Flower Power Trip (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  Flower Power Trip

  Braxton Campus Mystery Book 3

  James J. Cudney

  Copyright (C) 2019 James J. Cudney

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Creativia

  Published 2019 by Creativia

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Who's Who in the Braxton Campus Mysteries?

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Sneak Peek at Mistaken Identity Crisis (#4)

  About the Author

  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. Flower Power Trip: A Braxton Campus Mystery has had many supporters since its inception in December 2018, 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 second book.

  Flower Power Trip was cultivated through the interaction, feedback, and input of several talented beta readers. I'd like to thank Shalini G, Laura Albert, Anne Foster, Mary Deal, Misty Swafford, Anne Jacobs, Nina D. Silva, Candace Robinson, Lisa M. Berman, Carla @ CarlaLovesToRead, 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 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.

  A big welcome to Carla, Anne, and Mary for joining the beta reading and proofing team with this book and providing helpful comments on things that needed to be fixed or updated to sound better. Thank you!

  Many thanks to QueNtiN who determined the options for the 1993 Chicago lab explosion. Without this guidance, I wouldn't have known what to do with fertilizer, a Bunsen burner, or various powders and mixtures. I appreciate their patience and help finding the perfect solution.

  Many thanks to Timothy J. R. Rains for turning my simple hand drawn map into an awesome software-generated map I could include in the book.

  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 Millionaire's Mile exists. I only made up the name and cable car system.

  Thank you to Creativia for publishing Flower Power Trip 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 sleuth

  Wesley: Kellan's father, Braxton's retired president

  Violet: Kellan's mother, Braxton's admissions director

  Emma: Kellan's daughter with Francesca

  Eleanor: Kellan's younger sister, owns Pick-Me-Up Diner

  Gabriel: Kellan's younger brother, returns to town

  Nana D: Kellan's grandmother, also known as Seraphina Danby

  Deirdre Danby: Kellan's aunt, Nana D's daughter

  Alexander Betscha: Nana D's cousin, doctor

  Francesca Castigliano: Kellan's supposedly deceased wife

  Vincenzo & Cecilia Castigliano: Francesca's parents, run the mob

  Braxton Campus

  Ursula Power: President of Braxton, Myriam's wife

  Myriam Castle: Chair of Communications Dept., Ursula's wife

  Fern Terry: Dean of Student Affairs

  Ed Mulligan: Dean of Academics

  Anita Singh: Chair of Science Dept.

  Connor Hawkins: Director of Security, Kellan's best friend

  Maggie Roarke: Head Librarian, Kellan's ex-girlfriend

  Yuri Sato: Student, Works at Roarke & Daughters Inn

  Sam Taft: Recent graduate, Millard's great-nephew

  Jordan Ballantine: Recent graduate, Fern's nephew

  Carla Grey: Recent graduate, Judge Grey's granddaughter

  George Braun: Visiting professor

  Wharton County Residents

  Helena Roarke: Maggie's sister

  Doug Stoddard: Karen's husband, chef

  Karen Stoddard: Doug's wife, event manager

  Cheney Stoddard: Doug and Karen's son

  Sierra Stoddard: Doug and Karen's daughter

  Lissette Nutberry: Owns multiple pharmacies and funeral parlors

  Millard Paddington: Sponsor for Mendel Flower Show

  Dot: Owns the costume shop

  Brad Shope: Nurse

  Wharton County Administration

  April Montague: Wharton County Sheriff

  Marcus Stanton: Braxton Town Councilman

  Detective Gilkrist: Retiring Detective

  Officer Flatman: Police Officer

  Bartleby Grosvalet: Current Mayor

  Judge Grey: Wharton County Magistrate

  Lara Bouvier: Reporter

  Finnigan Masters: Attorney

  Chapter 1

  A postcard with an image of lush sprawling foliage and a rust-covered antique carriage taunted me from the cushy passenger seat of my SUV. I almost veered off the road twice on the drive to campus because I couldn't peel my eyes away from its persistent glare and blatant reminder of Mendoza. It had to be from Francesca. No one else knew about the remote South American vineyard we'd visited on our honeymoon many years earlier. I shook my clenched fist at the spooky vision of her vanishing in the rearview window. Was she following me everywhere now?

  It was Francesca's seventh message since leaving town and failing to inform anyone she wasn't returning to Los Angeles. A torturous weekly mystery highlighting her whe
reabouts but leaving no way to contact her. At first, I thought she'd accepted my decision to remain in Pennsylvania and would wait until her parents, the heads of the Castigliano mob family, discovered a way to bring her back from the dead. Let me clarify—she wasn't truly dead, but everyone thought she was. Upon getting caught in a vicious war with Las Vargas, a rival crime family, Francesca's parents had faked her death as the only way to keep her safe. No one else besides Francesca's parents and my sister knew Francesca was alive.

  My wife just needed space to adjust to the changes. For two-and-a-half years, she'd been sequestered in a Los Angeles mansion watching from a distance as I raised our seven-year-old daughter on my own. Emma stayed with her nonni a couple of nights a week which made Francesca feel like her daughter was never too far away, but she couldn't actually talk to Emma. Once I moved back home, Francesca lost her ability to see Emma and materialized from seclusion hoping to reconcile. Based on the postcards, she was visiting all the places we'd once traveled to together. Perhaps she needed to feel close to me since I'd refused to participate in whatever game her family was embroiled in with Las Vargas. Unfortunately, now that the Castiglianos blamed me for Francesca's inexplicable disappearance, I anticipated their goons lurking around the corner and following me all the time. Dramatic stuff, huh?

  I drove along Braxton's main street cutting through the center of our charming, remote town and parked in the South Campus cable car station's lot near Cambridge Lawn, a large open field filled with colorful flowerbeds, bright green blades of thick grass, and moss-covered stone walkways. It was Saturday, which meant graduation day at Braxton College—also my first one as a professor at the renowned institution. Although I'd only been back for a few months, it felt like I'd never left given my mother, Violet Ayrwick, was still its director of admissions and my father, Wesley Ayrwick, had just retired from its presidency. He would co-lead the ceremony with the new president to complete his responsibilities, thus allowing him to concentrate on converting the college into a university.

  Although I'd been apprehensive in accepting my professorship, I grew excited about the opportunity to reconnect with family and friends whom I'd hardly seen since originally leaving town a decade ago. When my cell phone vibrated, I clicked a steering wheel button to display the text message on the SUV's dashboard screen. The previous owner, a family friend who'd been murdered earlier that year, had added all the bells and whistles making it easy to remain hands-free. Was I the only one slightly unnerved by driving a dead woman's car?

  Nana D: Are you still coming by after the graduation? I've got sticky buns and a broccoli and Gouda quiche for a late brunch… and I'm getting nervous about the race.

  My grandmother, known as Seraphina Danby to everyone else, had finished the third and final debate in her surprise quest to become the next mayor of Wharton County, the larger geographical area encompassing Braxton and three other villages in north-central Pennsylvania. She was neck and neck with Councilman Marcus Stanton, her dreaded enemy for reasons she refused to share with anyone. I secretly suspected she was angry with him because of a bad date or his failure to flirt with her once Grandpop had left us for the great big afterlife in the sky.

  Me: You'll be the new mayor. I'm confident. Focus on the numbers. Emma doing okay?

  Nana D: Yep. She's in the stable talking to the horse groomer about finding her a puppy.

  Me: Never committed to it! You told her she could have one if we moved into Danby Landing. Not me.

  I'd been living with my parents in the Royal Chic-Shack, a huge modernized log cabin they'd built before I was born thirty-two years ago. When it became clear I needed my own space, Nana D thoughtfully suggested a move to her farm's guesthouse to provide Emma and me some privacy. We'd agreed to give it a chance for the summer, but if it didn't pan out, I'd look for our own place posthaste.

  Nana D: Emma loves it here. She keeps me out of trouble. You and your mother should be grateful.

  She was right. Without a chaperone or extensive supervision, Nana D often found herself skirting too close to disaster. I parked the car and told my seventy-four-year-old cross to bear—I mean that as lovingly as possible—to expect a two o'clock arrival. The graduation ceremony would last longer, but I was only making a brief presentation to declare this year's cable car redesign winner.

  Between North and South Campus ran a one-mile electrical track transporting students and faculty back and forth to dorms, academic halls, administrative offices, and other student buildings. The old-fashioned cable car was the only one of its kind in the area and often brought in visitors—and much-needed surplus income—from all over the country. Braxton's graduating class voted each year to redesign the interior as its outgoing gift to the college. There was a surprise victor this year which would make my friend and colleague, Dean Fern Terry, quite relieved. At one point, she worried an apocalyptic dystopian world of aliens would litter the inside of the two-car transportation system she used daily. It was not happening under my watch. I checked the time, stole one last glance at the ominous postcard, and walked across Cambridge Lawn.

  As I approached the last stone pathway, I heard my name being called in the distance. I turned to see Ed Mulligan talking with an unknown bald man in his mid-to-late forties. Dean Mulligan, the head of all academics at Braxton, wore an impeccably tailored three-piece suit—his normal highbrow approach to dressing—and scuttled toward me as if he were in a desperate rush to the finish line.

  “Kellan, I'd like you to meet George Braun, a visiting professor who arrived in town a few weeks ago to teach a summer course,” Dean Mulligan said. When the sunlight landed on George's face, it highlighted the rippled, leathery texture of his skin. Perhaps he suffered from the effects of a recent sunburn or battled a case of rosacea.

  “It's a pleasure to meet you, Kellan. Dean Mulligan tells me you recently joined Braxton and might lend a new guy some pointers about how to survive on this exquisite campus,” George replied with an unusual accent. Although I was adept at picking up common enunciations, his was a mixture of too many unbalanced inflections to be certain of its origin. There were hints of a gruff Midwest tone with drawn-out vowels, yet I sensed a cultured European style as he finished each of his words.

  When Dean Mulligan nodded to confirm George's statement, his jowls jiggled like Santa's belly. “I can think of no one else more qualified,” he added with an exaggerated wink.

  “Certainly, happy to play tour guide. I'm late at the moment, or I'd stay and chat. I have ceremonial duties for this morning's graduation.” Upon shaking George's hand, I noticed he wore a pair of thin leather gloves despite the warm temperatures making it unnecessary. Germaphobe?

  I wanted to ask what area he'd be working on given my boss, the indomitable Dr. Myriam Castle, head of the communications department, had brought in a new professor for curriculum redesign and expansion. It was supposed to be a chunk of my role at the college, but she'd quickly made a play for additional money to hire someone other than me to prepare the future vision. Now that my father was no longer the president, but Myriam's wife Ursula Power was in that role, things were changing.

  “Perhaps we could have breakfast on Monday morning? I'm due on campus at ten o'clock to meet with Dr. Anita Singh about the courses,” George explained. A dark gray sportscoat covered broad shoulders and attempted to slim his stocky figure. Given he was noticeably several inches taller and wider than me, it didn't appear to help.

  “That sounds like a plan. Let's meet at eight thirty at the Pick-Me-Up Diner?” I proposed, knowing it'd lend me an excuse to judge the eatery's latest renovations.

  Dean Mulligan haughtily teased,” Ah, George, you'll soon come to learn the Ayrwick family has a long-standing establishment in and around Braxton. Eleanor, Kellan's sister, owns the diner, a favored restaurant by most employed at or attending our fine institution.”

  As Dean Mulligan provided directions to George, I caught a puzzled expression on the visiting professor's face. He mutt
ered something unintelligible before his gaze narrowed and highlighted two ultra-thin blond eyebrows. “Pardon?” I inquired.

  “Ayrwick, you said?” he added, cocking his head to the left and focusing on the pastoral landscape behind me. He wouldn't look me in the face without glancing away. Was he sensitive about his skin condition or his funny way of speaking? I hoped I hadn't offended the man with my transitory stare and state of confusion.

  “Yes, Dean Mulligan's correct. My family's been in Wharton County for close to three centuries. I look forward to speaking with you on Monday,” I replied, excusing myself and dashing toward the backstage area to locate Dean Fern Terry. Since she oversaw the graduation as head of student affairs, Fern could tell me when I was needed for the ceremony.

  George Braun not only seemed familiar with the name Ayrwick, but I was certain that was concern or alarm etched on his face. After a quick catch-up with Fern, I found a spot on the east side of the stage as the ceremony began. I could stand there until it was time to declare the winner of the contest. Although I knew a few students in the graduating class, I hadn't been at the institution long enough to serve as an announcer of graduate names nor to deliver any inspirational departing speeches.

  Fern initiated the ceremony by reminiscing about the school's history and highlighting the graduating class's accomplishments. She introduced Ursula who took the stage to congratulate the outgoing students, then turned it over to my father for his last opportunity to say goodbye to the future alumni. As he spoke, Ursula navigated the stage's steps like they were a catwalk and headed toward the back of the seating area.

  Once my father finished boorishly riffing about something in Latin, Fern commandeered the stage and announced my name. I walked to the center and stood behind the lectern looking out at a mostly unfamiliar sea of people. With over two hundred graduates, the audience teetered around a thousand guests including their families and nearly all the college's administrative and academic staff. I talked about the process to nominate and vote for different cable car designs, then explained how it was an awfully close race. Only two people had been told the final winner. Ursula and I agreed to surprise Fern with the results given how disappointed she'd be if the apocalypse had won. She'd tried to bribe me with a homemade coconut cream cake at Easter, but I stood firm. Where desserts were my weakness, keeping secrets was my strength.