Sleigh Bell Tower

Chapter 1-2

My sister had surprised us last May with a secret marriage to her fiancé, Manny Salvado. After several maddening conversations about the engagement and wedding details with our mother, Eleanor eloped one weekend. We adored Manny, an El Salvadoran immigrant who'd originally been her chef at the Pick-Me-Up Diner, and eagerly welcomed him into the family. At the reception we threw one month after learning about the clandestine nuptials, Eleanor announced she was pregnant and due in January. I'd teased her for weeks about the gunshot wedding, but she swore they'd waited until their marriage was official, citing bad karma and reputations to uphold. Apparently, April and I hadn't cared enough about our own luck or community repute!

“Monumental year for her. Emma can't wait to meet her new cousin,” I proclaimed as a debonair gray-haired man around my father's age approached our table. I recognized his profile but couldn't pinpoint the reason.

Nana D stood, grasping her cocktail like it held the elixir of life, and finally deigned to answer my previous question. “Ah, this clown is why I am here. A business meeting. I'll call you later, brilliant one.”

Ignoring her blow-off, I turned to the man and introduced myself. “Greetings. I'm Kellan Ayrwick, her grandson. Are you from Braxton, sir? You look extraordinarily familiar.” Was Nana D secretly on a date? He was younger than her seventy-six years, but with all the age-defying procedures and Botox options available, I never knew anymore. My grandpop had passed away well over a decade ago, and Nana D had only gone on a few dates since then. Nothing serious from what I understood.

The man reached an overly suntanned hand in my direction, firmly shaking mine as he announced himself in an authoritarian and orotund voice. “No, camping in the town. I'm Porter Lynch. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ayrwick. Mayor Danby and I are discussing a business proposal over lunch.” Porter stood a few inches taller than my five-nine stature, donning a classic navy-blue business suit, light pink shirt, and heather gray tie. “You've undoubtedly heard of my hotel chain, Bell Towers? We're constructing the pièce de résistance in Wharton County after the winter season.”

“That's not a signed deal, Porter. At least not yet. We have much to discuss before the end-of-year deadline.” Nana D pretended to kiss my cheek, then whispered into my ear, “He wants tax breaks in exchange for generous donations. I'll fill you in later. Come by for a proper tea at the office.”

“I'll probably call instead. Lots going on tonight. Good luck with your negotiations.” As they meandered toward their table, I recalled where I'd previously seen him. Porter Lynch's picture had appeared in the local paper, regaling his substantial bequests to Braxton College. He'd provided the final endowment that allowed us to convert the school into a university, which would happen in January with the new term. We'd originally hoped to complete the conversion during the semester that recently ended, but after the debacle with last spring's art show and the subsequent murder investigation, we'd delayed the process. When reopening in January, we would offer three new graduate degrees, including a hospitality track in our MBA program. Porter's upcoming two-day seminar on hotel chain management must've been the impetus for his descent upon our town.

After glancing at my phone, I signaled at Karen to deliver the check. April's text confirmed she couldn't meet for a late lunch but had finagled her way out of a Sunday conference so she could attend the Winter Gala. Every year, Braxton's Board of Trustees arranged the magnificent end-of-year holiday party to express their gratitude to the college's academic and administrative staff. They timed the event to occur on the weekend the semester concluded so that everyone could participate prior to dispersing for their individual holiday plans. It was a marvelous celebration where Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus arrived by a horse-drawn carriage on the snow-covered quad, delivering holiday presents to children from low-income families and distributing local restaurant gift cards to their parents. The Athletics Department invented several outdoor games and festivities, and the Music Department sang Christmas carols in the Grand Parlor while everyone drank hot chocolate and consumed holiday cookies.

Beyond my desire to stand side-by-side with April and the kids, someone else had requested her presence at the event. Eleanor and Manny suggested they had something important to discuss, and I refused to disappoint my sister when she was so eager to talk to us.

It seemed the Winter Gala was a popular conversation topic these days. While I waited for the waitress to return with my credit card, I overheard the bickering couple at the nearby table mention the forthcoming party. A petite blonde woman whose face I couldn't see, passionately addressed a man with cerulean blue eyes who edgily stood across from her. “Ocean, that's ridiculous! Do you know how disengaged you sound? We must fix this at the Winter Gala on Sunday. The deadline is looming.”

He jerked her elbow closer, replying, “Lower your voice. I have bigger problems to worry about. Mom and Dad won't let us help, and if they insist on behaving like stubborn mules, they'll lose everything!”

The pair stepped away from their table, mostly hidden behind a tall potted ficus that had been decorated with sparkly white icicle lights and glossy red ornaments. Luckily, they failed to notice me eavesdropping. The only person I knew with the name Ocean—both a cool and an odd moniker—was the son of a couple who owned the farm nearest Crilly Lake, our treasured summer hotspot. That Ocean had been four years older than me, which meant we'd never gone to high school at the same time. This guy didn't resemble the teenager who frequently hung out with my older brother. I assumed Ocean and Hampton had graduated together but lost touch over the years. The man's name hadn't popped up in a long time. I vaguely remembered that his sister was barely a year younger than him too. I texted Eleanor to ask if she recollected their last name, and she responded quickly: Ingram.

That's when I realized the anxious woman he'd left with worked in Braxton's Admissions Department. Ocean's sister, Tamarind, and I had chatted occasionally, but she'd never acknowledged recognizing me from all those years ago. I'd failed to realize her auspicious connection to my childhood until now, perhaps because she had a different last name than Ingram. Was she only his half-sister?

I hazily recalled that Braxton's chief cook in the campus dining hall was a Mrs. Ingram. Was she their mother or an aunt? I'd ask her at the Winter Gala, assuming she would be present like all the other staff. Eleanor had won the bid to cater the party instead of the school's cafeteria employees because the Board of Trustees wanted everyone who worked at Braxton to enjoy a day off. They'd even supplied Braxton Campus Security with two temporary guards from a local firm to patrol the university grounds so the staff could partake in the event.

After signing my receipt, I emphatically waved goodbye to Nana D and shuffled to the parking lot, keenly aware of the bitter chill in the air. As I settled in the SUV, a familiar number lit up my cell—Finnigan Masters, a family friend and attorney who was dating my colleague, Lara. He was also handling the estate of Constance Garibaldi, who died last spring after a dreadful battle with cancer. Several hours after the famous psychic had passed, her boyfriend delivered a curious letter to me. In it, Constance begged for my help to right a wrong from the past, challenging me to embark upon a treasure hunt. While the woman harbored a habit of driving me nuts when she'd been alive, I also respected her ability to predict things that had yet to occur.

Constance's initial missive revealed the quest would take me to a Scottish village where the Ayrwick family hailed from a century ago. Just like she teased me in life with her various premonitions, she'd prepared a similarly adventurous game for me in her death. Throughout the last seven months, her attorney, Finnigan Masters, provided letters containing vague details. Each one presented more clues to the imminent journey, and this sixth and final note would supposedly explain it all.

I answered the phone while warming up my frozen seat. “Am I about to learn the last piece of Constance's bewildering conundrum?”

Finnigan snickered. “Not exactly, but first I've got a peculiar situation to discuss with you. I know how you fancy convoluted puzzles, and well… you're the first person I thought of.”

“Hmmm… this sounds intriguing.” Ever since returning to Braxton two years ago, I'd developed a reputation for solving the most bizarre mysteries. Usually, they involved a murder. Gosh, I hoped he wasn't about to reveal someone had been killed again. While I was happy to help whatever the situation, I also knew Finnigan employed a dozen private investigators and researchers at his assiduous and respected law firm. Why me?

“Possibly. It's personal. I'm hoping you'll have time to do a wee bit of research. Up for it?”

With an invitation like that, how could anyone say no? “Of course. You're practically family. What's going on?” I had become close to Finnigan since returning home. Although he was a couple of years older than me, I'd attended school with his brother, Liam, who played hockey for a popular American team.

“I'm short on time this afternoon, but I'll give you an overview. I was calling merely to verify you'll be at Braxton's Winter Gala. Could we talk then?” Finnigan's Scottish accent popped up every now and again. He and his siblings had been born in the United Kingdom and emigrated from a Scottish village not too far from Ayr, where my paternal ancestors originally lived.

“I wouldn't miss it. Or I should say, I can't miss it if I want to keep my job. My wonderful boss, the Dragon Lady, insisted everyone in her department attend the event. You're not going, are you?” It baffled me why Finnigan would be present at the Gala.

Finnigan laughed gingerly. “Surprise! I've been retained by Braxton as the newest member of their corporate legal team. Ursula Power will announce it during the introductory speeches on Sunday.”

“Congratulations! You're a terrific addition to the school.”

“Thanks. Glad you'll be there. We can talk about my little mystery, and I'll bring Constance's latest… ummm… message.” He mumbled near the end, his voice carrying a plethora of hesitancy.

“Can you offer any hints about Constance's quest? I could swing by later tonight.”

“Unfortunately, no… I'm meeting with the Board of Trustees in an hour to sign the onboarding paperwork. Then Lara and I are having dinner with my cousin. I only learned of his existence this past summer. Quite a bombshell. Never knew about my estranged family member. That's why I need your help.” Finnigan temporarily put me on hold to address someone who'd walked into his office.

I'd met no one in his family besides his brother Liam, a couple of other siblings, and their parents. And they'd all returned to Scotland while I was living in Los Angeles. I presumed a distant relative was visiting for the holidays. When his chipper voice popped back on the line, I inquired further. “I'd love to meet your cousin. Maybe he can play tour guide when I head to Scotland in January. Myriam forced me into teaching a semester abroad, so I'll be instructing courses across the proverbial pond.”

Finnigan explained Lara had informed him of my impending trip. “Doubtful, my cousin doesn't live there; however, Liam is sitting out the rest of the season after a critical surgery on his rotator cuff. Nasty accident in last week's home game. He's recuperating in Scotland and can assist once you arrive. As for my cousin… evidently, my father's wayward sister ran off with her husband years ago after a family squabble. Her husband severed contact with our side of the family before they raised a son and she passed away.”

“Wow! That's disturbing news. Is he from Scotland too?”

“No, Canada. His name is Remy Lynch, heir to the famous Bell Towers magnate, Porter Lynch. They're in town to construct a new high-end hotel in Wharton County. Something strange is going on between the Lynches, Marcus Stanton, and your grandmother.” Finnigan promised to track me down at the party, then hung up to tackle multiple priorities before convening with Braxton's Board of Trustees.

Nana D hadn't conveyed a single whiff about Marcus Stanton, her mortal enemy, being involved in the Bell Towers hotel project. What was she hiding from me now?