Braxton Campus Mysteries Collection - Books 1-4

Chapter 3-1

Eleanor grabbed my hand, leading us toward Braxton"s main entrance gate. As we walked, I summarized the incendiary blog posts and our father"s mysterious phone conversation.

“I hope the blogger does nothing to embarrass Dad tonight,” Eleanor said.

“He can take care of himself.” We agreed not to confront him since it wasn"t our business.

Braxton"s campus was spread out across two parts of town and connected by a charming, antique cable car service covering the one-mile distance in between. The trendy transportation system functioned like an airport trolley between terminals—leaving North Campus every thirty minutes to make the return trip back and forth to South Campus. When the weather cooperated, it was a brisk fifteen-minute walk to reach either end. Quaint shops, the occasional college bar, and student rental housing lined the streets.

“Even though most of the primary academic buildings and student dorms are on North Campus, I"ve always found South Campus more idyllic.” Besides hosting the executive offices and the campus coffeehouse, The Big Beanery, South Campus also housed the music, humanities, and communications departments. Paddington"s Play House and Stanton Concert Hall were the big entertainment attractions keeping me from being bored as a student.

“True. I"m looking forward to seeing Mom"s artisanal handiwork. She thought it would be a fun twist to rearrange all the tables in Stanton Concert Hall to face the center of the room. Even brought in a temporary dance floor and a raised platform for the speeches.” As the cable car arrived, Eleanor filled me in on her exciting day at the Pick-Me-Up Diner. Braxton"s baseball team had caused a big ruckus at their impromptu lunch. “It was odd when the cheerleading squad showed up too. They should"ve been discussing strategies to win the opening game.”

“Aww, were you jealous? Did it stop you from flirting with the players?” I was on fire today.

“Bite me, Kellan. Even Coach Oliver couldn"t control them when he handed out the team"s newest college jackets. The burgundy and navy-blue colors looked like a cool design.”

I quipped, “We both know the real reason the team"s onset annoyed you is because cash-limited students are notorious for leaving no tips.”

When all the passengers disembarked, Eleanor and I squeezed into a two-seater near the back plastered with characters from Marvel comics. Each year, the graduating class presented a gift to the college to redesign the cable car as their outgoing mark on Braxton.

“Bring back any memories, gladiator-man?” asked Eleanor.

gladiator-manI"m ashamed to admit my class had chosen a Spartan theme since the movie 300 had just hit theaters. At the unveiling ceremony, they forced me to wear an extremely short, body-hugging tunic while wielding a plastic shield and spear. I"d almost died of embarrassment when the fabric split open as I kneeled for a picture. I hadn"t looked as handsome back then as I did now. Yep, you gotta get used to this humor!

300We arrived at Stanton Concert Hall, aptly named for Lavinia Stanton, an elderly spinster ancestor of Marcus Stanton"s who"d left her entire life savings to Braxton in the early twentieth century. A lippy security attendant greeted me, snapped my picture, and typed in a few commands on a keypad. Thirty seconds later, he returned a badge with a bunch of codes and symbols.

“Can you make the machine explode when you create Eleanor"s ID?” I asked the attendant, who unfortunately didn"t find me hilarious. The process completed flawlessly.

The guest list topped out at two hundred colleagues, family members, and friends. I skimmed the expanse of the room with a fleeting thought that I could pick out Abby, but no one matched the imagined description.

My mother had outdone herself. She transformed the hall into a full-on party atmosphere complete with authentic, old-fashioned lampposts retrofitted as conversation tables where we could eat endless amounts of hors d"oeuvres; ornate beverage carts rolled around by penguin-clad waiters serving a fizzy blue cocktail; and a fine mist spraying jasmine from the ceiling. Eleanor went in search of our parents while I tested the aqua concoction. A bit tart for me, but I saw the appeal.

While mingling, I caught up with my former art professor and shook hands with Councilman Marcus Stanton—his palm was so clammy I"d never wipe off the pungent pool of sweat. The handshake was also too weak for a real politician. No wonder Nana D had it in for him.

When an incoming text vibrated, I hoped it was Abby, but it was from my daughter, Emma. She was back from the neighbors and wanted to tell me she missed me and loved me. I sent a video of a papa bear cuddling with his baby bear—our way of sharing a hug when we weren"t in the same place together. She was intelligent and intuitive for her age and loved our quirky relationship. Six going on sixteen!

Before putting away the phone, I texted my father"s assistant. Lorraine Candito had served as my father"s right-hand woman for twenty years, including following him from his prior position at Woodland College across the river. I was certain she was the only reason I"d gotten birthday cards or frequent packages from my father. My mother was too busy and had her own way of showing how much she cared, but Lorraine was like a favorite aunt you could always count on. My phone buzzed with her response:

Let"s connect after dinner. Need to get your gift. I left it on my desk.

Let"s connect after dinner. Need to get your gift. I left it on my desk.Curiosity brewed, then I remembered something from Christmastime. She"d probably bought me a present with the new Braxton logo. I texted back a confirmation and caught sight of my father approaching from the dance floor.

“Let me introduce you to someone, Kellan,” he began. A woman with short, spiky gray hair followed nearby. Her natural black shade had faded and rather than dye it, she"d accepted the graceful aging process. I commended her. If my hair color ever began to change, I"d be the first in line at the salon. I could be a bit vain about these things. Although her hair was striking, her pursed lips and icy stare stole my attention"s focus.

I reached my hand to her, hoping the councilman"s sweat had dissipated, or she"d be in for her own unpleasant shock. “Pleased to meet you… Mrs…. Miss…?”

My father continued talking when she failed to engage. “This is Dr. Myriam Castle. She"s a professor in our communications department and has been at Braxton for… what, three years now?”

As she nodded, the temperature of the air between us distinctly dropped. It wasn"t just the crisp, stark power suit molded against her thin frame. The deep and pointed collar of her pink dress shirt covered her entire neck and had a small opal and silver broach clasped over the top button. The lines on the shoulders, sleeves, and pant legs were as sharp as a knife blade, but the sensible black pumps convinced me she was a no-nonsense gal.

“Yes, three at the beginning of this last term. Are you enjoying the party the college has so thoughtfully thrown? It must have cost quite a small fortune to put on this show, but you are beloved around here for your… generosity,” she replied with a tartness one only experienced when tasting something exorbitantly sour. “Men"s evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.”

generosityMen"s evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.I glanced from her to my father, anticipating an insightful and punishing retort. She"d quoted Shakespeare"s Henry VIII in her petulant dig about virtues. Could she be the blogger? The acerbic tone of her words matched the profile of the anonymous villain.

Henry VIII“Oh, Myriam, ever the clever one. I"d love to chat, but I must prepare for my speech. I hope you"ll have a splendid time despite it coming so unnaturally to you,” my father replied.

As he walked away, a snicker formed on his lips. Maybe I would have some fun at this party. “I see you have quite the banter. I trust it"s in good humor.”

would“Wesley Ayrwick and I have an understanding. He is aware of my contributions to the college. I am aware he"ll be replaced imminently.” As a server passed, Dr. Castle dropped her empty glass on a tray and grabbed a fresh one. “So, how do you know our fine president? Do you work at the college?”

Ah, she didn"t know I was his son. I thought I"d leave out that fact to see what else I might learn. “I can"t remember when we first met. Years ago, but it"s all a little fuzzy. To answer your last question… no, I live in Los Angeles and am back in Braxton for a few days.” I considered my options for extending the conversation about her opinions of my father, then realized I should take advantage of my opportunities. I had little time left before the speeches started. “Dr. Castle, are you familiar with Abby Monroe?”

My new friend cleared her throat and slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose. “My night keeps improving. Is that why you"ve attended this party? A guest of Monroe"s?”

“On the contrary. I"ve never met the woman. Might you point her out?” I could tell Dr. Myriam Castle was an expressive woman. All her gestures were over-exaggerated, and her words offered two, maybe even three levels to them. “If you know what she looks like, that is.”

“I"ve had the unwelcome privilege to meet Monroe many times. I"m not one to push my opinions on other people, Mister…?”

She hoped I"d fill in my surname, but it was more fun leaving her with the short end of the stick. “Oh, but I"d love to hear your thoughts. Please, feel comfortable sharing whatever"s on your mind.” I noticed a moment where Dr. Castle considered my words, then saw my father step to the podium.

“Monroe thinks the world of herself and has made it clear to everyone at Braxton how she got her job. An intelligent, savvy young man should easily recognize the elevator does not go all the way to the top floor in that woman"s head.” As she pivoted to leave, the boom of the microphone resounded.

I found it funny the way she called the woman Monroe. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Castle. I look forward to chatting again soon, but we need to gather around the center floor.” I extended my hand in the stage"s direction and watched her head lift higher and her nose wrinkle as though something odorous wafted by.

Monroe“Trust me. Stay clear of her. While you"re in town, also be careful not to associate too closely with the Ayrwicks. They might be on top right now, but it won"t be for long, I"m confident.”

I shrugged and stepped in the opposite direction. Wait until I told Eleanor and Nana D all about Dr. Myriam Castle. Would they know any gossip about the woman? I needed to find out what this feud was all about. I sent a text to Abby asking when we could meet. She confirmed quickly, suggesting nine in the foyer, when the party ended.

nine in the foyerMy father"s speech was better than I"d expected, as was Councilman Stanton"s brief but remarkable words. Perhaps I could overlook the flimsy handshake if his verbal skills were a strong counterbalance. Dinner was relatively tasty—chicken cordon bleu, rice pilaf, and steamed asparagus. I saw a vegetarian dish at a few tables too. Kudos to my mother for remembering other people"s needs and preferences. Ever since she"d developed a shellfish allergy, she became much more attentive to food choices.