Braxton Campus Mysteries Collection - Books 1-4

Chapter 2-2

talented—“Wussup? You should see the waves at this hour. Primo!” shouted Derek.

I"d forgotten he was in Hawaii and quickly converted the time before realizing the sun was just rising over countless breathtaking beaches. For some reason, I"d been gifted with the ability to retain way too much useless knowledge. “Oh, I hope I"m not waking you up.”

“I haven"t gone to bed yet, Kel-baby. We"re about to rent surfboards. You should be here, man.”

Any traces of guilt I had about rousing him from a blissful slumber disappeared, knowing he"s the one who"d sent me on this foolish diversion. “No can do, Derek. Trying to pin down your source is proving to be difficult. How is Abby Monroe connected to Braxton?”

The waves intensely crashed against the sand as he mumbled about paying for rental surfboards. Someday I"d learn to extricate myself from these situations, but until then, it was best not to get on his nasty side. The last time we"d had creative differences, he hired my replacement to trail me all day, threatening to cut me loose if I didn"t acknowledge his authority.

“She"s a piece of work, ain"t she? Never would have guessed Abby looked like that. You meet her yet? Thanks for dealing with this one, Kel-baby.” He ignored the question about Braxton.

“It"s Kellan.” I"d told him before not to call me Kel-baby. It reminded me of a high school girlfriend who"d forced me to watch every episode of Saved by the Bell one summer, trying to perfect her acting skills. I"d had enough of the Kelly Kelly Duo and never again would someone mistakenly call me Kel or Kelly as a nickname. “What"s Abby look like? Is this another awful Tinder date I should know about?”

Saved by the BellKelly Kelly DuoKelKelly“Dude, I"m innocent, I swear. She"s hot for an older babe. And it"s about time you got some—”

“Stop right there. My personal life is off limits,” I said, knowing he irritated the most patient of people. “How much do you know about Abby?”

“I was going to say attention. You"re acting holier-than-thou lately, and it"s time you took off that faulty halo and engaged in some fun. Seriously, man. Let loose and take some risks while the network"s paying for your trip. I gotta jet. My date"s getting antsy, and these waves are fierce.”

attention“Wait! Answer my question about Abby.”

“I barely know her. We met at a conference in New York City last month. I gave her my number and email address. Didn"t you read the show bible with all the open questions? Abby needs to fill in those blanks. I"m counting on you, Kel-baby. Later.”

“You mean you gave her your fake number, right?” Various methods of revenge formulated in my head. I wanted to remind Derek-baby what people said about payback, but halfway through my witty comeback, he hung up.

Derek-babyDerek was the second person since I"d arrived in Braxton who"d chosen that route. Was I doing something wrong? What happened to proper manners? There were rules. One person initiated a goodbye sequence, and the other held it up to share remaining thoughts. There"s an awkward moment how to end the call, and then you both said goodbye at the same time before the actual disconnect. Either I was getting old, or other people were getting crazier. I mentally added it to the list of things to ask Nana D the next time I saw her. Despite her age, she had all the answers about the new etiquette system of my generation"s people.

Hoping to shake off the conversation and alleviate the knots in my back, I went for an hour-long run in Braxton"s fresh mountain air. Many parts of the town—topping out at about three-thousand citizens—offered natural, untouched beauty everyone had protected for three hundred years. Shortly before Pennsylvania had become a state, my ancestors developed the sheltered land where the Finnulia River emptied into Crilly Lake at the base of the Wharton Mountains. Though the landscape was intoxicating, I had little time left before the party. I returned home, showered, and dressed for the event.

Promptly at four thirty, I stood outside Memorial Library, assuming Eleanor would be late. Inevitably, there would be some crisis at the diner—a lost car key or a last-minute wardrobe change. It"s lucky my sister"s saving grace had always been she"s the most intelligent, loyal, and caring person in my life. If not, her constant tardiness and indecisiveness would drive me batty and send me running in the opposite direction.

The Paddington family originally erected Memorial Library. A fire damaged the first floor in the late 1960s during a Vietnam War protest that had gone off the deep end. The powers-that-be in charge of the campus at the time had rebelled against old-world charm and preserving history. The result was a cheap repair of the antiquated structure and an institutional, utilitarian-looking addition reminding everyone of a grammar school cafeteria gone wrong. It needed to be demolished and redesigned more than our town"s government.

While waiting for Eleanor, a woman on a cell phone wandered past me. She was explaining how she"d already finished marking the exam and was on her way to enter the results in her grade book. It sounded like an unhappy student was trying to change the professor"s mind about his or her grade. The last line I caught before she was out of range made me laugh, thinking about how far someone would go to demand a better mark. “Yes, come to my office at eight thirty. But trust me, you won"t alter my decision. Nada. Zilch. You"re killing me with this persistent pressure and the multiple diversion tactics,” she chastised.

“Yes, come to my office at eight thirty. But trust me, you won"t alter my decision. Nada. Zilch. You"re killing me with this persistent pressure and the multiple diversion tactics,”she chastised.My gaze switched to several students milling in and out of Memorial Library, surprising me how popular it was on a Saturday evening. Although I"d been a decent student during my time at Braxton, I had reserved weekends for fraternity parties, off-campus troublemaking excursions, and strenuous visits with my family. Saturday nights at a library were uncool a decade ago. It seemed much had changed.

I considered following a student inside to gander at the dreary interior décor, but stopped when two snowballs slammed into my shoulder. Not one to back down from a challenge, I ducked to the ground to gather a handful of snow and steadied myself to throw a powerful curveball. Had an immature student taken advantage of my distraction, or was the professor using me to express her frustration with the caller?

“So, he can clean himself up for the proper occasion,” taunted my sister, throwing another snowball. “I"d have placed a bet you"d wear the usual jeans and a gray t-shirt tonight.”

canNope, my expensive black suit and herringbone topcoat looked quite dapper. I rolled both eyes in her direction several times with enough emphasis that they almost got stuck on the final lap. “Funny! I"d have placed a bet you wouldn"t be here until five thirty, so you could tell Mom it was my fault we were late.”

Eleanor meandered over and gave me the biggest hug I"d received since the last time I was in town. “I miss you so much. Why do you leave me here in this boring arctic tundra alone with our parents? Can"t you work from Braxton part of… oh, fine, I"ll stop. The stars are telling me not to pester you anymore tonight.”

I agreed about the arctic part. I"d never get used to it, especially after gazing at palm trees and listening to ocean waves in Los Angeles. When we separated, I scanned her shocking and brilliant transformation. Her curly, dirty-blond hair was pinned to one side of her head with a bright crimson bow matching the color of her dress. She wore heels, which I hardly ever saw her in for two reasons—one, she was a tad clumsy, and two, she claimed it made her tower over potential male suitors. We were the same height, but in the sparkling Christian Louboutin stilettos she"d chosen, I couldn"t reach her on the tips of my toes.

I only knew the brand and type of shoes because Francesca had trained me well. We spent many Sunday afternoons window shopping up and down Rodeo Drive, guessing the prices of everything she loved but for which she refused to pay full cost. Despite being raised with money, my wife had loved a good bargain.

“You could always move to the West Coast if you can"t hack it here.” I smiled at how grown-up my baby sister looked in her red-sequined gown. She possessed a unique fashion sense, imposing her own spin on each outfit. Today, it was the dark-gray sash worn across her hips. Eleanor had always been sensitive about inheriting the Danby bone structure and found ways to either accentuate or hide it—whichever improved her look, depending on the garb and the position of the moon that day. She was a fanatic about horoscopes, astrology, and numerology. “Or consult that crystal ball of yours to see what"s in store for your future.”

“Oh, shut your trap door. Someday we"ll live closer together. The cards have already decided so. Tell me, who do you think will be there tonight besides the usual stuffy colleagues and friends? I"ve had a premonition about something dark happening. Not sure who"s in trouble, but someone"s aura is dust!”

As she said her last line, thunder struck in the nearby Wharton Mountains. We both jumped. Our eyes bulged with indeterminate shock. “Yeah, let"s get to the party before you invoke some sort of ancient curse on us. You"ve got the worst luck lately.”