eight years but even more astonished to learn he might be gay. If you'd seen that kiss, there wouldn't have been any question of might be, but until I spoke with him, I didn't want to assume. Neither one had realized I'd seen them that day, and for the last seven weeks, I'd kept the information to myself. I didn't know whether to ask Sam about it or hire a private investigator to track Gabriel.
Once I finished my speech, I sprinted down the steps to interrogate or to hug my brother—still hadn't decided which one. I tried to reach him, but Gabriel winked and escaped in the opposite direction. Before I could rush off to beg Sam for help, Ursula stepped in the way. “Kellan, I'm glad we ran into one another. I was curious if you found out anything new?” she said with a gleam of hope.
By now, Sam had lined up on stage to receive his diploma, and Gabriel was long gone. I breathed a gulp of warm air and felt my body begin to wane. For the third week of May, the heat had come from nowhere and grown inordinately stagnant. All the comforting breezes were blocked by tall fir trees surrounding one side of Cambridge Lawn and the massive church holding firm on its southern border. I liked the hot weather, but this was intense.
Ursula had recently pleaded for help with a problem involving the past finally catching up to her. I'd learned a lot about my new boss during our conversations, some of which explained the reason she was taciturn about her history and some of which shocked me to the core. Not even Myriam knew about her wife's tragedy or the years she'd been running and hiding from the truth about her real identity. While I felt the palpitating fear emanate off Ursula's normally serene exterior, I tried not to judge her for the damage her prior actions had caused.
“Not a whole lot, I'm sorry to say. Whoever is blackmailing you has gone to great lengths to keep their identity a secret. Are you sure this isn't an angry student playing a prank on you?” I asked, knowing the chances were slim. The person stalking Ursula had detailed knowledge about the complex science experiments her family had conducted in Chicago over two decades earlier.
“I don't see how anyone would know. Hans and my parents died because of what I did. Unless someone other than their assistant was loitering in the laboratory that day, no one else could still be around. That nuisance of an employee already tried to ruin me before I was forced to change my name and disappear!” Ursula cleared her throat and leaned her head in the direction of the graduation ceremony. Based on my father's latest announcement, graduate names were being called.
“I've got one more angle to try, but I don't think it'll turn up anything else. We might have to wait until he or she delivers another message to you. It could provide a clue to the identity of your stalker,” I said with fading confidence. I'd been unable to track who was pursuing Ursula nor establish any leads thus far, but I felt certain no one would keep threatening her without demanding something in return. “What could they possibly want from you?”
“To die. Just like those victims who suffered when I destroyed all the possible cures for… never mind!” Ursula sat on a wrought iron bench scrunching her fists in the hope she wouldn't lose her cool. The twitch in her right eye barely held back a flood of emotions. “I appreciate your help, Kellan.”
A chilling, nasal voice cut through the air inciting me to roll my eyes with vigor. Myriam had found us and was likely on her way armed with another acerbic Shakespearean barb. “Just what are you doing to my wife, Mr. Ayrwick?” Myriam blasted while furiously stomping the remaining few feet before approaching our bench. “Come not within the measure of my wrath.” She resembled a dark and gloomy ghost with a pointy cardboard hat floating through Cambridge Lawn in search of someone to haunt to death. I'm certain the cap's sole purpose was to hold her Jamie Lee Curtis spiky gray wig in place. No other professor wore the full academic regalia. I reminded myself that Myriam, in all her expressive and ruthless glory, was a special breed of querulous pomp and circumstance.
“Don't start with me, Myriam. I'm holding a private conversation with Ursula that has nothing to do with you. I thought we agreed to stop causing scenes by arguing all the time?” I said with half a grin. We'd had several run-ins over the last few months but ultimately found a way to co-exist with each other during the final weeks of the King Lear performance at Paddington's Play House.
“Kellan hasn't done anything wrong, M. He's helping solve an important problem at Braxton,” Ursula responded with a tentative stare in my direction. I took it as a reminder not to tell her wife anything. “Is everything okay? You look rather annoyed right now.”
“Annoyed? Well, yes, my love, I am more than annoyed. I finished directing students off the stage and followed them down the aisle once my group's degrees were delivered. As I reached the end, an unruly, frightening man jumped out of the last row and grabbed my arm.” She brushed imaginary dirt or unwelcome fingerprints off her flowing black graduation gown.
“Do you know who it was?” I asked. Would it be wrong to send a thank you gift to them?
“Of course not. Do you think I associate with such vulgarity, Mr. Ayrwick? He interrupted our graduation!” Myriam scowled. Why did she always say mister? Professor Ayrwick, Kellan, Prince of Awesomeness—anything else would be acceptable. Mister always conjured images of my father, and that's not something I relished even on a good day.
“I only meant—was it someone we could identify? Perhaps we'd recognize this supposed monster you encountered. Where is he now?” I wanted to strangle her with the honor society cords meticulously draped across her shoulders despite knowing it wouldn't help. Myriam tried to describe the man, but he sounded like a regular delivery guy who'd been hired to drop off the note, not an actual hoodlum. My boss tended to exaggerate any and all situations as well as choose the most peculiar words. “It was probably just a messaging service employee.”
“You two have been sneaking around and conspiring about something. I want to know what's going on and how it connects to this letter,” she said, thrusting her hand toward Ursula. Clasped between her fingers, besides a four-carat diamond ring, shook a piece of cardboard folded lengthwise in half. “Open it. The delivery hooligan pointed at you and said I should give it to Flower Child.”
Ursula's normally pale skin blanched to an alarming shade of white. Worried she might pass out, I reached to steady her. When Myriam batted my arm away, I stepped on the pathway to see if I could find out whether the
delivery guy was anywhere in sight.
Ursula opened the note, swallowed deeply, and closed it in a balled-up fist. “Myriam, could you get me a bottle of water? I'm a little parched.” When Myriam appeared to balk, Ursula whispered something causing the woman to step away. “Thank you, M.”
“You certainly seem to be the only one who controls her. No offense intended, Madame President,” I said, trying to minimize the sudden cold front in the atmosphere. “Is it from the stalker?”
Ursula nodded, then handed me the note.
You thought you could run and hide, but life doesn't work that way. I tracked you down and plan to reveal myself at the upcoming costume party. Revenge is a long time coming, Flower Child. You'll never see the explosion this time! Nor will you make it out alive unless you follow my instructions very carefully. Remember, don't tell anyone else.
My eyes opened wide with an equal amount of shock and fear. All the previous notes were menacing and accusatory, but none had directly threatened Ursula's life. “We have to talk to Sheriff Montague at this point. I don't like where this game is going anymore.”
Chapter 2
“You were almost too late for brunch, Kellan,” Nana D teased while standing in her cozy farmhouse kitchen pouring mimosas by the bucketful. “I was outvoted by your sister and your daughter.” She'd selected giant, frosted-green goblets as the holder of the traditional beverage we'd been sharing at our weekend brunches. Ninety percent champagne, ten percent orange juice. I'd be tipsy after the first two since the bubbles always went straight to my head. Give me several cans of beer or a few cocktails, I'd be as sober as a Baptist minister in Utah.
“I thought I saw Eleanor's car out front. Isn't she working at the Pick-Me-Up Diner?” I grew antsy, something fishy was going on. There were only four place settings which meant I wouldn't be surprised by another Nana D-engineered blind date. A setup was guaranteed any day now.
Emma raced into the kitchen, hugged me tightly, and jumped into the open banquette seat near the window. “Auntie Eleanor hired a new manager. He's easy on the eyes.” When I'd left that morning, Emma had been wearing her pajamas and suffering from major bedhead. Now, she rocked a fresh blowout, an empire-cut blue dress, and a cashmere sweater with a butterfly pin clasped to the collar. Eleanor must have dressed her in anticipation of what future motherhood might be like. If Nana D had her druthers, Emma would wear overalls and pigtails.
“Easy on the eyes?” I said, squinting at my grandmother. “Where'd she learn that expression?”
“Your sister's words, not mine, brilliant one.” Nana D sat and guzzled a third of her mimosa. “I offered to let Emma taste mine, but she said it smelled funky. Like your cologne. Is that acid-reflux?”
“I suppose I should focus on the fact she declined the drink rather than harbor any concern you suggested it to begin with?” I loved my Nana D, but she rarely listened to any of the rules I'd laid down when moving back. I trusted her with my life, yet after the margarita incident a few months earlier, I wouldn't drink anything she didn't also drink from. In equal parts. In front of me. Between that revenge tactic and her homemade cold and flu medications, it's no wonder I wasn't already six feet under.
“Of course,” Eleanor chimed in as she sashayed into the room. “Didn't Nana D rub whiskey on our gums when we cut new teeth?”
“It kept me sane. Your mother would've killed me if she knew how many times I'd used that trick. New parents in the last thirty years think they invented all the rules. It's the old ways that always work.” Nana D sliced large wedges of quiche for everyone and directed us to dig in. We sat in silence devouring our food until I couldn't take it anymore.
“So… care to explain who's easy on the eyes, little sister?” Last time I checked, she'd been practically ogling Connor Hawkins. At the same time, she rotated through several picture books to select a possible sperm donor for the baby she wanted to have. On her own, as in, sans anyone to co-parent with. Was she trying to mimic my life? She'd always repeated everything I did in the exact same manner as me when we were children.
“The renovation brought in loads of new customers, I couldn't keep up. I hired a part-time manager to cover Saturdays. Now, I have a full day off. I thought I told you,” Eleanor mumbled while swallowing and moaning over the quiche. “I'm moving in if you keep serving this brunch, Nana D.”
“The more the merrier,” our grandmother replied, clinking her mimosa goblet against Emma's, which I prayed was only full of orange juice. “Maybe Gabriel will come home soon and need a place to crash. It'll be a family reunion.”
I stopped midway from shoveling a sticky bun between my lips and peered up at Nana D. Had Gabriel been in contact with her? “What makes you say that, Nana D?”
She wiggled her shoulders and fiddled with her bright red, three-foot braid. I didn't think she'd cut her hair in over a decade given it was long enough to touch the floor when she sat down. Nana D ignored me and said, “This might be my best brunch ever. Whatta ya think, Emma, dear?”
Eleanor and I glanced at one another and simultaneously downed the remaining contents of our goblets. I poured us both more while she responded. “I'm not interested in my new manager. I'm quite sure he doesn't play for my team, if you get my drift,” she whispered while nodding in Emma's direction.
“Ah. Well, that would make it difficult. Probably wouldn't stop Nana D from setting you up with him,” I quipped, remembering the bevy of inappropriate women our grandmother had thrown in my direction in the past. Was Eleanor trying to hint at knowing about Gabriel's secret, too? Something was going on between my sister and Nana D, but I couldn't clear away the cobwebs to find the prize.
“Since you two aren't making any sense, let's change the topic. The graduation ceremony went well. I ran into a few people I hadn't seen in a while,” I noted, mostly thinking about Ursula. When I left, she was planning to tell Myriam the note was about an issue with one of the college's alumni donors who called her Flower Child. I couldn't imagine explaining that name to my other boss.
From what Ursula had previously shared, Flower Child was a nickname given to her by her brother, Hans. She'd spent most of her childhood collecting flowers and researching their potential uses in medicines and herbal remedies. Their parents had been scientists who were close to finding a cure for a horrific disease. They'd only been close to discovering the answers until the explosion in the lab eliminated any records or verifiable, repeatable results.
“Did you see Maggie on campus?” Nana D asked, balancing a few plates on one arm and the tray of quiche on the other. Emma stood to clear the table. I'd taught my daughter proper manners despite what anyone else dared tell me.
While Eleanor knew Francesca was still alive, Nana D did not. Eleanor understood my reluctance to pursue a relationship with my former college girlfriend despite Nana D always trying to match me up. “No, Maggie wasn't involved in the graduation ceremony. She's busy planning tomorrow night's costume extravaganza. I'm dropping by later to help with the final details.”
When Maggie had assumed the role of head librarian of Braxton's Memorial Library, she'd quickly realized the structure and its contents were outdated. She pitched an idea to the Board of Trustees who unanimously supported her request to raise money for a complete remodel and modernization. Although they'd received large contributions, they were several hundred thousand dollars short. Maggie had proposed a grand event to show everyone what the building looked like now and could become in the future. She invited a hundred of Braxton's wealthiest families hoping they would donate the missing funds needed to start renovations. The costume extravaganza was called Heroes & Villains. Guests were encouraged to dress as their favorites from any historical period.
Emma helped Nana D dry the dishes while Eleanor and I moseyed outside to catch up on Francesca's latest postcard. “I'm certain my wayward wife will come home as soon as she realizes I made the right decision,” I explained.
“Cecilia didn't sound happy last time,” Ele
anor reminded me. Cecilia Castigliano was Francesca's mother, and the brains behind the family business. Francesca's father, Vincenzo, handled the mob's daily operations ensuring his wife didn't get her hands dirty.
“Not at all. She's threatened me on a throng of occasions. I've been given two more weeks to locate Francesca. The best I can do is to list any of the remaining places we'd visited in the past. Maybe Vincenzo's thugs can check them out and find her before she's discovered by Las Vargas.”
“You certainly lead an interesting life,” Eleanor said as she unlocked her car door claiming she had errands to run. The inside of her car looked like a bomb had exploded and needed a massive decluttering. “Can you come with me next week to meet the doctor at the clinic? I think I've nailed down the top three options for a donor.”
I consented and suggested she text me the date, time, and location. I'd given up trying to talk her out of the plan to have a baby and figured it would settle itself. Sometimes keeping one's mouth firmly closed delivered the desired results.
Nana D took Emma with her to the orchard to check on Danby Landing's latest saplings. I hopped in the car to meet Maggie at her family's bed and breakfast, Roarke & Daughters Inn. Maggie's parents, former hippies in their younger days, and her four sisters ran the ten-room Victorian stunner. Maggie was the only daughter who opted not to get involved, instead choosing to enter into business with Eleanor as a fifty-percent silent partner in the Pick-Me-Up Diner. Ben and Lucy Roarke were supportive of their eldest child, but it was obvious they preferred she join them at some future point.
Flower Power Trip Page 2