Mistaken Identity Crisis: Death On The Cable Car (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 4)

by James J Cudney

  “Nah, I think Quint pushed too hard, but he would stop when a woman said no. He always did with me. He was very smart, despite having an ego even bigger than yours.” Eleanor mindlessly massaged the scar on her elbow she'd gotten from a grease fire years ago.

  “Touché, Attila.” I didn't want to gossip about Gabriel's potential role in the jewelry thefts until he and I talked through it, even though she was our sister. When we finished eating and I noticed it was time for Quint's service, I warned Eleanor to go easy on Manny and suggested he was only thinking about moving to Las Vegas with his new wife. Sometimes people mulled over their options before making a final decision—she shouldn't jump to conclusions. As the words spilled from my lips, I realized I should take my own banal advice. I'd already deemed Gabriel guilty of a string of crimes, regardless of discovering adequate proof or having a discussion with him about what'd happened in the past.

  * * *

  I stepped through the front door of Whispering Pines, shivering at the thought of having to attend another wake. The funeral home smelled like lilacs even when they weren't in season. It was the Nutberry's attempt to disguise the smell of embalming fluids and force people to forget what happened to dead bodies before they were put on display for grieving relatives and friends.

  Lydia Nutberry chatted with Nana D and Bertha Crawford in the far corner. Unwilling to interrupt, I circulated the room to verify who else had attended. I stopped at the casket to pay my respects and say goodbye to Quint Crawford. I'd only known him for less than two weeks, but I'd never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt. Today, he wore a dark-brown suit, off-white dress shirt, and a muted beige tie. He looked like a completely different man, one who was uncomfortable in his current attire.

  “I told you I'd be here, Kellan. You didn't need to sic Nana D on me. She was all over me earlier, like a lion on a fresh carcass,” Gabriel blasted once I stood from kneeling at the coffin.

  I turned and stared at my brother. He wore a dark-colored suit and light-blue dress shirt and matching tie, looking just as uncomfortable as Quint and me. “I didn't force her to do or say anything. You know Nana D. She grabs the bull by its horns with her own hands.”

  Gabriel led me by the jacket sleeve to the side of the room. “Let's not do this tonight. I got all your messages. I know you have questions, but this isn't the appropriate place. Are you available tomorrow? We could grab a drink at Kirklands like last time, where I spilled my secrets.”

  “Sure, tomorrow's fine, but come by in the morning for breakfast. Emma would love to see you,” I replied as Connor ambled nearby and jerked his head to the side to indicate where we should meet. “What I know doesn't make much sense, and you're foolishly hiding something from everyone.”

  “Tomorrow at nine. I'll be there,” Gabriel said before walking away. I followed to remind him I was on his side, but he joined two guys sitting a few rows away near the front window. One of them was the new town councilman and Imogene's fiancé, Paul Dodd. Based on the resemblance, I assumed the other was Nicholas Endicott, the son Lindsey had procreated with a former girlfriend he'd met at his forty-ninth birthday party. It'd had been quite a shock to his friends and family when he'd become a father again at such a late time in life.

  In another row just beyond, Imogene, Krissy, Tiffany, and Helena were deep in conversation. All eight members of the former close-knit group were present, except one would soon be buried six feet underground. What did each know about Quint's death and the jewelry thefts? As I strolled away, that familiar sandalwood scent I'd smelled near the cable car filled the air. I couldn't exactly walk up to each of them and sniff their necks like a pig searching for truffles; that would look bizarre. Which one had been the jogger I'd seen collecting the gloves the day Quint had died? It could've been a coincidence, but I no longer believed in them when it came to the murder investigations I'd become embroiled in.

  “I'm glad you waited for Gabriel to step away before we talked,” Connor began as soon as I reached the corner. “April told me she informed you why I was in San Francisco.”

  “I'm not going to like your news very much, am I?” Briefly abandoning my quest for the person wearing the cologne, I planned to sniff out the trail after Connor and I conversed.

  “It's not all bad. I managed to track down the employee who was working the night the Roarke rubies had been pawned,” Connor said, demonstrating why he'd been the perfect addition to the Wharton County Sheriff's Office. “Two people had initially come into the shop, but they both left after an argument in the main entranceway. Only one person returned afterward to fill out the forms to sell the rubies. The store still had the record.”

  “Why didn't they offer it to Sheriff Crawford? April indicated the information wasn't in her files.”

  “The shop owner swears he faxed over the record when the former sheriff requested it. What happened after that, I have no clue. I have my suspicions but can't be certain.” Connor might do his best to protect my brother, but he wouldn't skirt the law. “This wasn't the shadiest shop I've seen. I think they tried to do the right thing, and they were cooperative with me. I'm quite sure they broke a few rules last time.” Connor put his hand on my back and squeezed my shoulder. “The name on the record is Gabriel Ayrwick. Sorry, buddy.”

  A minute passed as the news digested. I looked at my baby brother as sadness crept inside my body like I hadn't experienced in a long time. “Does that mean he's the thief you're looking for?”

  Connor explained that there was no record of the other person's name, nor were there any video recordings from eight years ago. “The worker handed the money to your brother. Do you know how pawn shops function?” After I shook my head, as I hadn't been one-hundred percent familiar, Connor shared the store's policy for loaning cash to a customer who pawned an item. If the hawker brought back the cash within one month, plus any additional amount for store fees, the item would be returned. If nobody showed up within one month, the item could be sold to someone else for any price. “There is an interesting fact about how this one turned out.”

  “Gabriel went back to try to retrieve the item, right?” I wanted to believe my brother was innocent, but the details Connor had learned on his trip were incontrovertible.

  “He couldn't have. Just before the one month was up, an anonymous caller notified the shop that the rubies belonged to someone in Braxton. The shop eventually contacted Sheriff Crawford who requested photos. Formal paperwork was filed, and the rubies were returned to the Roarke family.” The pawn shop dealt with their insurance agency, and the sheriff followed up on the report of who'd pawned them. But we don't know what Crawford did because the report wasn't included in his files. Something happened to stop him from searching for Gabriel.

  “Do you have any idea whom Gabriel was with at the pawn shop?”

  “The worker at the pawn shop couldn't remember if it was a woman or a man who'd initially walked in with your brother. Gabriel's tattoos and piercings had made too big of an impression on him that day,” Connor replied, shaking his head and smirking. “I'll ask Lucy Roarke what Sheriff Crawford said when he returned the stolen rubies. He might have been covering for your brother.”

  “Do you think the Roarkes opted not to file charges because Gabriel was involved, and they didn't want to hurt my family?”

  Connor nodded. “I'm afraid that might have transpired. It doesn't explain why no one tried to locate all the other stolen items, nor why similar thefts are happening all over again.”

  When we looked up to see what Gabriel was doing, my brother had already left the funeral parlor. So had Nicholas Endicott, Paul Dodd, and most of the girls from the sorority. I considered telling Connor what Helena had revealed about the hazing ritual to steal the original brooch from the Paddingtons, but I wanted to speak with Gabriel first. If he and Quint had gotten into a volatile argument together, could Gabriel have taken it too far? A man can go through a lot in eight years to change his personality; however, the si
ze of my brother's hands and fingers couldn't have matched the marks around Quint's neck. Was there an accomplice, an unknown person who could be responsible?

  Nana D interrupted me before I could ask Connor about his next steps. “Bertha would like to speak with you. Do you have a minute?”

  Connor excused himself, indicating he'd follow up with me over the weekend. I didn't know whether he was going to arrest my brother or wait until he had more information. As far as I was concerned, Gabriel's role in the current round of robberies was circumstantial. It was likely Gabriel would only be a person of interest until they found something to tie him to the new crimes. Could they arrest him for the ones eight years ago? I assumed there wasn't any statute of limitations on robbery if you eventually found the guilty party. I followed Nana D to the small sitting area in the other corner where a worn-down Bertha Crawford leaned against the arm of the chair. The sandalwood smell had already been replaced by lilacs. I'd lost my chance to locate the potential culprit or accomplice.

  “Thank you, Kellan. I'm glad you could spare some time.” Bertha's shaky hand reached toward me, and her Georgian accent was still strong, despite the cancer's persistent grip on her life. The once plump and matronly woman, blessed with a head of thick gray curls, had deteriorated into a bony and sallow-skinned shell. She'd done her best to hide the painful changes in her body, but nothing concealed the effects of the rampant disease on her face and hair. A black scarf was elegantly wrapped around the top of her head, yet it was obvious she had little desire or strength to combat the truth.

  “I'm truly sorry for your loss, Bertha,” I said, remembering she'd yelled whenever I'd called her Mrs. Crawford in the past. “Quint and I had a few laughs the last couple of weeks while he was working on the cable car redesign project. I know how proud you were of him.”

  “I can't believe he's gone. I should've been the one to die first. I don't understand how an old lady like me can linger around with cancer, but a strong young man like him can be murdered by a crazy person.” Her face was stoic, and she refused to cry in public.

  “What do you mean murdered by a crazy person?” Had April or Connor told her more than me?

  “That new sheriff promised me she's going to find his killer, but I saw how you tracked down what happened to Gwendolyn Paddington. I need your help, Kellan. I'm begging you to investigate who killed my boy.” Bertha closed her eyes and buried her forehead in her hands.

  I looked at Nana D with confusion and hesitancy over Gabriel's potential involvement in the situation. “I'm not sure that's the best idea. What did the sheriff indicate was the cause of death?”

  Bertha mumbled a mostly incoherent response. All I could understand was that Quint had been electrocuted, but someone had also choked him to death with their hands. There were no fingerprints found on his body or inside the cable car. “I can't speak too much about Quinton's life outside of the little he'd told me. For the last month, all he'd done was work for Nicky Endicott and take care of me.”

  I'd investigate Nicky as a priority, but if I had any chance of finding Quint's killer, I needed to know everything he'd been up to and whom he'd socialized with recently. Bertha confirmed there were no other family members in the area, and they'd mostly kept to themselves since her diagnosis. “Was Quint dating anyone? He told me he'd fallen in love, but it'd ended poorly.”

  Bertha considered my question, then shook her head. “Not that he shared. He dated a few women in Braxton, but he'd never gotten over Imogene. Isn't she engaged to another man, though?”

  Paul Dodd was on my list, but I knew little about him. Had he been wearing the cologne? When I pushed Bertha for more information, she lost most of her energy. I squeezed her hand and told her I'd do my best to look into it. “Imogene told me they were once friends. I'll see what she knows. She might be our only other real lead right now.”

  “Is there anyone Quint fought with who might have tried to hurt him?” Nana D asked.

  “I can't imagine who would've been that angry. The only person he had an argument with was that Irish girl, and she was just upset because my boy changed his mind about her.” Bertha closed her eyes and rested her head against a pillow Nana D had placed on the back of the chair.

  Irish girl? Who was she talking about? It took me a minute to piece together everything she'd said. “Do you mean Siobhan Walsh? The young woman whose twins you'd been babysitting?”

  “Yes, that's her. Quinton and Siobhan went on a few dates, but it didn't work out. She was irate with him when it ended.” Bertha's pleading eyes were cast in my direction. “Please find out who did this to Quinton. I must know soon… it's doubtful… I'll recuperate from this invasive disease.”

  Nana D suggested I search Quint's bedroom at Bertha's house to locate any potential clues. It was a solid idea, and I agreed to visit as soon as possible. We agreed that someone needed to chat with Siobhan to understand what'd taken place between her and Quint, even if it had nothing to do with his death. On the flip side, if Siobhan had a motive for hurting him, and they had a fight in the cable car, maybe she was somehow involved in his murder. She also mentioned not earning enough money before taking the new job with my mother in the admission's office. I vividly recalled Siobhan's response to Imogene on the first day of class about how she had to take care of a man who'd once hurt her. Had she been referring to Quint? It couldn't be, I convinced myself. This was merely another case of circumstantial evidence.

  Bertha asked Nana D if she could accompany her to the casket for a last goodbye before the graveside service the following morning. As they shuffled away, I felt someone fiercely jab at my shoulder. Upon turning around, an awkward-looking Lydia Nutberry thrust one hand on her hip and waggled an index finger with the other. The last time I'd spoken with Lydia occurred before I'd provoked her sister-in-law into confessing to murder the prior month. What was I about to get myself into?

  Chapter 9

  “I'm very angry with you,” Lydia scowled. Unfortunately blessed with an austere countenance, she also kept her dark-gray hair shellacked tightly in a bun on the crown of her head. Lydia wore an oversized suit jacket that hung on her body like last threads gripping a broken hanger in fear of eternal loss. Delicately balanced tiny glasses connected to a stringy beaded chain and chunky black orthopedic sneakers completed the peculiar outfit. Her pointy nose and chin, not all that different from a stereotypical cartoon witch, usually warned people not to mess with her.

  Convinced she wouldn't make a scene in the middle of a funeral service, I let her quietly vent rather than defend my actions. “I'm terribly sorry for how everything exploded at the Mendel flower show opening. I had no intention of harming your family when my speech compelled your sister-in-law to admit what she'd done to Judy's husband.” While it wasn't exactly a true statement, the Wharton County Sheriff's Office preferred that my involvement appeared unintentional to the general public. They feared Lissette's lawyer would claim she'd been coerced into a false confession, but the proof of her crime was irrefutable.

  “At least you know well enough to begin with an apology.” Lydia led me down the hall to her office. Our feet trod softly on a plush, emerald-green carpet as we passed endless walls covered on the top half with a floral print and the bottom half with burgundy wainscoting. “But you've got it all wrong. I'm not angry with you for discovering what my sister-in-law did.”

  Had I heard her correctly? “What do you mean? I thought you'd never speak with me again.”

  “Just like my husband thinks. The whole lot of you needs to be reeducated,” Lydia pointed out as she took a seat behind her desk. “I'm ticked off because you didn't visit me after that incident happened. How long have our families known one another, Kellan?”

  “Well, it's at least… oh, I'd say close to… um—” I began tracing our history and had just remembered attending camp with one of her sons when she interrupted me.

  “Decades. That's long enough to expect a better reaction.” Lydia explained that whil
e she was saddened one sister-in-law had passed away and another had gone to the psychiatric ward for evaluation prior to a prison term, she passionately believed that people should be punished for their crimes and should seek mental help to recover whenever possible. Lydia was disgruntled with me for not checking on her or showing solidarity and support for her after all the bad publicity and rumors circulating around town about the Nutberry family.

  “I should've known better. It's been a rough year for you.” I recalled some of the reactions from the community. Sales had been down for her family's mortuary when customers went to neighboring villages to purchase funeral services. Nana D had also mentioned that the pharmacy was a ghost town since people worried about the unstable Nutberry family filling prescription drugs for patrons. After we repaired our relationship, Lydia flabbergasted me with her next topic.

  “My daughter, Tiffany, is distraught over losing her friend at such an early age. You really ought to visit her this weekend; she could use some cheering up. But truthfully, there's another reason I wanted to talk to you.” Lydia handed me a cup of tea from the Keurig machine on the credenza behind her. “With you being such a clever detective, I expect you are putting those skills to use and trying to find out what happened to Quint. Bertha is counting on you to solve this before she passes away. Quint didn't die from electrocution. He was murdered!”

  I hadn't realized Bertha and Lydia were friends, but it made sense if their children had known one another. “Bertha asked me to help, but what if I discover something neither of you would want people to know?” Someone in that group of eight had stolen the jewelry, and my guess was that one of them had either killed Quint as revenge for something yet to be discovered or to cover up a role in the robberies. Quint couldn't have strangled himself, and I swore my brother wasn't capable of murder. It left six other options, despite nothing obvious connecting Tiffany, Lydia's daughter, to the crimes.