Braxton Campus Mysteries Collection - Books 5-8

Chapter 2-2

When the hostess waved to Eleanor, my sister stopped at the front counter. She turned and smiled like the Cheshire cat after their brief discussion. “Take your own advice. Don"t rush it. Now that you"ll both be in Braxton for a while, let things blossom at the right pace.”

“Advice from the newest town relationship expert?” I shrugged when she gave me the bird.

“I know you need to leave, but Hampton is here. Nana D told him you"d come to see me.” Eleanor pointed to the booth where our older brother sat, chatting expressively on his cell phone.

“Oh, what a joy it"ll be.” I needed to catch up with him anyway, and April and I weren"t meeting for another two hours. “Augie will pick up Emma when his volunteer shift at the animal shelter ends. He"ll also collect Ulan from the SAT prep course and meet April and me at the new house. We"re all having dinner together to catch up on what happened while she was away this week.” It seemed I needed to find a name for my abode, rather than the new house. Great, another task!

the new houseEleanor attempted, but failed miserably, to temper a smug expression. “Insta-family?”

“Don"t start with me. Augie and Ulan are friends. April and I are friends. We might explore something, but there are lots of other steps that need to happen before she and I can even consider—”

“None of my business. Go, talk to Hampton. I"ll ask Madam Zenya to contact your visiting apparition.” Eleanor dashed off, preventing me from elbowing her in the ribs or flicking her earlobe.

I took a deep breath and casually drifted toward Hampton"s table. He and his wife, Natasha, had arrived from Tulsa on Labor Day weekend with their three older children, whom they"d previously shipped to an elite boarding school in Connecticut. They"d just had their fourth child last month and hired a live-in nanny for the new mini mansion near Millionaire"s Mile, hence I considered them the perfect hoity-toity couple we all loved to hate. Natasha"s father was an international oil tycoon who"d opened a new well in Pennsylvania by the Betscha mines. He"d beseeched my enigmatic, derisive sibling to oversee the operation, hoping Hampton might eventually assume full responsibility for the company.

Hampton, a tall and lanky spitting image of our father, only with darker hair and fewer wrinkles, offered both a smile and frown when I reached the table. He brusquely ended his phone conversation and advised me to sit. “I"ve wasted an hour tracking you down and waiting for you to come by. Time is precious, brother. Then again, some of our jobs are more prestigious and arduous than others.” He leaned his head to the side, awkwardly snapped his neck, and glowered past me at his waitress.

Instantly, memories of my tortured teenage years flooded to the surface. At thirty-seven, he was my eldest sibling and had never been the supportive big brother. I"d receive infrequent updates from Eleanor about him and our other sister, Penelope. My mother had pressured me to proffer him another chance once he moved back to Wharton County. Being a loyal and attentive son, I complied.

“I"ve had a complicated day already. Don"t make it worse. What"s the urgency?” I slid into the booth across from him, eager for the argument of the century if he brought one on.

“You begged for my assistance. I was kind enough not to charge you for my labor, and this is how you repay me? Mom was wrong. She suggested you were more open-minded and willing to try harder these days.” Hampton unlocked his briefcase and removed a folder. “I had eleven-and-a-half minutes to discuss my findings with you, but you"ve just wasted four-and-a-quarter of them.”

YouWhen Hampton attempted to leave, I swallowed my hubris and asked him to stick around. “I"m sorry. I didn"t know you were waiting for me. It was incredibly generous of you to handle all this work. What did you find out about Francesca"s legal rights?”

While peering at his watch with dark beady eyes, he grunted and set a timer. “I"ll give you five minutes. Basically, you somehow managed to do everything the proper way. Although Francesca is entitled to half of your marital assets, she"s signed an agreement relinquishing her rights to anything you"d jointly owned at the time they issued her death certificate.”

“So, I have nothing to worry about. Does that mean I can initiate divorce proceedings, or whatever you call them?” I hadn"t wanted to make the situation worse, but three months slipped by with no official changes in our relationship. I"d flown to California monthly to reestablish a connection between Emma and her mother as well as document my knowledge of what"d happened during Francesca"s supposed death. Until she addressed all the legal ramifications, Francesca could only visit with her daughter under my supervision. When would this dramatic soap opera end?

“That"s not what I said. Stop pretending you have any legal knowledge. Let me handle the big boy stuff, okay?” Hampton cracked his knuckles and c****d his head, pondering his ensuing statement.

I interrupted before he could deliver it. “I"m only trying to understand what happens next.”

“Francesca"s attorney is working to rescind her death certificate. Once she"s officially considered as alive as you and me, then you can move forward with a divorce. The rest is all stuff Francesca has to address. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, Kel-baby.”

I gritted my teeth at the dreaded teenage nickname. “Your oldest daughter is a year younger than Emma. Shouldn"t we play nice for their sakes? Maybe they could be friends and cousins.”

“I"m sure Emma"s a fine girl, despite having a mafia princess for a mother and a loose cannon for a father, but…” he began, then paused as a waitress filled his water glass. He turned to the woman and barked, “I requested the check ten minutes ago. My sister runs this quaint little joint. Do I need to call her over?” Cue two eyes slanting at his watch, then came the zinger. “My daughter needs to be around more stimulating friends. Sixty seconds left, Kellan.”

Calliope Nickels, a tough cookie in her late thirties who took no one"s a***e, ripped a clean sheet of paper from her pad and scribbled something before handing it to him. “Since your sister owns this place, she told me the meal was on the house, sir. I already said that when you first demanded the check, but you were screaming at some poor sucker on your fancy phone about your hourly rate being more than he could afford.” Calliope, with half her spiky hair dyed neon pink and the other half shaved close to her scalp, turned to me with disgust. “You must"ve inherited all the good DNA. I can"t believe this creep is your brother, Kellan. Eleanor never said how much of an arrogant ninny he"d become.”

sirI giggled at the Frankenstein monster photo on the wall behind Hampton, noticing for the first time an uncanny resemblance. Given the greenish tone to my brother"s skin when he got angry, the stiff structure of his football-player shoulders, and those can"t-miss-bolt-like ears, they could be twins.

As Calliope marched away swinging wide hips and snapping pudgy fingers, she yelled back, “Don"t bother with a tip. I stopped collecting pennies years ago.”

Hampton"s face flushed the color of one of his rare, imported merlots. “How dare she—”

“You asked for it. She is Eleanor"s best employee and the daughter of one of Nana D"s friends, Lloyd Nickels.” I also realized that made her Belinda Nickels" niece. Apparently, both Calliope and I had egotistical family members who"d forgotten how to behave in public.

“I don"t have time for nonsense,” Hampton stated exasperatingly and thumbed through his wallet. “Read the red-lined summary at the end of my report to protect yourself and prepare for a potential custody battle. Based on everything I"ve deduced, she and Cristiano will probably avoid prison time, but the trial doesn"t begin until next month.” Hampton rose, collected his briefcase and jacket, and thrust a brand-new fifty-dollar bill at me. “That"s the smallest amount I carry. Can you make change, so I can leave a gratuity for that pitiful waitress? I always pay my bills, and your time is up.”

I pushed the money away. “Doubt it. I usually pay with a card, but I"ve got at least a buck to tip.”

Hampton angrily stomped out of the diner. I laughed at his mini-meltdown and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table. It was more than necessary, but Calliope had suffered enough by waiting on him.

I kissed Emma goodbye in the kitchen and bolted to the office. Although it was technically a weekend at Braxton, I wanted to use the time to grade papers and architect next semester"s syllabus. My boss, the indomitable Dr. Myriam Castle, had issued a deadline at the end of the week.

Upon arriving in Diamond Hall, I encountered our newest visiting professor. Dr. Hope Lawson taught two courses this semester: one on mysticism and another on paranormal literature. I"d interviewed her several months ago and thought she"d be a perfect addition to the department, albeit temporarily. As part of Braxton"s expansion from a college to a university, Myriam had secured a surfeit of funding to hire two new full-time professors the following academic year. She"d hinted that I might be one of them, reminding me I was currently considered only part-time, adjunct faculty.

While Dr. Lawson was supremely qualified for the role, she"d mentioned something during our interview that had raised alarm bells. When asked why she wanted to relocate from New Orleans to a small town in Pennsylvania, the visiting professor confirmed her mother had once lived in the area. Upon further exploration, Dr. Lawson curtly revealed that someone had wronged her family, and she intended to correct it. I"d sensed the potential for danger and notified Myriam about that part of our exchange. Myriam rejected my additional input—stating she had little interest or time in staff"s personal lives, assuming they"d be intelligent enough to follow the college"s rules and keep themselves out of trouble. I"d covered my responsibility for passing along the message and diverted focus to my own duties. Dr. Lawson subsequently arrived on campus in late August, becoming an exemplary addition to the department and a potential friend who insisted I call her Hope. I hadn"t yet inquired if she"d addressed the unfinished business but enthusiastically wished she"d share her progress with me.

Hope“Kellan, I thought I might be the only one working today,” Hope greeted with a toothsome smile. Her ebony hair was swept up in a silver clip, several strands cascading across a sloped forehead. She had a tawny complexion, a few shades lighter than Connor, who was Caribbean and South African. Crow"s feet suggested the professor was about a decade older than us, but I couldn"t be certain.

“Me too. Duty calls, I suppose. We have Myriam"s looming deadline to adhere to, or she"ll toss us out like stray cats.” I grabbed a fistful of candy corn from the bowl on her desk and smirked.

After laughing over our boss"s penchant for random Shakespeare quotes, Hope surprised me by mentioning her original interview. “Do you know the Grey family? You might recall I hinted about something in my family"s past which prompted me to consider the opening at Braxton.”