Mistaken Identity Crisis E-Book

James J. Cudney

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A clever thief with a sinister calling card has invaded Braxton campus.

Meanwhile, a string of jewelry thefts, remarkably similar to an unsolved eight-year-old-case, is taking place in town. When a body is discovered at the campus, Kellan is called in to investigate.

And if the latest murder isn't enough to keep him busy, Kellan partners with April to end the Castigliano and Vargas crime family feud. As the summer heat begins to settle in Wharton County, what other surprises are in store?

Leseprobe

Mistaken Identity Crisis

Braxton Campus Mystery Book 4

James J. Cudney

Copyright (C) 2019 James J. Cudney

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Acknowledgments

Writing a book is not an achievement an individual person can accomplish on his or her own. There are always people who contribute in a multitude of ways, sometimes unwittingly, throughout the journey from discovering the idea to drafting the last word. Mistaken Identity Crisis: A Braxton Campus Mystery has had many supporters since its inception in February 2019, but before the concept even sparked in my mind, my passion for writing was nurtured by others.

First thanks go to my parents, Jim and Pat, for always believing in me as a writer as well as teaching me how to become the person I am today. Their unconditional love and support have been the primary reason I'm accomplishing my goals. Through the guidance of my extended family and friends, who consistently encouraged me to pursue my passion, I found the confidence to take chances in life. With Winston and Baxter by my side, I was granted the opportunity to make my dreams of publishing this novel come true. I'm grateful to everyone for pushing me each day to complete this sixth book.

Mistaken Identity Crisis was cultivated through the interaction, feedback, and input of several talented beta readers. I'd like to thank Laura Albert, Mary Deal, Misty Swafford, Anne Jacobs, Nina D. Silva, Carla @ CarlaLovesToRead, Tyler Colins, Anne Foster, Lisa M. Berman, and Valerie for supplying insight and perspective during the development of the story, setting, and character arcs. I am indebted to them for finding all the proofreading misses, grammar mistakes, and awkward phrases. A major thanks to Tyler for encouraging me to be stronger in my word choice and providing several pages of suggestions to convert good language into fantastic language! A special call-out goes to Shalini for countless conversations helping me to fine-tune every aspect of the setting, characters, and plot. She read every version and offered a tremendous amount of her time to advise me on this book over several weeks. I am beyond grateful for her help. Any mistakes are my own from misunderstanding our discussions.

Much gratitude to all my friends and mentors at Moravian College. Although no murders have ever taken place there, the setting of this series is loosely based on my former multi-campus school set in Pennsylvania. Most of the locations are completely fabricated, but the concept of Millionaire's Mile exists. I only made up the name, grand estates, and cable car system.

Thank you to Creativia / Next Chapter for publishing Mistaken Identity Crisis and paving the road for more books to come. I look forward to our continued partnership.

Welcome to Braxton, Wharton County (Map drawn by Timothy J. R. Rains, Cartographer)

Who's Who in the Braxton Campus Mysteries?

Ayrwick Family

Kellan: Main Character, Braxton professor, amateur sleuthWesley: Kellan's father, Braxton's retired PresidentViolet: Kellan's mother, Braxton's Admissions DirectorEmma: Kellan's daughter with FrancescaEleanor: Kellan's younger sister, owns Pick-Me-Up DinerGabriel: Kellan's younger brother, dating SamNana D: Kellan's grandmother, also known as Seraphina DanbyDeirdre Danby: Kellan's aunt, Nana D's daughter, Timothy's fiancéeFrancesca Castigliano: Kellan's estranged wifeVincenzo & Cecilia Castigliano: Francesca's parents, run the mob

Braxton Campus

Ursula Power: President, Myriam's wifeMyriam Castle: Chair of Communications Dept., Ursula's wifeFern Terry: Dean of Student Affairs, Arthur's momArthur Terry: Engaged to Jennifer, Fern's sonMaggie Roarke: Head Librarian, dating Connor, Helena's sisterQuint Crawford: Electrician, Bertha's sonRaquel Salvado: Current studentImogene Grey: Lara's daughter, Paul's fiancée, former college sorority girlSiobhan Walsh: Office Manager, current studentKrissy Stanton: Marcus's daughter, former college sorority girl

Wharton County Residents

Cristiano Vargas: Runs the mob, kidnapped FrancescaBertha Crawford: Quint's mother, Silas's brother-in-lawTiffany Nutberry: Lydia's daughter, former college sorority girlLydia Nutberry: Tiffany's mother, runs Whispering Pines Funeral HomeHelena Roarke: Maggie's sister, former college sorority girlNicholas Endicott: Construction company owner, former college studentKaren Stoddard: Restaurant ownerCheney Stoddard: Karen's son, was dating HelenaTimothy Paddington: Deirdre's fiancé, Jennifer's brotherEustacia Paddington: Head of Paddington family, aunt to Jennifer and TimJennifer Paddington: Engaged to Arthur, Timothy's sisterSam Taft: Dating Gabriel, nephew to Jennifer and TimothyChef Manny: Cook at Eleanor's diner

Wharton County Administration

Silas Crawford: Former Sheriff, Bertha's brother-in-lawApril Montague: Current SheriffConnor Hawkins: Detective, Kellan's best friend, dating MaggiePaul Dodd: New Braxton Town Councilman, Imogene's fiancéMarcus Stanton: Former Braxton Town Councilman, Krissy's fatherJudge Grey: Wharton County Magistrate, Imogene's grandfatherLara Bouvier: Reporter, Imogene's mother

Chapter 1

“The first time we met, I knew you'd cause me to gray prematurely,” April griped while clawing at clumps of her brassy blonde hair and squeezing her golden badge until a star-shaped imprint marked her left palm. “But I honestly thought I'd have a better chance at predicting the Pennsylvania state lottery numbers before guessing you'd paint a bullseye on your own forehead for the Castigliano mob family. Seriously, Kellan, you've made a royal mess of this situation. Are they gonna take potshots at me next?”

We bantered steadfastly in her downtown office at the Wharton County administrative building with the door glued shut. Very few people knew what'd happened to my supposedly dead wife, Francesca. I shrugged and offered my best apology face, which unintentionally resembled a confused puppy in search of a warm place to sleep, rather than a truly sorrowful man who'd never intended to wreak such havoc. “We've covered this several times in the last three weeks. I should've immediately informed you that Francesca's family faked her death. I didn't know what to do until that last note from Cristiano Vargas confirmed they'd kidnapped her as a revenge tactic to punish the Castiglianos.” I rested both hands and my chin on the heavily papered desk, grinned widely as if my jaw were about to unhinge, and blinked twice through stylish glasses to endear myself to the sheriff.

At least she'd stopped calling me Little Ayrwick. Of all the nicknames I'd heard during my thirty-two years, that was the most insulting. There was nothing little about me anymore. Upon graduating from Braxton a decade ago, I'd transformed from an awkward middle child in a complex, overachieving family into what many women eagerly deemed a devilishly handsome and well-built guy blessed with clever wit and a charming personality. Don't get me wrong, I'm not an egomaniac. I've merely settled into myself and accepted the positive and the negative. Lately, there were tons more negative than I cared to tolerate. At least Nana D still called me brilliant one, which melted my heart every time.

“That's your apology?” April vigorously shook her head and slammed a Tweety Bird coffee mug on the desk's smooth metal surface. Drops of cold, muddy brown liquid splashed across it and landed on my upper lip. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that,” she whined repentantly while handing me a napkin from a squeaky drawer. “Oh, and in case you forgot, that's how you ask for forgiveness.”

Had it not been for the tiniest of curls at the sides of her sarcastic mouth, I wouldn't have known April was teasing me. We'd spent an inordinate amount of time joined at the hip, organizing everything that'd happened in the last two-and-a-half years since the accident. Okay, backstory time—Francesca and I had arrived separately at a Thanksgiving party because I'd been working out of town earlier in the week. Our daughter, Emma, begged to ride home with me—a monumental blessing in disguise—rather than her mother. Little did I know at the time, Francesca's parents, Vincenzo and Cecilia Castigliano, had orchestrated the entire façade. When I received the call that my wife had been struck and killed by a drunk driver, I did my best to rally with the help of Nana D, my five-foot-tall spitfire grandmother. Meanwhile, Francesca lived covertly in the Castigliano mansion until her parents could divine a way to resolve the turf war with Las Vargas, the rival mafia family controlling much of the West Coast. Two years had zipped by without a viable solution or anyone learning their secret.

A few months ago, Emma and I moved back home to Braxton, the small town in north-central Pennsylvania where I'd been raised and now worked as an assistant professor specializing in communications and film studies. Francesca chose that moment to materialize from hiding, jealous and angry about the sudden inability to watch her daughter grow up in LA. After I refused to hibernate in captivity, she took off, letting her parents and me think she was visiting all the places we'd once vacationed in—a blissful trip down memory lane. At some point, Cristiano Vargas had discovered Francesca was alive, captured my not-so-dead wife, and forced her to mail postcards from every location to dangle us in a state of confusion. Now, we pondered their next move.

“I'm sorry, April. I know you intended to leave this spectacle of intense drama when you relocated from Buffalo, but I'm confident we'll find a solution.” I wiped the coffee from my lip and internally chuckled over her persnickety comments. “I should teach you to brew a better cup of joe. I guess it's true that cops will drink any sludge someone—”

“Don't continue with that stereotypical, inflammatory insult unless you want me to handcuff you to my desk and head out for the day!” April released a long pent-up sigh and shuffled through stained papers in a worn manila folder. “Let's focus on our next steps. The Castiglianos will soon arrive in Braxton, and they better have answers. I agreed not to formally include the FBI until we received an official ransom request. We also need proof Francesca is alive before they'll get further involved.”

April and I hadn't been friends previously, especially because I'd unexpectedly solved four murders sooner than she had—not a helpful icebreaker for our relationship. She mostly viewed me as a prickly thorn that irritated every nerve in her body. We'd brokered a tepid alliance in the last three weeks, and I convinced myself that the intense display of awe-inducing fireworks in her office, when our fingers had accidentally brushed against one another, was only a freakish blip on the radar. Then, a visceral flash of lightning surged inside my body and a sensual, steamy dream left me quite flushed and bewildered. I was technically still married and shouldn't have welcomed those types of thoughts about other women, right?

Once the war ended between the two families, Francesca could reveal herself to the rest of the world, and we'd deal with the repercussions. I only cared about the impact on our seven-year-old daughter. Emma didn't deserve this level of pain and confusion. Neither did I, but in the few encounters I'd already had with Francesca upon her triumphant reincarnation, it'd grown clear we were both different people. As a good Catholic—my family attended church on Sundays—divorce was a tricky solution. I knew I loved Francesca, but I was no longer in love with her. After all the lies and deception, how could I forgive her? Yes, her life had been in danger from Las Vargas, but she could've told me the truth years ago. I'd only discovered the reality of her shady family business by accident after she 'died.'

“Cristiano's latest update said he'd contact me soon with next steps. Maybe he'll offer easily attainable ransom terms for the Castiglianos. Then, this whole mess will blow over.” All remaining confidence drained from my body with each reticent word. “Ugh! Why am I in the middle of this quandary? Las Vargas should work directly with Francesca's parents for her safe release.”

“Excellent point. Perhaps your uniquely innate charm just begs for more attention? Regardless, I'm collecting evidence on the Castigliano drug-trafficking exploits to put them away for good. Someone will go to prison over this entire ordeal. I won't be able to protect her, you know,” April said convincingly with a pointed stare. “I get she's your wife, but the mafia princess committed several crimes. I'm glad you never collected any insurance payments upon her death.”

“I was a fool not to ask more questions about her background when we'd met.” Although my immediate family members were a fantastic crew, the Ayrwicks also liked to pry into each other's business much too often. When I'd moved to Los Angeles to escape their clutches, an all-encompassing, powerful first love had blinded me from recognizing the truth. Francesca and I married way too quickly, and before long, I'd obtained my PhD, gotten a job as an assistant director at a Hollywood television show, and become a father upon Emma's arrival in this world. We lived a good life, but I'd always known something important was missing between Francesca and me.

“We'll sort it out, Kellan. You're going through a lot, but you can't tell anyone else until we dismantle Las Vargas. Anyway, I have to follow up on another jewelry heist that happened last week.”

“I've been meaning to ask Nana D about those pesky robberies. Anything you can share?”

April swallowed heavily. “Jewelry was stolen. Victims are unhappy. Is that what you need to know, oh holy meddlesome one? Don't even think about inserting yourself into another one of my—”

“Blah, blah, blah. I read the papers and have some clue, April. I'll just ask Nana D. She tends to dig up the latest facts. I vaguely recall something about an unusual calling card being left behind, right?”

“I'd rather not discuss it. The ineptitude of the former sheriff still infuriates me. My predecessor had a penchant for burying facts from his townspeople.” April grunted and shook her head.

“Nana D claims he took bribes to hide petty crimes,” I said, hoping to keep her talking about it. “Maybe you and I should compare notes about the case. I have been helpful in the past.”

“And we're officially done here,” April muttered as she advanced toward me with alarming concentration in her eyes. “Let's talk tomorrow about your wife's kidnapping.” Moist, hot breath from her lips passed over mine, and her skin smelled like black peppercorns and coriander—spicy yet fresh.

Although tempting comfort swayed between us like a pendulum jam-packed with uncertainty over its destination, I retreated before April and I approached a line we weren't prepared to cross. Too many intimate moments had encircled us lately, and I couldn't fathom how to properly interpret them. “Sure, I'll update you as soon as I hear from Cristiano.”

Leaving her office, I noticed my reflection in the shiny glass pane of the door. Several days of dirty-blond stubble peppered my cheeks and chin, and dark circles occupied the sunken spaces below my disconcerted blue eyes. At least I'd managed to comb my frequently untamable hair, so I didn't look horribly disheveled. Nana D would slap my bottom silly—her words, not mine—for drawing shame to her, especially now that she'd won the election to become the new mayor of Wharton County.

* * *

Later that Saturday afternoon, I drove to Wellington Park in Millner Place to celebrate Nana D's seventy-fifth birthday in style with the party of the century. Millner Place and Braxton made up two of the four towns in Wharton County—the others, Woodland in the northwest and Lakeview in the northeast. Ninety miles south of Buffalo, New York, our county was one of the earliest settlements in Pennsylvania and had been founded by my ancestors.

“Is today the double wedding, Daddy?” Emma asked as I steered the SUV into a narrow spot.

Aunt Deirdre, a famous novelist and one of my mother's siblings, had returned from England and coordinated Nana D's party while simultaneously planning her own upcoming nuptials to Timothy Paddington, an international business mogul.

“Nope, that's in two weeks on Independence Day,” I reminded my precocious daughter. Timothy's sister was also engaged, prompting their family to suggest a double wedding to make it easy on all the guests. Both couples had only recently met one another, and it made more sense as a way to reunite the Paddington family who'd experienced several traumatic events earlier in the year. “Do you know what Independence Day is about, honey?”

When Emma nodded with enthusiasm, mahogany-brown pigtails bounced feverishly against her slightly chubby, olive-tinted cheeks. My mother had located a picture of seven-year-old Nana D and designed a matching outfit for my daughter since Emma looked so much like her at that age. “We talked about it on the last day of school. It's when we shoot firecrackers into the sky!”

“Yes, that's part of it, but it's also when we became our own country. Aunt Deirdre thought it would be amusing to shed her independence on the same day America officially separated from England two-and-a-half centuries ago,” I explained. Having lived there for half her life, Aunt Deirdre deemed herself British for all intents and purposes. She also lived inside her head where she dreamed up Victorian romances all day. Ply my aunt with more than two glasses of wine and her American roots were more obvious than the henna rinse in Nana D's wild, three-foot-long braids.

“That sounds like an adult joke. I don't get it.” Emma gave a thumbs-down symbol. “When will Nonna and Nonno be here?” My daughter referred to Francesca's parents by the Italian words for a grandparent. Her hazelnut-brown eyes were darkening this summer, highlighting how much she also resembled her mother before my wife had adopted various disguises. Emma was being kept far away from any conversation about her not-so-dead mother, something even the Castiglianos had easily agreed to with everything exploding around us.

“Monday evening.” I grabbed her hand and rambled toward Wellington Park. Nana D had chosen the cherished location across the Finnulia River, touting it as a critical place to rebuild. She'd also promised free ice cream every weekend in her campaign speeches during the mayoral election. “Look, here's Uncle Gabriel,” I added when my brother caught up with us at the tree-lined entranceway.

At a complicated and sentimental family dinner earlier in the month, Gabriel had announced his unexpected homecoming and the not-so-earth-shattering news that he was gay. Not surprisingly, the Ayrwicks openly welcomed him back into their fold with minimal concern. My mother cried the entire time at her youngest son returning to the roost. Our older siblings couldn't visit for that dinner or for Nana D's birthday party, but I hadn't expected them to travel. When both had mentioned they would come back for the birthday party or the double wedding, Nana D vehemently insisted on the wedding.

“Emma? It can't be! She's grown two feet in the last few days,” Gabriel teased while picking up my best girl and swinging her from side to side. In observance of the warm late June weather, Gabriel donned a pair of dressy long shorts and a collared, black polo shirt. One of his many tattoos peeked out from the shirt's sleeve as his taut, muscular arms carried Emma in near-perfect circles.

“It's too fuzzy! Does it hurt?” Emma giggled as she touched his lip piercing and trim, dark-blond beard. He was four glorious years younger than me, as he always reminded me, but our semblance remained uncannily similar. Although he projected a mysterious and rugged appearance, I erred toward the clean-cut side—except for days like today when I hadn't shaved. I secretly clung to the worthy excuse of dealing with a back-from-the-dead wife. Also, Gabriel had been accepted by the family and was currently the favored, treasured sibling whom our parents and Nana D couldn't stop fawning over. Even our father, the resolute Wesley Ayrwick, seemed overjoyed at his prodigal son's return.

“Nope! But you can't get a tattoo either, I already asked your daddy. He's a party pooper,” Gabriel responded, smiling as his boyfriend, Sam Taft, meandered to his side. After releasing Emma, who excitedly jumped to the ground, Gabriel shrugged and narrowed his eyes at me. “Isn't that so, brother?”

I shot a spectacular warning look at him. He earned only one of those before I'd tackle him for saying such nonsensical and controversial things to Emma. I'd already mandated she wasn't allowed to wear makeup or jewelry, go on a date, or talk to a boy—or a girl, if that's what she decided—until she turned eighteen. I wasn't overprotective. I was cautiously aware and attentive. At least that's how I justified my helicopter parenting. “Why don't you and Sam find Auntie Eleanor? I need to remind Uncle Gabriel about the many afternoons he spent sprawled on the dirty ground as a dumb teenager.”

Sam, the essence of compassion, cocked his head and groaned. “Will you two ever grow up? I'm younger than you both yet more mature than the combination.” To Emma, he said, “Let's go, bean sprout. Grow some legs and race me to the deejay. I bet I can do a better Chicken Dance than you!”

During my distraction while watching them take off, clucking and flapping their arms at their sides, Gabriel tackled me and jumped on my back and shoulders. “Like this, you mean?” he shouted before hooking his legs around my waist, pressuring me to fall, and torturing me with a noogie.

We tossed each other back and forth for fifteen seconds, each of us trying to gain and maintain the upper hand. We only stopped when Nana D intervened and chastised us.

“What is wrong with the two of you? Can't you act like civilized men instead of delinquents who don't know any better?” As we separated, she grabbed each of us by an ear with nimble hands, lowered our heads until they were closer to her own height, and held us side by side. For a moment, we expected a harangue over our behavior, even though we were completely goofing off and not at all fighting. Then, she released our ears and gave us both noogies. “Ha, got you both!”

“Not cool, Nana D,” Gabriel shouted, rubbing his head after escaping her bizarrely strong grip.

“That's not very becoming of a new county mayor. You should be ashamed of yourself,” I added.

“Pish! I'm glad to have two of my grandsons back home. You have no idea what it means to this middle-aged lady to spend quality time with you before I—”

“Move into the Willow Trees retirement complex?” Gabriel interrupted saucily.

The sly smile plastered across his face was more than I could handle. I burst out laughing, grateful he'd said something sarcastic instead of me. Middle-aged at seventy-five? Nana D had not only pushed the envelope, but she sent it reeling over the edge of a cliff to its ultimate death on arrival.

“Gabriel, if you want to keep on living at Danby Landing, you better shut your pie hole. I'll kick you out as quickly as I offered you a temporary place to crash,” Nana D reprimanded, hugging him and kissing his cheek. “I've got big-time control now that I run this county.”

After squashing Town Councilman Marcus Stanton in a landslide victory, Nana D wouldn't stop reminding everyone about the power she'd gained. Of course, she only planned to use it for good, but there was something unnerving and dubious about a woman with a Napoleon complex wielding control over us. “Everyone here already?” I inquired as we marched into the park like wooden soldiers.

“Yes, I'm sorry my other grandchildren couldn't attend. I also wish my two sons could make time for their mother, but I'm glad to have some of my family here to celebrate with,” Nana D said, fighting back a small whimper. She wasn't sentimental very often, but on a grand occasion like a seventy-fifth birthday, the well-hidden side of my nana's personality snuck out for a brief respite.

For the remainder of the afternoon, we shared stories of Nana D's past and presented her with a custom-made drawing of our family tree dating back to the 1600s, the earliest records she'd been able to trace of her ancestors. A local artist specialized in transferring computer-generated genealogical family trees to a 3D-like graphical print format. Everyone had chipped in to make Nana D's birthday as extraordinary as she was to us. Even my father made a brief announcement about how, despite their fervent and frequent disagreements, she was a remarkable woman and a treasure to the family and the county. She frowned when he said ancient treasure, and I knew she'd engineer a way to implement revenge. There'd be a summons from the mayor's office in his mailbox when she officially took charge the following week. As I said, her Napoleon complex was going to have an infinite impact on our lives.

After a delicious picnic spread and tons of games, we watched brilliant colors cascade across the sky as the sun set. Sam exited to join a dinner party with his mother, and Gabriel indicated an urgency to check on something at the lab where he worked. His questionable timing prompted me to suspect he suffered from a hangover and needed to sleep it off. Emma requested a sleepover at my parents' house, the Royal Chic-Shack, and departed with them. Although Aunt Deirdre had driven Nana D to Wellington Park, she'd wandered away an hour earlier with Timothy to discuss wedding preparations. I was graciously assigned responsibility for getting my nana home safely.

Other guests exited too, lamenting the few remaining hours before ushering in a new workweek. While many of my colleagues from Braxton College had attended the celebration, I hardly had time to socialize with them. Nana D had insisted Emma and I stick close to her side most of the afternoon. Did she want me nearby to prevent another small breakdown, or had she known I was distracted thinking about Francesca's disappearance?

“Penny for your thoughts, brilliant one?” she asked while we loaded her gifts in the trunk.

Nana D had been present when the final postcard and new puppy, a gift notifying me that Las Vargas had kidnapped my wife, had arrived. She supported me while I'd contacted April, in her official role as the sheriff of Wharton County, to ask for help. “It feels like this was my last moment with Emma before I rip off the Band-Aid. How do you tell a little girl her mother isn't dead, and that the woman chose to leave her?” I sighed with exasperation and leaned my head against the side of the SUV.

“You tell her the truth, Kellan. She's your daughter, which makes her brilliant, remember? Francesca caused this debacle, and you'll need to wait for her to resurface. When she does, I plan to give that little harpy a piece of my mind!” Nana D smiled at me and stepped into the SUV's passenger seat, unfazed by the entire kidnapping tribulation. “I have faith you'll determine the best approach—”

Nana D was interrupted when Connor Hawkins, a good friend who'd recently changed jobs from Braxton College's security director to a Wharton County Sheriff's Office detective, approached us. “Happy Birthday, Nana D! What are you now, a half-century?” he said with an infectious beam of excitement gushing on his chiseled face. While I was usually a pasty and pale-skinned kinda guy who couldn't ever find the proper length of time for a good suntan, Connor inherited the perfect balance of skin color from his South African father and Caribbean mother. It even offset his brooding, stormy eyes, as he selflessly and frequently pointed out. Called an Adonis by some, to me he was the mere mortal who managed my workouts so that someday, I might look more like him. Don't tell him I admitted that!

I stepped to the side to let him embrace my grandmother. They'd known each other for a long time since Connor and I had grown up together. While we'd lost touch when I moved to LA, we'd bonded again in the last few months. “I'm glad you stopped by. I worried we'd missed you.”

“Sorry about that, Kellan. I'm still pulling double duty until the college finds my replacement. Just finished organizing the team for the upcoming week, and now I'm headed out on a call. There's been another jewelry heist,” Connor explained as he elbowed the passenger door shut.

“That's awful. Who was it this time?” Nana D settled into her seat and pulled out her phone to make notes. Through the open window, she said, “I was alarmed before, but this is the third one, right?”

Connor replied, “Fourth, ma'am. I suppose I can fill you in on the little I know from today, especially since you're soon to be our new mayor. The Grey family was hit hard this time.”

The Greys, a prominent and wealthy clan, controlled a sizable portion of the county. Judge Hiram Grey, a few years younger than Nana D, sat on the bench for over thirty years. I'd taught his granddaughter the previous semester before she'd graduated from Braxton. “What did the perp steal?”

“I'm not sure. A uniformed officer was called to the scene, but once he realized who it was and what'd really happened, the sergeant contacted me. I'm on my way now.” Connor responded on one of his many technical communication devices that he'd be onsite in ten minutes.

“Was anyone hurt?” Nana D asked as I shook Connor's hand to say goodbye.

“Yes, Imogene Grey is being treated by the paramedics for a head injury. She caught the assailant trying to abscond with a piece of her jewelry and endeavored to stop him before he escaped. I'll let you know later tonight if I find out anything more, Your Honor.”

Once Connor took off, I boarded the SUV and buckled my seatbelt. “It's getting out of control, huh? Imogene is one of the students in my summer session starting Monday.”

“You don't know the half of it, Kellan. This seems inexplicably analogous to the last time we had those unruly jewelry thefts in Braxton. Imogene's mother, Lara, was here recording some video of the party for a news segment. She was one of the victims during the previous round,” Nana D harrumphed.

“That's right, I forgot. You never did tell me what happened.” Lara Bouvier, a reporter for the local news outlet, WCLN, had been married to one of Judge Grey's sons years ago. Their daughter, Imogene, had lived in France for a big part of her life. Imogene was the cousin of my former student, Carla, who'd just graduated and become an art dealer. “I don't think I've ever met Imogene.”

“Sure, you did. She used to run around with Gabriel when they attended Braxton together. Come to think of it, that's the last time those jewelry heists occurred. They stopped right before Gabriel vanished during that nasty thunderstorm.” Nana D cracked her knuckles, lost in a pensive reflection. “Oh, you weren't around then, my mistake. Let's head home, brilliant one. It's been a long day.”

“Are you hinting at something with that comment?” Gabriel had been secretive since his return, and he'd grown darker and more evasive, but he was a good guy at heart. That I was positive about.

“I'm not really up for talking about it this weekend, Kellan. Why don't you drop me off and come for brunch on Monday when I'm more relaxed? My schedule is slammed with meetings all day tomorrow for the upcoming inauguration.”

I had no choice but to grudgingly consent to Nana D's wishes. It was her birthday. She made it acutely clear she wasn't up for discussing it tonight, and I could only handle one melodrama at a time. As we left Wellington Park, a couple dashed across the street and into the park, neglecting to check for any oncoming traffic. I slammed on my horn to warn them, and they briefly looked up with shocked expressions before blocking their faces from my headlights. Given their rush and my focus on the larger surroundings, I hadn't gotten a solid glance at them.

“What's he doing with her?” Nana D mumbled, scrabbling the side of her head.

“Who?” I watched them disappear on a walkway heading south once they crossed the street.

“That was Paul Dodd, Imogene's fiancé. Shouldn't he be home attending to her after the robbery? Not running around with some other woman!” Nana D reproved before reminding me Paul had been elected the new town councilman of Braxton, assuming the role from Marcus Stanton.

“Maybe he was rushing to get home to Imogene?”

“Heading into the park? Nah… and he's supposed to be a stand-up guy. I can't be certain, but the woman he left with looked like Krissy Stanton, Marcus's troublesome daughter.”

Krissy was another student in my upcoming class, which made their sneaky behavior sound as suspicious as that persistent deer invading Nana D's orchard and stealing heaps of ripening fruit. Marcus had threatened to cause a rumpus and wouldn't acknowledge Nana D had officially won the race. He lived next door to us, hence why I also suspected him of being that deer! “Want to follow them?”

“No, I've got ways to elicit the truth from Paul Dodd, Braxton's supposedly perfect politician and model citizen. Leave it to me.” Nana D tapped the dashboard and directed me which way to drive home. “Something's fishy in the state of Pennsylvania. And it ain't your father's feet this time, Kellan.”

Chapter 2

I spent the following morning preparing for my new class, speeding through the lesson plans and syllabus to ensure maximum quality time with my daughter when I visited my parents. Gabriel and Eleanor played various board games with us that afternoon. Even my folks joined in for several rounds of cards and dominoes. Knowing I still had a few hours of work to complete before classes began the next day, I accepted my mother's offer to watch Emma for another night. My daughter reveled in glory, which was all that mattered to me in the insufferable situation with the Castiglianos and Las Vargas.

The evening and my work passed by expeditiously, enabling me to suggest meeting for a beer to Connor. I secretly wanted to find out what'd happened at the Grey estate, but he was too wrapped up in the case to take a break. All I'd learned was that Imogene hadn't been able to identify the jewel thief, despite being at home when the crook had broken in. Connor proposed a new time for our workout later that week, and I fell asleep early in preparation for the start of a new class schedule.

After a fierce battle deciding what to wear on Monday morning, I dressed in my finest professorial duds. The summer term had made its illustrious debut, and I wanted to appear mature enough to command respect yet modern and casual in a way that befitted the television and film industry. The end result: slim cut, well-tailored trousers in traditional checks and stripes; a heather-gray, open-collared dress shirt; a thin cashmere, V-neck sweater the saleslady called the color of eggplant; and sophisticated dark loafers sans socks. Despite Nana D's effusive insistence, I wasn't morphing into a popinjay!

I hurried to The Big Beanery, a student gathering house providing some of the richest and most flavorful coffee and the craziest and most unfortunate hookups in the entire county. Thankfully, I avoided the latter, except when Nana D had set me up on a blind date those few times. I ordered a couple of coffees and apple tarts sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon glaze to go. I needed something to tide me over until brunch at Nana D's. My body craved desserts just as much as it felt energized by my daily workout, which had been fulfilled by a six-mile run earlier that morning. I assumed the two ends of the spectrum balanced each other out and refused to question the greater authority of a god who permitted me to have free will.

Braxton College was comprised of two campuses, North and South, separated by a one-mile tree-lined esplanade of cozy storefronts, student housing, and charming historical points of interest. One campus perched atop a semi-steep incline of the Wharton Mountains, the other sat near the base of a lower hill leading directly into the downtown district. Traditional Victorian and Queen Anne homes, painted in vivid colors and adorned with massive stone turrets and white scalloped shingles, reminded visitors of a smaller and quieter version of San Francisco. Without the Pacific Ocean nearby, Crilly Lake and the Finnulia River generously provided our daily water supply, a source of relaxation, and stunning views. Locals referred to the large estates set atop the hill as Millionaire's Mile, and that's where you'd find folks like the Greys, the Paddingtons, and the Stantons.

North Campus was the college's main site, but I worked on South Campus which catered to scholars in the humanities, communications, and music departments. An electric cable car system, currently under maintenance, transported students back and forth between the two academic spaces. For two weeks each summer, usually when the weather reached a scorching one-hundred-degree temperature, a local company would repair the mechanics and reconfigure the inside panels based on whatever the most recent graduating class had gifted the college. This year, as a dedication to the valiant efforts of a few folks—primarily me, who'd played amateur sleuth to locate a couple of murderers—the theme was a Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple, 1930s-style mystery car. Construction had begun ten days ago, and the final ribbon-cutting ceremony would occur at the end of this week.

I climbed the steps to the sturdy but chaotic platform and scanned the sweeping uptown view of mesmerizing foliage-covered hills. My latest routine included a visit to the cable car each morning to inspect its progress with the local contractor leading the effort. Quint Crawford was in his late twenties, had shaggy blond hair, and proudly boasted a full beard. Years of working construction sites had tanned his skin a golden color and transformed his lithe body into a solid machine capable of frequent hard labor. When I called out his name, the suave and shrewd craftsman poked his head out the car doors and saluted. While I dressed up for my first day of summer classes, Quint had chosen a white fitted t-shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans slung low on his hips from all the tools weighing down the thinning denim. Although he only stood an inch below me, a slight slouch made him appear shorter.

When I'd first encountered Quint two weeks earlier, the enigmatic electrician puzzled me. Quint fancied himself quite the ladies' man, evident by his wandering eye whenever an attractive girl would meander near the cable car station. Quint was a tad too full of himself, easily enchanting the women around him by posturing a rakish allure and approach to life. But he'd privately mentioned recent heartbreak over lost love and a desire to convince the ex to proffer him a second chance. Unfortunately, Quint hadn't shared specific details on what had gone wrong the first time between him and his beloved. Nonetheless, I'd been impressed by his mercurial attitude and ability to quickly dust himself off and get in the ring again, despite his painfully obvious attempt to conceal several wounds stemming from the end of the relationship.

Once he'd formally introduced himself, I'd realized his mother and I had met a few times earlier in the year. Knowing Bertha Crawford was such a kind and gentle soul, I settled on believing Quint was a sophisticated yet opportunistic version of his mother who didn't like to hear the word no. “Morning, Quint. How're things looking for your mother this weekend?” I asked, passing a steaming cup of coffee and a warm pastry to him.

“I appreciate you dropping by with breakfast again. You're a good man, Kellan.” His eyes darted to the panel he'd been installing and instantly looked apprehensive about my arrival. “Momma's doing better ever since she retired from the Paddington estate. Being on her feet all day as their housekeeper, slaving away at their every outlandish whim, has taken its toll on her over the years.”

“Does that mean the radiation treatments are going well?” She'd discovered a lump in her breast shortly after I'd met her months ago, then learned she had an advanced form of cancer. The Paddington family also confirmed she'd quit to focus on her deteriorating health. That's when Quint had made it a priority to take extra care of his mother, a widow for the last two decades. His father had perished years ago in an explosion at the Betscha mines.

“So far, the doctors aren't positive,” he mumbled, unscrewing an interior panel near the door.

“That's not good to hear.” From what I could see, the winning design was close to being installed. I noticed a few wires creeping out at the bottom and wondered how the repair portion of the work was going. “The new panels look fantastic. Is the electrical upgrade on schedule?”

“Got two cables to replace, but I'll be done tomorrow afternoon. Then we can run some tests to see how the old girl's working. Should be right smooth!” Quint tapped his knuckles on the side of his head as a sign of luck. As he bent downward, he gingerly flinched and moaned before rubbing his back.

“Did you hurt yourself on the job?” I asked, uncertain what company had been awarded the contract for the redesign project. Hopefully, he'd reported any injuries to the school's administration.

“Nothing to grumble about. A man in my line of work deals with rough spots.” He gently kneeled to the floor and turned away to finish removing the lower panel. “How's that daughter of yours?”

I'd brought Emma to campus with me the previous time because she had reduced hours during her last week of school. Since she'd stayed at my parents' place last night, tagging along today wasn't an option. I'd also scheduled summer camp for her to attend while I'd be teaching my classes over the subsequent seven weeks. Orientation was scheduled for tomorrow. “Emma will visit again soon. I'll be sure to bring her by, so you can say hello. She had fun watching you work last time.”

“That'd be cool of you, Kellan. Don't mean to rush you off, but I've got to finish this today. Fern Terry plans to stop by to check out my progress,” Quint advised with an equal mix of hesitancy and substantial irritation, then winked. “Not that she's too knowledgeable about men's work.”

Fern was the dean of student affairs as well as a good friend of mine. I needed to schedule lunch with her to catch up on the wedding plans. Her son was marrying Timothy Paddington's sister, hence the double wedding on Independence Day. I ignored Quint's shallow and ludicrous comments about Fern, keenly aware we'd already discussed his opinions in the past. He regarded women more as beautiful objects or conquests rather than equals, yet he easily disguised such views when he needed to appear polished enough to charm one into offering her affections.

“I understand. Do you own the company that won the project bid?” I paused and waited for a response, but an unusually long time went by without his trademark riposte. “Quint, did you hear me?”

“Sure did. My apologies, I was thinking about the best answer,” he replied, unlatching a tool from the hook on his belt. “I'm working for someone else who promised me a cheap buy-in. I'll earn a stake in the company once this project is complete. Not to be rude, buddy, but I did mention I was busy. Gotta finish tinkering with this beauty until she's sparkling like a diamond again. Chat another time?”

Quint powered up a drill on full throttle. I waved goodbye to his back—he'd already moved on to his next priority without another word—and walked toward my office in Diamond Hall. My curious nature wanted to ask more questions about whom he worked for, but Fern could supply the answer just as easily. It'd also require less impudence than dealing with my edgy new acquaintance, Quint.