Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1)

by Kelly Brakenhoff

  Her mother would absolutely love this! Cassandra and Dr. Schneider rode in the caravan’s lead car followed by four convertibles holding the couples nominated for Homecoming King and Queen. She’d been the high school nerd, never the outgoing beauty queen. Cassandra pasted on her royal smile and waved at passing families.

  Behind them marched the band, loudly repeating the fight song every half mile. Next came floats decorated for the contests by the dorms and the Greek houses. High school marching bands from towns nearby followed the floats. Then the Disabled Veterans wearing berets, volunteer fireman atop glossy red trucks and several Scout troops. The “Zombies Rising,” theme was popular among the floats and costumes. Even the college’s band members wore zombie makeup and rags instead of their normal fancy blue uniforms.

  Getting into the car before the parade began was awkward because the red Ford Mustang convertible’s upper back seat provided no seat belt. Cassandra had removed her high heels to save the upholstery, anchored her legs as best she could, and told herself to enjoy the moment.

  Unlike her, Dr. Arnie Schneider seemed completely comfortable in his role as Parade Marshal. Dr. Nielson had chosen him because of his large donation pledge on the physics lab renovations. Schneider charmed the crowds with natural friendliness. He reached into a plastic grocery sack between them and scooped up hard candy to throw near children along the route.

  One older gentleman broke from the crowd and walked up to the side of the slow-moving car. His face was flushed, “Hey Arnie! Looking good.”

  Schneider leaned over to shake his hand. “Good to see you, Mike!” He then checked on Cassandra attentively and leaned in towards her ear to speak names of crowd members while he pointed and waved. “There’s Professor Hamilton. He’s retired now but worked at Morton for 40 years.” When she’d bumped into Schneider going around a turn, he’d drawled through a wide grin, “I showered this morning. I don’t bite, honey.”

  Cassandra held onto the seat’s headrest near her knees and wondered how people like Schneider and Nielsen could find the limelight so enjoyable. She was much better with one-on-one conversations than large gatherings. She longed to go home and change into comfy pajamas.

  As they drew close to the Student Center, the car slowed to move into the circular drive in front of the college’s plaza entrance. Cassandra noticed the street preacher amid the crowd watching from the top steps by the entry doors. As the caravan pulled around the drive and back out onto the main street, the woman shouted, “God knows what you did! Sinner!! Liar! Vengeance is mine, says the Lord!” Her finger pointed towards their Mustang, and she looked right at Cassandra.

  The people standing nearby turned, startled by the woman’s shrieking outburst. Cassandra’s head swiveled behind them as their vehicle moved out of range. By then the preacher had quieted and stood by the doors as though nothing had happened. Had Cassandra imagined the whole weird episode? As she faced forward again, Dr. Schneider leaned towards her ear. “How do we get rid of that distasteful woman?”

  Well, at least it hadn’t been her imagination. It was unsettling, but there wasn’t time now to analyze it. “Freedom of speech, Dr. Schneider. As long as she’s on public property, we don’t get rid of her.”

  They continued down the street until the procession reached the parking lot by the football field. Dr. Schneider got out of the parked car and turned to reach for her. Cassandra would’ve liked to climb out by herself, but didn’t trust her balance to not trip in front of him. She allowed him to take her arm and assist her out. She straightened her clothes and said, “Thanks for your willingness to be the Marshal. I’m glad we had such warm weather for the parade.” One good thing about Nebraska was you could always use the weather for small talk.

  “Riding next to an exotic beauty like you was infinitely more pleasant than it would’ve been with Nielson. Good afternoon, Dr. Sato. I’ll see you at the carnival later, no doubt.”

  * * *

  A rustic iron lantern drew her eye to a booth filled with upcycled home decorating accessories. The corners were reclaimed wood with iron hinges, fasteners and a swirled loop at the top for hanging. Cassandra admired the craftsmanship and browsed through the rest of the shelves while she envisioned the best spot for a lantern in her house. Her mental picture of the display she’d make on the fireplace mantel was cut short by the glimpse of a tall figure wearing a black cape, a Zorro hat and mask, standing near the carnival game booth two spaces down from her.

  The hairs on the back of her neck raised first and she felt eyes on her for long moments before looking directly at him to confirm the feeling. His eyes glinted in the cutout openings of the mask. She bent over to replace the lantern on the display shelf, and when she stood again, the man was gone. Odd. Usually when random strangers openly stared at her out of curiosity, the skin on her arms didn’t pucker up.

  Half an hour later she, Meg, and Fischer stopped to talk to a couple of student workers they recognized. Logan and Rachel were laughing because he’d scored a direct hit to the dunk tank target with a baseball, causing Simon Harris (aka. Professor Hottie) to fall 10 feet into the water below. Rachel had taken a short video clip capturing the surprised look on his face, glasses falling off mid-air, arms flying up as his body plummeted into the cold tank.

  Harris bounced up again, all smiles, his t-shirt plastered to his muscular torso. Where did such a distinguished academic find time to get ripped like that? The students drifted off, and Cassandra’s group moved on to the food tents. Sure she had a fun evening, but as an administrator she was constantly “working.” Her game face was always on.

  Activities like an inflatable sumo wrestler and mechanical bull games, photo booths, crafts, face painting, cotton candy, artist vendors and musicians attracted the entire community and surrounding area, including a Kiddie Zone for the youngest children. Cassandra was impressed by both the attendance and organization of small town social life in action.

  Pausing at a photography booth displaying high quality Plains landscape and wildlife posters, she considered buying a breathtaking sunset over rock bluffs or birds in flight piece as a souvenir for her parents. Her previous experience with beautiful views usually involved the ocean. This relatively flat, mostly treeless scenery was growing on her.

  Cassandra felt his gaze before she saw him. He stood alone behind the cotton candy station where a laughing staff person covered in sticky cotton fibers handed a large rainbow cone to a small boy’s outstretched hand. Zorro wasn’t laughing and didn’t seem to be trying to blend in.

  Behind her Meg, Connor, and Fischer were cheering Tony as he threw softballs at three bowling pins. One pin lay sideways, but the other two stood tall while the ball narrowly missed them. Connor offered, “Wanna try again, Buddy?”

  Cassandra turned around and took one step back leaning closer to Meg. “Is the guy at the cotton candy booth to my right dressed like Zorro staring at me, or is it just my imagination?”

  Meg looked over Cassandra’s shoulder and then shifted to get a better view. “What Zorro guy? I see a Batman, Hulk, and the cutest little boy who in fifteen minutes will be bonkers on a sugar high. No Zorro.”

  Whipping around, Cassandra shook her head. “He was right there, I swear!”

  She turned 360 degrees and still didn’t spot him. “Ok, never mind.” She needed to rein in the drama. Sure, there’d been mysterious accidents on campus. People were dressed in costumes because of Halloween. The carnival was a public place. Get a grip.

  She forced herself to smile and pay attention to her friends and Tony. His favorite blue SpongeBob shirt already had a chocolate stain from the dripping ice cream cone he’d eaten earlier.

  After he’d missed the third try at the bowling pins, and Connor had taken over—determined to win him a choice of stuffed animals—Cassandra nudged Tony with an elbow. “Hey. Do you smell that? That smell. A kind of smelly smell. The smelly smell that smells . . .”

  “SMELLY!!” Ton
y finished loudly. His parents’ heads turned simultaneously, questioning.

  Cassandra sang, “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” then burst into giggles. She couldn’t believe how lucky she was to be Auntie to a 4th grader who loved SpongeBob almost as much as she did. Maybe someday she’d have the opportunity to warp her own children.

  Later Cassandra noticed Dr. Schneider and a tall thin, well-dressed lady she assumed was his wife seated at a folding plastic table in a fenced-off beer garden with several other couples. All had plastic drink cups and small plates of food in front of them. Cassandra asked Meg if she could lip-read their conversation.

  Meg was game. “Hey, why not? Might as well put my skills to work, right?”

  No more than 15 feet away, Schneider was facing them and talking to another man and a standing student whose back was to them. Cassandra thought it was Luke Peterson, but she couldn’t be sure. Their discussion was animated. Schneider’s intense face and finger pointing made her wonder why he was so agitated. The obvious answer was the lab student workers’ health and their rat study. Sure, she was being nosy, but she needed to know.

  Connor, Tony, and Fischer had gone off to visit the port-a-potties.

  Meg watched the group for several long moments. “One more week . . . no more screw ups . . .” Meg leaned in towards Cassandra’s ear and relayed the conversation while Cassandra looked away, appearing to be interested in the face painting booth while they waited for the guys.

  “This is harder than you think . . . Staff . . . will be fine. Do your job.”

  Lip-reading was such a cool skill. Meg was like Cassandra’s personal spy! Probably Connor used her to tell him what the NFL coaches were saying on the sidelines during Monday night football.

  After a few more silent moments Meg said, “I’m leaving you for that hot babe . . . parade car . . . with me . . . I never loved you.”

  Cassandra’s breath stopped. Schneider could be talking about her! They’d shared a car during the parade! He wouldn’t . . . His wife wouldn’t let him get away with that! She peeked super quick behind her to see their conversation while Meg read their lips.

  The group had already stood and cleared the trash from their table. Schneider held the pile in one hand while his other went solicitously to his wife’s back to guide her through the tables and out of the beer garden enclosure. Cassandra’s eyes met Meg’s in confusion.

  Until she saw Meg’s eyes crinkle in laughter, and she let loose with a huge laugh at Cassandra’s gullibility.

  Meg had made up that last part! Cassandra said, “Oh, nice. Very classy. Thanks, friend.”

  When the men returned, Cassandra and Meg were still laughing. Connor said, “What’d we miss?”

  Meg raised her hand for a high five. “I’m so good.”

  Connor slapped her palm then kissed the top of her head. “Always known it!”

  Cassandra shook her head while they turned off towards the inflatable bounce house for Tony. She had deserved that.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The four-block ride home in Fischer’s dark gray Audi coupe was short and uneventful. Cassandra said, “I appreciate the lift, but I didn’t ask you to be my chauffeur tonight. I’m fine.”

  “I can see that you’re fine. Connor asked me to tag along tonight so he didn’t have to deal with all of you alone.” Fischer’s face was serious, but his tone was light. Her first instinct was to tell him to back off. But after the last couple of days and the staring stranger, she couldn’t deny she was grateful for his competent presence. Connor had his own family to worry about.

  Fischer acted flexible and laid back, but he and Connor’s eyes always scanned the area for threats. Maybe it was just a way of life for them after being deployed. Hawai’i was crawling with military people—nearly 40,000—and Cassandra was accustomed to that look. Fischer put the car in park in her driveway. “I’m glad I went with your group tonight and saw the carnival games through a kid’s eyes. Tony throws himself into everything he does 100%. He has so much energy.”

  “Yeah. I love Tony . . . but he also makes me appreciate my quiet house.”

  Cassandra opened her car door in the driveway. She avoided lingering like a real date. Fischer asked, “I’m going to the football game tomorrow, are you?”

  “I’ve been assigned in Nielson’s absence.”

  “You make it sound as appealing as a root canal. You haven’t gone to the other games?”

  After throwing herself into work all week, she treasured her lazy Saturday routines. Cassandra shrugged. “Tomorrow will be my first.”

  Fischer smiled, wished her good night and drove away. Cassandra waited until his taillights headed down the street before she returned to the end of the darkened driveway to get the mail. Headlights bathed her in light as she reached into her mailbox, and a black sedan drove slowly down her street. In the retreating car’s lights, she noticed a figure farther down the sidewalk coming slowly towards her. Cassandra’s danger radar was on high alert; her heart beat so hard in her chest it felt like an exaggerated cartoon depiction.

  Cassandra stood frozen, her hand on the mailbox flap, her legs unmoving, waiting. When the figure passed under the nearest low voltage street lamp, Cassandra recognized the long skirt, shabby trench coat and little cart belonging to the street preacher. She exhaled a long breath and shivered in the cool night air. Cassandra’s North Face fleece zipper jacket had been fine before sunset, but the temperature had dropped 10 degrees in thirty minutes.

  The preacher greeted Cassandra from two houses away. “Good evening, my child! You’re out late tonight. Have you no guard?”

  What a strange thing to say. A guard? They faced each other on the driveway. Cassandra couldn’t continue to bump into her and not even use her name. “I’m sorry . . . I’ve never heard your name . . .”

  “I’m called Esther, Dr. Cassandra Sato.”

  All this time she’d known Cassandra’s name. At this hour, no one would snap embarrassing photos of them. Cassandra smiled warmly. “Where are you heading . . .?”

  Esther pointed North. “The Methodist church on the edge of town. Pastor Talbot lets me sleep in the church basement. Surely, he lives the Truth: ‘For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in.’”

  Cassandra felt relieved to know she wasn’t sleeping on a park bench during the frigid nights. In Hawai’i, homeless people had their choice of safe, warm places to sleep. In fact, it was too welcoming at times, and care of the homeless folks was a large burden on the state’s social service system. In this climate, being homeless must be dangerous.

  She couldn’t resist asking Esther about the parade. “Earlier this afternoon . . . when you called me a sinner and a liar? Why did you say that? What have I done to offend you?”

  Her penetrating stare lasted several moments until Cassandra wondered whether she’d answer at all. “I saw the evil one. After.” Then Esther reached behind her for the cart handle and continued down the sidewalk towards the Methodist Church.

  “After what? . . .” called Cassandra as Esther walked away either unhearing or ignoring her. Cassandra could’ve sworn Esther had pointed right at her during the parade. She might not be the most reliable witness though. Esther had issues.

  Cassandra entered her house through the back door carrying the mail and her large messenger bag. She abandoned the wish that there was time tonight for reading. She just needed to clean up a bit and get to bed.

  Within ten minutes, she’d emptied the dishwasher’s clean dishes, carried a laundry load up from the basement dryer, double-checked the locks on the front and back doors, and turned off the lights. She paused on the way towards her bedroom and stared gloomily at the empty end table where her Plumeria had lived. Cassandra still didn’t understand how someone had gotten the plant out of her house, or why that had been the only thing disturbed. Obtaining a new cutting o
f the big tree still safe in her mother’s Waipahu house was tricky. Her mom would ask what had happened. Cassandra would lie that it had been death by brown thumb—completely plausible.

  Cassandra plopped the laundry basket on the bedroom floor and rummaged for a long-sleeved t-shirt and fleece pajama pants. Goosebumps remained on her arms and legs from the chilly driveway conversation while she organized clothes and gear for Saturday morning. She switched on her night table lamp before turning down the Hawaiian quilt bedspread.

  “Wha—” she gasped. A key fob sized object lay centered on her white cotton pillowcase. Moving closer, she confirmed it was a plastic thumb drive. Not hers.

  A loud voice in her brain shouted, Don’t touch it! Who put it there? Get out of the house! Ignoring the warning, she robotically moved to the corner table, opened her MacBook Pro and inserted the thumb drive. Seconds later a video popped onto the full screen and loaded. With growing horror, she saw a person come into focus. It was herself. In her kitchen. This morning. While she brewed a cup of coffee and grabbed a Greek yogurt out of the fridge. She watched herself lean against the counter and eat the whole cup in less than a minute. She’d been in a hurry.

  Where had the camera been? Why hadn’t she noticed it? She peered at the screen more carefully and saw the window reflection. Blowing out a sigh of relief, she realized the camera had been outside. Her relief lasted only moments when the screen switched to a bulky guy silhouetted in a dark room wearing a black Zorro mask whose disguised voice threatened, “Next time, I won’t just watch.”

  The tremors started in her knees. A cry escaped, she clapped a hand over her open mouth, and rushed into the bathroom. Carnival junk food spewed out violently while she gasped and coughed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Zorro. That Zorro guy really had been following her tonight at the carnival. It hadn’t been her imagination. How many days had he watched her?