Braxton Campus Mysteries Collection - Books 1-4

Chapter 2-1

When I stirred on Saturday morning, thick paste coated the insides of my mouth. The room was dark, and a low-rattling noise emanated from the far corner. I sat straight up in bed, smacked my head into a wood beam, and freaked out that I"d gone blind and a possum had snuck into the walls. I soon determined the obnoxious sound was the hissing of the radiators delivering much-needed warmth to the room.

Once the initial shock of my surroundings wore off, I stretched and grunted at the crunch in my lower spine from sleeping on the firmest mattress known to man. Between jet lag from the red-eye and the time difference, I"d dozed off early but woken up several times throughout the night. I checked my phone only to learn it was a few minutes shy of noon. That"s also when I saw a message from my father chastising me for not bringing Emma home. Based on the timestamp, it"d come in the previous night shortly after I"d overheard his argument. Did he know I"d been listening outside his office?

Wesley Ayrwick was not a frequent complainer, and if he elected to vent, it was only on important topics. The last time I"d pressed him for thoughts on something vital, he revealed how much he"d disliked my wife, Francesca. This had occurred when I asked for his help to plan her funeral after she"d been hit by a drunk driver in West Hollywood two years ago. Francesca and I had left her parents" house on Thanksgiving in separate cars, as she"d been staying with them while I was working on an out-of-town film project. I"d always be thankful Francesca"s mother, Cecilia Castigliano, had strapped Emma into my car"s safety seat that night. Thinking about the alternative scenario consistently brought me to tears. I wasn"t anywhere ready to talk about losing my wife at such a young age, nor being a single parent, so let"s allow that to sleep longer.

After brushing my teeth, I called to check on Emma, but she was swimming in the neighbor"s pool. Her grandparents would contact me as soon as she returned home. I"d only been away for twenty-four hours, yet it felt as if a part of me was lost whenever we were apart. The connection felt fuzzy, as though the distance prevented me from truly knowing whether my six-year-old daughter was okay. I"d give up a lot of desserts to swing her in my arms right now. Or watch her dance to some silly cartoon on her iPad. My heart melted at the pure innocence of her smile.

Before summoning the courage to start the day, I tossed on some clothes and descended the staircase two steps at a time. Walking around the house in only my snug black boxer briefs wasn"t an option. I trotted into the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee, noticing my mother preparing lunch. I still needed to ferret out the detailed agenda for tonight"s retirement party.

“How"s the best mother in the world doing?” I embraced her the way only a son could remind his momma she"s loved. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was pinned back with the jade butterfly clip Eleanor had given her for Christmas, and her face looked like she"d started applying makeup on one side but had forgotten the other half. I"d bet money on today"s slipshod appearance resulting from something Nana D had done.

“Oh, Kellan! I wanted to come home early last night, but… the rehearsal for the party… talking to the planner about the seating chart… a near disaster. Do you know she had Nana D sitting next to Councilman Stanton at a table in the back row? I"ve told that planner ten times if I told her once… Marcus will make an important speech and needs to sit at the main table with your father. Nana D can"t be anywhere near him based on their last public argument when she called him a—”

I interrupted before my mother prattled on for hours, bless her soul. “Got it. Makes total sense. You did the right thing, but I thought Nana D declined your invitation?” I suddenly remembered reading a text before falling asleep where Nana D clarified she"d rather spend an afternoon with her mouth crammed full of lemon wedges, her fingers pricked by a thousand tiny needles, and her feet glued inside a bumblebee"s nest than attend another Braxton event for my father. “And what"s with the crazy portrait-of-a-lady-with-two-faces look?” I c****d my head to the side, reached for the fruit bowl at the end of the island, and stepped a few inches away, certain she"d swat at me for that comment.

My mother, somewhere in her mid-fifties, had feverishly obsessed over her appearance for as long as I could remember. Despite my father telling her she"s beautiful, or how he had to prevent all his friends from hitting on her, she put herself down. Even when my father explained how all his golf buddies called him a cradle robber because of my parents" ten-year age gap, she still went on a two-week hunt around the world for the latest wrinkle prevention products and anti-aging miracle cures.

“Whaaat? That woman is gonna be the death of me. She called while I was putting on my face and wanted to know if your father had changed his mind about retiring. She"d heard some rumor about his real intentions, then asked who wrote the scathing blog post. Any idea what she"s talking about?” She ducked into the half-bath and applied a colorful powder to her right eyelid.

“We"ll chat when you"re done. Beauty first,” I quipped, changing the topic and preparing a sandwich. “So, Nana D"s not going? That"s gonna make this party a lot less interesting.”

My mother"s lack of awareness surrounding the blog posts surprised me. She read everything about Braxton she could get her hands on—it was important to know what"s being written about her college to prepare for questions from prospective or current students. Then again, she could"ve been craftily testing me to see what I knew and wasn"t confessing. Often the little charade of trickery we played in the Ayrwick family got complicated—somewhere between a game of Who"s on First? and Russian Roulette.

Who"s on First?Russian RouletteMy mother smacked her lips together like a blowfish. “What did you say, Kellan?”

“Nothing. I"m glad to be home.” Eleanor would have to agree that I"m being such a good son.

She retreated into the bathroom while I devoured the sandwich. When she reappeared, her face sparkled. Eleanor better watch herself, or people might ask questions like who"s the older sister between the pair of them. Maybe I"d even start that rumor. It"d been an ice age since I stung Eleanor with a perfect zinger.

who"s the older sister“What"s the plan for tonight?” I blurted out while swallowing the last crumb of my sandwich.

“We"ll greet early arrivals for the five o"clock cocktail hour. Then we present your father with a service award, and a few folks make speeches between six and seven. They"ll serve dinner between seven and eight. Everyone can mingle afterward for an hour before it ends.” She collected her breath, then popped a strawberry in her mouth. “I need to take lunch to your father. Please get there early. He wants to introduce you to people.”

“Eleanor and I plan to arrive exactly at five. Cross one less worry off your list.” I had to motivate her sometimes, or she"d fret over the tiniest things. “We"ll be on our best behavior.”

My mother kissed my cheek before ascending the stairs to deliver my father"s meal. “I"ll always worry about my children. Even Gabriel, despite not hearing from him for over seven years. Hugs and kisses!”

As she exited, I caught my reflection in the window and rolled my eyes at her lipstick marks. If I survived the night, I"d exact revenge on Nana D for avoiding it all. I sent her a text to remind her she"d promised to bake me a cherry pie for brunch tomorrow. There was no better dessert, especially the way Nana D prepared them with the cherries on top and the crust only on the bottom. She"d attach little pastry donuts on the side, so we could pull them off and dip them into the cherry filling. Mmm, delicious. Don"t get me started on pie.

Nana D: Arrive by 10. Have fun without me tonight. Please piss off your father for me.

Nana DArrive by 10. Have fun without me tonight. Please piss off your father for me.Wow! She had it in for him. I returned to my bedroom and dove into the show bible sitting on the night table. The next page was Abby"s email to Derek from a week earlier. It read:

I"m so glad you selected me to provide the research on Dark Reality"s next season. I received the contract and will send back a signed copy next week. When do we meet again? I had so much fun drinking cocktails with you last month. You"re adorable in that recent picture you sent from Tahiti.

I"m so glad you selected me to provide the research onnext season. I received the contract and will send back a signed copy next week. When do we meet again? I had so much fun drinking cocktails with you last month. You"re adorable in that recent picture you sent from Tahiti.I have tons to share re the birth of witch covens in Pennsylvania and the Beguiling Curse of 1689. Should I book a flight to Hollywood soon? Will the network cover first-class tickets? This is the beginning of a lasting partnership. I"ve also stumbled upon something controversial going on in my hometown. It"s worthy of a future season for our TV show, but I"ve got more research to do. I"ll keep you posted.

I have tons to share re the birth of witch covens in Pennsylvania and the Beguiling Curse of 1689. Should I book a flight to Hollywood soon? Will the network cover first-class tickets? This is the beginning of a lasting partnership. I"ve also stumbled upon something controversial going on in my hometown. It"s worthy of a future season for our TV show, but I"ve got more research to do. I"ll keep you posted.How come I keep getting your voicemail? Can you please try to reach me tonight? I"ll be home waiting for you to respond. In case you need my cell number, it"s…

How come I keep getting your voicemail? Can you please try to reach me tonight? I"ll be home waiting for you to respond. In case you need my cell number, it"s…Derek had gotten himself into trouble again. Ever the talented rascal, Derek was known for dumping his crazy groupies on colleagues and getting everyone else to do his job for him. The last girl he"d assured a walk-on part on the set of Dark Reality hopped a series of red-carpet ropes during a season-one screening party, claiming Derek had promised her a front-row seat. When security called him over, my boss looked her right in the eyes and said, “Never met this woman. Kick her out.” I was there. I saw the confusion plastered on her face. I also noticed him blink twice, then his lip quivered. Derek had a tell I"d pegged from the first day we met.

Dark RealityNever met this woman. Kick her out.tellBetween yesterday"s call and this email, a decisive picture of Abby Monroe popped into my head—twenty-six, blonde, hourglass shape, perky, and bubbly. She hadn"t even known Derek blew her off and put me in the middle of this explosive atom bomb. I scrolled through the call log for Derek"s number and patiently waited to connect. What was I walking into with Abby Monroe? Although I"d done most of the work on the first season, my name wasn"t listed in the credits, nor were my contributions recognized by anyone at the network. Since I was way more experienced and intelligent—or maybe the better word was talented—than Derek, I"d learn everything I needed to earn my own award and escape his drama.