“Yes, but no one connected the two crimes initially. Sheriff Crawford wouldn't broadcast the investigation's core facts until much later when he couldn't unearth the criminal.” The former sheriff being Quint Crawford's uncle, who'd passed away a few years ago shortly after his retirement.
“Okay, what about the rest?” I wanted to ask if there were any suspects, but she was on a roll.
“In the third robbery, a pair of ruby earrings were pilfered while on display at an historical society event on campus. Lucy Roarke had donated them to the exhibition because they'd been one of the earliest documented gems in Braxton's history.”
After Nana D noted that the third robbery occurred exactly nine days after the second one, I asked the obvious, “What's the significance of nine days?”
Nana D had no insight but thought it peculiar. She revealed that the fourth stolen item had also gone missing nine days later—a pearl necklace Lara Bouvier had been gifted at her wedding to one of the Grey boys. They'd married on her eighteenth birthday after she'd graduated from high school, but it wasn't for love. Lara had gotten pregnant while still in school, and Judge Hiram Grey forced his son to marry her to prevent Imogene from being born out of wedlock. Even though this had only happened twenty-eight years ago, his family had gone through enough scandals, and he'd been up for his first reelection to the bench that year. After the divorce, Lara had retained the necklace as part of her generous settlement. “When the Grey family offered to pay Imogene's college expenses, Lara was thrilled; however, they demanded the necklace be returned as part of the arrangement. To get even with them, Lara decided to sell the necklace at an auction, but it was stolen the night before she could present it for bidding.”
“If Lara couldn't figure out what happened, the thief must've been highly intelligent and savvy,” I suggested while sampling the smoothest and tangiest lemon curd filling I'd ever tasted. Nothing about the nine-day gap between each heist made sense, unless the timing was only a coincidence.
Nana D explained that fifty-thousand dollars had been pinched from the Stanton family in the fifth robbery, but she couldn't remember the entire episode's details. “A massive thunderstorm caused a power outage for twenty-fours during some big shi-shi party with hobnobbers clippity-clopping about all night. Marcus caused such a ruckus, everyone panicked, and no one knew what was going on.”
While Nana D cleared the table, I perused the local newspaper but found nothing about the recent burglary at Lara's place. “And no one was ever caught eight years ago?”
“Nah, all those wealthy families were hesitant to go public and look foolish for being tricked. Silas Crawford, my friend's brother-in-law, was the former sheriff. Bertha knew of a few shady things going on back then but tried to dissociate herself once the rumors about him taking bribes increased.” Nana D handed me a Tupperware dish with another slice of pie. “The thefts stopped after the fifth one, and then the whole affair quieted down. That's also when Gabriel disappeared.”
“When did it all start up again?” I visualized a calendar to piece together the timing. “Just the basics, I've got to get back to campus for class soon.”
“Last week of May, right before we had our big family dinner to welcome Gabriel home.” Nana D pursed her lips and closed her eyes. “Talk to your brother to find out if he's concealing useful information from the police. I can't start my term as mayor with a black cloud hanging over this family.”
“I understand.” After a goodbye hug, I chatted with Emma to verify her visit with my father was going well. They'd just finished lunch at the country club and were delivering coffee to my mother, who was working in Admissions Hall for the afternoon. Emma begged to crash at the Royal Chic-Shack again, and once my father blessed the idea, I agreed to it. She needed to be far away from the Castiglianos.
On the drive to Braxton, I called Gabriel to propose meeting up for a beer, where I could also find out what he knew about the burglaries. He didn't answer, and his voicemail was full. I couldn't leave a message. What had he gotten himself into this time, and how did his former friendship with the latest victim, Imogene Grey, fit into the puzzle? Nana D had said they'd been close before he left town.
Documentary Filmmaking was my seven-week summer class meeting Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for two-and-a-half hours in the afternoon. It was an elective course for any students majoring in communications, but it was also open that summer to any Braxton citizens interested in the film industry. As a result, much of the crowd were locals in their late twenties or early thirties who didn't work full-time. After taking attendance, reviewing the syllabus, and answering questions, I divided the class into three groups consisting of four students each. They were tasked with selecting and agreeing on topics for future group and individual documentaries. I spent the final hour walking around to provide clarification and input, then met with each team, who shared their proposed projects for my approval. The first two presentations went effortlessly, and I encouraged them to utilize their remaining time to get better acquainted.
I dragged a student desk across the linoleum floor and joined the third and final group, who'd gathered in a circle near the open bay window. Initially, all four women were silent. Disgruntled expressions occupied most faces. I recognized one of them, Siobhan Walsh, as she'd held the role of office manager in our department last semester. She'd gone on maternity leave two months before I'd begun working on campus. Upon her return, she'd quickly transferred to another department, something which had displeased my boss, Myriam.
I'd never met the other three women in the circle, but during a preliminary review of the course roster, I'd recognized two of their names. Imogene Grey showed up for class in spite of the prior weekend's burglary, and Krissy Stanton was the daughter of our outgoing, monosyllabic town councilman, Marcus Stanton. I worried about the possibility of tension in the classroom resulting from my nana defeating her father in the mayoral election but hoped we could handle the situation as mature adults. I wasn't certain Krissy was the same girl I'd seen running in the park with Paul Dodd, despite their similar body type. The fourth woman, Raquel Salvado, was unfamiliar to me and new to Braxton.
“How's this group working out so far?” I asked, eager to encourage their discussion.
Siobhan smiled and attempted to speak first. Her garish makeup and bright-red hair made her seem like an over-the-top exaggeration of herself, but she was actually a sweet, down-to-earth mother caring for newborn twins. The only concern I remembered from our interactions, besides thinking she might've killed a friend of mine, was that she could be impetuous and confrontational if you crossed her the wrong way. “We haven't made a lot of progress. Imogene and Krissy are unable to agree on a group topic. Raquel and I are flexible, and we're happy to—”
“All I said was that her proposal wouldn't capture an audience's attention,” Krissy interjected while tossing her hand in Imogene's direction. “She's just too sensitive sometimes.”
I'd forgotten how thick Siobhan's Irish accent was, despite her relocation from Dublin to the United States over five years ago. I looked at Raquel, who nodded in agreement with Siobhan, and smiled confidently. “Perhaps I can help. Have we had proper introductions from every member in the group? We should understand the reason each of you has enrolled in this course.”
“I'll go first. My father taught me how to be a leader,” Krissy said, then hesitated to continue as she realized to whom she was talking. Krissy, in her late twenties, looked overly pouty for this early in the summer session and had pulled her wavy dirty-blonde hair into a ponytail. She wore chic dark-colored jeans, four-inch crimson-red heels, and a flowery silk blouse that covered a few extra pounds she didn't want anyone to know about. I only knew because my sister, Eleanor, had shared her own tricks with me. “Anyway, my name is Krissy Stanton. I'm thinking of moving to California, and I've always loved the movies. I thought… why not take a class… maybe when I get to Hollywood, I'll be ahead of the curve. With this experience and my fa
mily's name and fame, I'm a shoo-in for a big-time director role.”
“Great to meet you, Krissy,” I began, pondering how to best temper her excitement and confusion over the way things worked in the film industry. “Not to alarm you, but sometimes it can be difficult to break into the business without any formal experience. I'll do my best to educate everyone on the different paths filmmakers might take, especially in terms of documentary-style movies.”
“Thanks, Dr. Ayrwick.” Krissy scrolled on her cell phone and grinned scornfully at Imogene.
“Excellent. How about you, Imogene? Please share a little about yourself.” I turned my focus to a woman in her late twenties with expressive eyes and short, curly dark-brown hair. She appeared timid, but I couldn't be certain if it was the aftereffect of her encounter with the thief, her discord with Krissy, or simply her normal personality having been raised in the Grey family.
“It's a pleasure to meet everyone. I'm Imogene Grey, and you might know my mother, Lara Bouvier. She's a reporter at WCLN and covers all the major exclusives in Wharton County. I'm excited to be here,” she said with a brief giggle, prompting her to cover her mouth and glance downward. “I grew up in Braxton before attending boarding school in Paris. I graduated from Braxton College six years ago and moved back to Paris to get an advanced degree, but I recently returned home to be with my fiancé. When I wanted to learn more about my mother's work, she suggested I take a course in communications.”
Imogene spoke with traces of a French accent, and her wardrobe must've been inspired by her experiences in Paris. She wore a lace-trimmed designer black dress and a playful red beret, reminding me of the actress who starred in the movie Amelie. I noticed Imogene's strong resemblance to Lara as well as how lucky she'd been to avoid inheriting the protuberant jaw of the Grey family.
“I've met your mother a few times. She's a gifted newscaster. I won't be able to offer you every detail on the life of an investigative reporter in this particular class, but many of the skills required to create a documentary, such as in-depth interview techniques and summarizing events of the past, will be covered,” I replied, finding no obvious sign of injury to her upper body. Knowing news of her attack had been semi-public, I questioned it. “I understand you found a spot of trouble this weekend. Are you well enough to attend class today? I'd love for you to stay engaged if you're feeling up to it.”
When Krissy snorted in the background, Raquel shot her a disapproving look. Imogene and Krissy must've known one another previously from their la-dee-da social circles. If something were going on between Paul and Krissy, maybe Imogene had become aware of it. I could see resentment in the women's eyes. Raquel and Siobhan would hopefully function as the calming forces in the group.
“Oh, I'm much better today. The creep didn't hit me too hard, and as soon as I realized what was going on, I shoved him away and ran from the room. I'm lucky he didn't follow me,” Imogene responded as she clasped her hands in her lap and rubbed her fingers together. “I am still shaken up but don't want to miss anything you're planning to teach us.”
In a tone bubbling with excitement and energy, Siobhan said, “Good for you. I've had a few encounters with less-than-stellar jerks too. I always hit back. Did you get a chance to knock him out?”
Imogene looked downward. “I think… maybe… I cut his arm with my fingernail.”
“How unlike you! I guess Paul, Mommy, and Daddy weren't there to help, huh?” Krissy scolded.
“I'm glad you're well enough to be here,” I interrupted, “but I don't want to keep everyone too late. Siobhan, tell the group about your background and why you're taking this class.”
“I previously worked in this building but needed to earn more money. Single mothers have it so hard. I accepted an offer in the admissions office last month. I've always been interested in documentaries, and this was the best way I could stay connected to all my former colleagues. I miss working with them.” She beamed widely and sat back in her chair, waiting for me to respond.
“We miss you too, but to ensure everyone is clear, I plan to treat you equally in this classroom. It doesn't matter if you know someone in my family,” I said, looking at Imogene and recalling she and Gabriel had once been well acquainted. I couldn't bring myself to look at Krissy. “Or if we've worked together in the past. So, let's hear from our final team member before discussing the presentations.”
An exotically attractive brunette in her mid-twenties cleared her throat and introduced herself. “I'm Raquel Salvado, and this is my first class at Braxton. I recently moved to Wharton County, and I haven't been able to find a job. My husband told me about these summer classes. I thought it might be a productive way to meet new people and learn something fun.” Her voice was soft but strong, and she spoke eloquently as if she'd attended elite schools and came from a well-to-do family.
“We're thrilled to have you here,” I replied while analyzing the dynamics in the group. Krissy and Siobhan would be the two to vie for control. Imogene and Krissy's pasts might result in disagreements. Should I consider changing groups now before the projects began? I decided not to make any switches. If they couldn't act mature and find a way to partner together, I'd reassign their team at the end of the week. I owed it to the entire class to allow the situation a chance to work itself out. “Now that we know each other better, who wants to explain the two options you've come up with for the project?”
After back-and-forth negotiations, we settled on a new theme for their group effort, and all four women appeared content with the solution. I reminded them what to do for Wednesday's class, ushered them out of Diamond Hall, and drove home to finish my day sans all the crazy people in my life. Nana D was meeting friends for dinner, and Gabriel was probably working again. I wouldn't be interrupted by anyone and could get to sleep early. Once I returned a few emails and ate dinner, I called my mother to check on Emma. After a quick catch up, she passed the phone to my daughter.
“Daddy! I'm super excited to visit the summer camp tomorrow. What time do we go?” Emma's voice was so incredibly sweet and enthusiastic, it almost turned my evening around.
“We attend orientation at noon. Grandpa and Grandma will take you somewhere special for an early lunch. I'll be at work for a few hours, but I'll use my magic lamp to find you.” Being a single parent was not easy, Siobhan was right. At least I had the benefit of a partially flexible teaching schedule to ensure I could be there for all the notable events in Emma's life. Without my parents, Nana D, and Eleanor, I would be a royal mess, to quote the sheriff as she once described our current situation. Still, it was better than the alternative in LA where the Castiglianos had frequently cared for Emma.
“I love surprises. I bet it's the science lab. Last time, I got to eat lunch next to a giant tarantula!” She chuckled and continued dazzling me with the story I heard every single time she'd visit campus.
“I love you more than desserts, ice cream, and anyone else,” I said, feeling my heartstrings twang over the disastrous war between Las Vargas and the Castiglianos. “Baxter misses you very much, but it's your bedtime, honey. We'll see each other tomorrow.”
After hanging up and walking her new puppy, I began to feel better, or at least strong enough to get through another day. Pets and kids; they always made life brighter!
* * *
Tuesday morning came so fast, it was as if I blinked and the night had passed. In reality, I'd spent every waking moment staring at the ceiling and attempting to concoct a non-existent solution for my dilemma with Cristiano Vargas. After yielding to the lack of clarity on our next steps, I drove to The Big Beanery to buy morning pastries and coffee for Quint, choosing a French-vanilla blend on this occasion. Thinking about something other than the mafia or jewelry thefts had ensured my good mood. On the five-minute walk to the cable car station, chirping birds soared through the trees and someone's heavy footsteps jogged on a nearby pathway. When a pungent sandalwood scent wafted by, I gazed around and saw through the branches as the j
ogger picked up a pair of gloves from the path and took off in the opposite direction. Mornings on campus, especially in the summer, were often incredibly quiet. I ascended the steps to the platform and tossed out Quint's name, wondering whether he might recall anything his uncle, the former sheriff, had said about the past jewelry thefts. “Chocolate-glazed donuts, buddy. How's progress?” I rounded the corner and stepped through the entrance into the cable car.
Unfortunately, it was not the scene I expected to encounter or one I needed to encounter. Quint was there, but the sounds of his tools humming along as they finished the repairs and redesign weren't present. Quint quietly lay on the floor without a care in the world, except I knew it wasn't a brief morning nap between tasks. I'd seen the look of an extinguished life many times before. Quint was permanently sleeping, as in deceased for all eternity.
Chapter 4
After verifying Quint was unquestionably dead, I debated whether to call the sheriff or Connor. Grateful that my relationship with April had swung to the positive side, I notified Connor, hopeful it might unfold less painfully with him. While he rushed over, I surveyed the scene to determine what had transpired.
Quint laid supine on the floor of the cable car with his eyes wide open, staring at various pictures of Agatha Christie on the finished ceiling. He wore his usual jeans, white t-shirt, and construction boots, and his hands were slightly clenched. On closer inspection, I noticed red and dark brownish-black spots on his fingers as though he'd recently been burned by something. Two exposed wires from the panel across the cramped space carelessly drooped to the floor but produced no sparks. It was the only remaining panel disconnected from the body of the cable car. Had he accidentally electrocuted himself while doing repairs? My heart went out to the man who'd lost his life too early.
It appeared Quint had touched the exposed wires. I would be safe, assuming I avoided those. I'd need to advise Connor to confirm whether the main electrical power supply to the cable car was currently switched on or off. While searching the remainder of the car, a bouquet of black calla lilies resting beside Quint's immobile body seemed out of place. Had someone discovered the accident and put a remembrance token near him? Or was it a revenge message, a call of death? It raised curiosity about what'd occurred in the darkest hours of the night inside Braxton's beloved transportation system.
Mistaken Identity Crisis: Death On The Cable Car (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 4) Page 5