Braxton Campus Mysteries Collection - Books 1-4

Chapter 6-1

After my five-mile run later that afternoon, I found my father sitting in his office drinking a glass of Macallan scotch and watching the sunset over the Wharton Mountains. It looked like the bottle I"d given him at Christmas was at least half empty, which meant for once he"d enjoyed one of my holiday gifts. I declined his offer since scotch after a run never settled well in my stomach. I was also starving and needed to eat something before I passed out. “Maybe next time. I"m gonna heat some party leftovers for dinner. Are you hungry?”

“I had an early meal with your mother before she went back to the campus. The final deadline is this week for notifying students who"ve been accepted for the next term. Not that I"ll be the one welcoming them to Braxton,” he replied in a somber tone while swallowing a mouthful of liquor. I could hear the melancholy oozing through the burn of the scotch.

It hadn"t occurred to my overworked and distracted brain he"d be sad to retire. If I"d worked tirelessly for forty years, sitting on my rear end doing nothing for a few months would be a welcome change. “That"s the problem with this younger generation. Can"t put in a full day"s work without complaining,” Nana D would likely chastise. “Chin up, Dad. You"ve got a lot to look forward to after the big day. The new president will want you to stick around to help settle in, right?”

That"s the problem with this younger generation. Can"t put in a full day"s work without complaining,He nodded. I waited for him to keep talking, but the scotch and the silence in the room overtook the possibility of him leading our conversation. “Any traction with the search for a new head honcho?”

“The Board finished all the interviews and asked me to meet with the final two candidates again this week. I"m not at liberty to provide details, but they"ve been considering internal and external options. I"m partial to one candidate. We"re doing separate group panels with them both tomorrow before we make the final decision.” He swung the chair away from the window and narrowed his eyes. “How long are you planning on staying this time, Kellan?”

I"d been theorizing when he"d ask that question. He"d suggested a few times over the Christmas break it"d be beneficial for Emma to be around both sets of grandparents. I thought for a moment he"d discovered my late wife"s dirty family secrets, but if that were true, he"d not yet revealed it to me. “I"m trying to figure that out. I have work that might keep me here for the rest of the week.”

“I see.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“So, I was trying to get hold of you last night after finding Abby"s body at Diamond Hall.”

My father cleared his throat. “The ringer was off, so I could enjoy the party in peace. I didn"t realize you"d been desperately trying to find me,” he replied in a bitter tone, pouring another scotch and opening his laptop.

Ouch! I wasn"t sure what I"d said to deserve his scathing retort, but I"d obviously hit a nerve. “I wasn"t desperate. Just curious about who killed Abby Monroe.”

My father dismissed me through a combination of shrugging, lifting his eyebrows, and ignoring me as he typed away on the computer. I wanted to find out where he was and whom he"d threatened on the phone the night I arrived, but I took my cue and ate dinner in the kitchen by myself. Should I abandon the investigation or jump in deeper to protect someone I knew?

* * *

I"d fallen asleep in bed the night before while surfing the internet and reading the show bible for a second time, but at least I"d been able to ascertain several interesting facts about the late professor, or Monroe, as Myriam Castle referred to her. I"d researched that churlish woman too.

Monroe,Abby had spent most of her life specializing in broadcasting and media studies, following a similar post-undergraduate degree path as me. As near as I could figure, Abby was at least fifteen years older than me. Although I"d made it to Hollywood, she"d worked in the academic world her entire adult career, hopping from college to college until settling at Braxton nearly ten years ago. She started right after I"d graduated and was promoted to chairman of the communications department when the incumbent retired. At Braxton, the communications department included media and broadcasting, literature, theater, writing, public relations, and art majors. Abby taught three courses this semester—Intro to Film, History of Television Production, and Broadcast Writing.

It surprised me to discover Myriam Castle was one of the professors who worked for Abby in the communications department. Her specialty was literature and theater productions, which made sense given her exaggerated facial expressions at the retirement party. On paper, Dr. Castle was clearly more qualified to be running the department, but Abby had been put in the role before Dr. Castle joined Braxton. No wonder there was tension between the women. It would be an interesting discussion with my father when he graciously stepped off his high horse and spoke to me again.

I"d also found a website where Abby referred to co-authoring articles in a widely published journal with her husband, Alton Monroe. The news filled in a blank from a scrap of paper I"d seen on Officer Flatman"s desk at the sheriff"s office. Could Alton be someone to provide a copy of Abby"s Dark Reality notes? I cross-checked the names with online directories and located an address on the north side of the county. I made a note to swing by while on campus meeting Lorraine and Maggie later that day.

Dark Reality?I braved the near-freezing temperature and dodged a few icicles dropping off the roofline as I hopped in the Jeep. Twenty minutes later, I found a lucky parking spot down the street from the Braxton Campus Security (BCS) office.

The last time I"d been there was after a rival fraternity, the Omega Delta Omicrons, complained we were having a loud party our senior year. I"d spent forty-five minutes trying to convince the previous security director not to report us to Fern Terry, the Dean of Student Affairs, but he wouldn"t budge. I"d left his office after a few less-than-kind words that evening and found myself with a slap on the wrist the following morning when Dean Terry told me my childish word choices had disappointed her. Was she one of the two final candidates vying for Braxton"s presidency? Maybe I should stop by the administration office to check if she still worked on campus. I hadn"t seen her at the party, yet I assumed she would"ve shown up if she was employed at Braxton.

As I walked up the cobblestone pathway, I considered what kind of security director Connor would be. He was always the goody-two-shoes who cautioned not to let the fraternity get into trouble, but he"d protect me from taking the fall on my own when we"d been caught doing something wrong. Not that any wrongdoings happened often, but Connor was a dependable and honorable guy. In theory, it made sense that he went into security work, yet I had trouble imagining him sitting on the opposite side of college administration.

I stepped into the foyer of the single-story security building and gave it the once-over. Little had changed, possibly a coat of fresh paint and a series of new digital cameras and computer systems. Connor stepped out of his office, no longer looking uncomfortable in a tan suit and Braxton tie; now he busted out of his sports coat and jeans. “Kellan, I didn"t expect to see you today. What"s going on?”

“Got time for a cup of coffee? My treat.” I hoped he"d take me up on the offer. When he nodded and told a student worker to call him promptly with any issues, I realized Connor had become an admirable and responsible adult.

He suggested The Big Beanery on South Campus. I was more than happy to visit our old stomping grounds. The car ride took less than five minutes because he was in a BCS vehicle, and everyone stopped to let him through the streets first. Must be good to have that kind of power—even come in handy one day if I needed his help.

When we arrived, Connor grabbed a table while I ordered two black coffees. I"d wanted creamer in mine, or even a cappuccino, but when he mumbled something about too much sugar, I followed suit and pulled up a chair across from him. “So, working in security at Braxton. That"s quite a leap from what we used to do on campus ten years ago, huh?”

His laugh was hearty and deep. “Ten years is a long time. People mature. You"ve done some changing yourself. Seems like you even frequent the gym now.”

“Well, no competing with you, man. You look like a brick wall!” I assumed he could throw me across the room. Not that I"d do anything to encourage it, but I"d be glad to have him on my side in any bar fight or street brawl. I had an urge to call him Double-O-Seven.

Double-O-Seven“I"ve always wondered what happened to you. We sort of lost touch, huh?” he asked after taking a giant sip of his coffee. His eyes continually scanned the room behind me as if he were looking for someone. It"s probably a normal thing for the head of security to always check out his surroundings. “Gotta admit, it pissed me off when you left town that summer. I know you went off to grad school, but you were my best friend back then.”

“Yeah, I felt bad about it. Life has this funny way of making decisions you don"t understand at the time. When I look back, I had some growing up to do, didn"t I?” I suspected Connor carried a grudge over the past. I might have a harder time trying to reestablish a friendship than expected.

A few students waved at him. It looked like a girl was trying to flirt. If he noticed, he ignored her. We reminisced about our last decade. Connor had spent a year living in Anguilla with his mother"s family to rebuild after a series of devastating hurricanes took its toll on the people living on nearby islands. He"d also worked as a police officer in Philadelphia for several years, then left the force after dealing with too many violent g**g fights and deaths. It was a year ago when he"d heard about the opening at Braxton.

“Married, kids?”

“A daughter.” I always hated that question. It"s never easy telling someone you lost your wife to a drunk driver. They inevitably felt uncomfortable about asking, then you felt weird for delivering the awful news. No one should feel bad except the i***t who stepped into his car after drinking a six-pack and thinking he was totally fine to drive. To this day, they hadn"t caught the hit-and-run driver.

We covered more basics. He was still single, dated on and off through the years, but nothing serious. I got the distinct impression when Maggie came up that he"d been smitten with her since she"d returned from Boston. While I was in no frame of mind to consider anything more than rebuilding a friendship with Maggie, somehow the thought of her being with someone else didn"t sit well. I changed the topic to Abby"s death.

“I"m not sure I"d have the latest. Murder is the authority of Wharton County. Sheriff Montague"s been in contact to discuss protocol, but we haven"t established all the boundaries.” Connor confirmed they were still searching for signs of a struggle other than the gash in Abby"s head.