Flower Power Trip Page 6

  The sheriff glanced at Ursula. “I assume you'd know one of your employees. Is Mr. Ayrwick correct in his identification of the victim?”

  Ursula looked at me, then the sheriff. For five seconds, she entered a trance where I thought she might pass out. “No. I wouldn't know all of the professors. I've just been here a few months at this point,” she replied in a distracted tone.

  My boss was clearly lying. She didn't know this man was teaching at Braxton, but she definitely recognized his face. “Okay, well, that's all you need from us, right? I know the routine by now. Be prepared to review and sign a statement. You'll have more questions. Keep quiet. Right?”

  The sheriff nodded, then told the coroner to continue preparing the body. She extended her hand in the opposite direction, so Ursula and I would follow her to the courtyard door. “Detective Gilkrist will arrange interviews for everyone in the main room. The coroner needs to conduct his investigation. I will meet with Helena Roarke myself. It's not every day you find the potential culprit standing over the body with the murder weapon.”

  The shock of her statement flustered me for a moment. “You can't think Helena did this. She told us she found the body and accidentally touched the knife.” How did Helena know the professor? Or had she just seen him arguing with someone but not recognized him? I looked to Ursula who remained silent. What else was she hiding? I remembered the red stain I'd seen on her shawl.

  “Leave the investigation to my team, Little Ayrwick. I've had enough of your interference in the past. If the Wharton County Sheriff's Office needs your assistance, we will ask for it. As of now, consider yourself dismissed. Both of you. Neither of you should leave town, nor discuss this with a soul. Not your nosy grandmother,” she directed at me. “Not your difficult wife,” she said, squinting at Ursula. “Not each other nor Helena or Maggie Roarke. No one. Got it?”

  We both confirmed our understanding of the sheriff's vitriol. Did she think we were children? As Ursula and I walked down the hall toward the main room of Memorial Library, she stopped me. “Kellan, I know you saw the shock on my face when the coroner removed the mask.”

  “How do you know George Braun if you didn't recognize him as one of your new professors? And don't lie to me, Ursula. I'm on your side.” I wondered if he was one of the investigators or the assistant from the explosion twenty-five years ago who'd recognized her and had come to town to blackmail her. By now, Ursula was trembling. I hadn't realized while we were walking that the intensity of her grip bored holes into my forearm.

  “I don't know exactly how to say this. It's a coincidence, but…” she paused.

  “What is it, Ursula? You're scaring me.” I waited for her to look back up at me.

  “That's my brother, Hans. I thought he'd died in the explosion, but could he have survived?” Ursula said as devastation and alarm flooded her eyes.

  “Using a different name. Like you?” I shook my head in confusion.

  “Yes. If he survived the explosion, he might've needed extensive plastic surgery. I saw my brother's eyes when I looked at that dead man. At George Braun. Do you think it's possible that—”

  “Your own brother has been hiding all these years and finally found you?” I exclaimed, feeling stunned and uncertain. I recalled seeing him wearing gloves the day before. Was he hiding burns on his hands and fingers? “I guess that's the first place we need to look. Then maybe we'll know who killed him. Since it wasn't Helena. I can't see her doing something like that.” When I finished speaking, Ursula turned away from me and opened the double doors. After she stepped through the open space into the main room of the library, she rushed directly into Myriam's waiting arms.

  I couldn't help but wonder if Ursula had known who was stalking her and had taken the opportunity to get rid of him once and for all. It would explain the red stain. Could the surprise on her face at discovering his identity be as real as it seemed? Or had Myriam taught her wife how to act the part of an innocent, stunned, and perplexed bystander?

  Chapter 5

  When I returned to Danby Landing after the costume extravaganza, Emma was already asleep. Nana D thought she'd recovered quickly from her symptoms and would be fine after a solid night's rest. Before I went to bed, I remembered failing to discover whether Francesca was actually on campus that night. If it had been Francesca heading toward the courtyard, where had she gone and why had no one else seen her? Had I imagined it?

  Although I'd tried to reach Maggie several times after the horrendous incident, she was either focused on helping Helena get through the interrogation with Sheriff Montague or they'd needed healing time to process what'd happened. I couldn't imagine either of the women had encountered a dead body in the past. The nightmares had been almost traumatic the first few times I'd found one. Suddenly, my phone vibrated with an incoming text message:

  Maggie: Stop by the library at lunchtime tomorrow. Helena needs your help to find the real killer.

  I confirmed I'd be there, then put my head on the pillow to let the comforting darkness lead me into slumber. It turned out to be filled with laughing masks and epic battles between heroes and villains.

  * * *

  On Monday morning before I dropped Emma at school, we had breakfast together. She only had a month left before school let out for the summer but was excited to present her show-and-tell project to the class. She'd been working on drawings of the landscape of Nana D's farm. I once thought Emma wanted to become a veterinarian when she grew up, but in the last few weeks, she'd become obsessed with sketching buildings and rearranging rooms in her dollhouse. I'd introduced her to a new custom version of the game Clue with a zoo animal theme, which led to her learning about the various parts of Danby Landing. Rather than animals as killers, this version of Clue focused on which animal had stolen the key to the food supply cabinet and guessing what they'd dropped outside the door in the rush to get away.

  I drove to Braxton and parked on South Campus since I had my summer class to teach that morning—Screenwriting in a Digital World. It was an intense eight-week course where students met for two hours each day from Monday through Friday to learn about technique, develop their own scripts for a pilot episode, and understand how to present it to a production company. I entered Diamond Hall and ascended the stairs to the second floor where my humble office resided. As I passed through the hallway, I noticed my boss sitting at her desk.

  “Good morning, Myriam. How was the rest of your evening?” I inquired pleasantly, wondering if Ursula had shared anything about discovering the victim resembled her dead brother, Hans.

  Myriam slid tortoise-shell glasses to the bridge of her nose, huffed slightly, and glanced back at her laptop screen. “Constant you are, but yet a woman and for secrecy, no lady closer for I well believe thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.”

  I couldn't recall which of Shakespeare's plays that barb with ulterior motives had come from. “Let me guess, you're still angry with me?” I stepped one foot into her office waiting for something heavy to be flung in my direction. When she ignored my comment, I took another step inside, so that I was technically in her office but able to duck behind her coat rack if necessary. I'd learned that lesson the hard way the first time around. “Give me a hint. Is it from a tragedy or comedy?”

  “Of course, you wouldn't know it's from Henry IV. What do you want, Mr. Ayrwick? I've got plenty of problems to attend to without you dropping more nonsense in my lap,” Myriam grumbled as she turned to the credenza behind her to retrieve a document from the printer. “Hurry up, please. Some of us work around here.”

  “True, some of us do. I thought I'd see how Ursula was doing this morning. She was quite distraught over the death in the library last night,” I said, taking a seat across from her. “I'm well aware Henry IV is one of the Bard's historical plays, neither a tragedy nor a comedy.”

  “Redemption will not erase the truth. I know you and Ursula have been keeping something from me. She was distressed last night and immediately wen
t to sleep. I'm sure she'll have an expedient recovery today given she's meeting with the Board of Trustees.” Myriam signed the document she'd pulled off the printer and handed it to me. “Your syllabus for the fall is approved. Is that all for today?”

  I considered my next approach to determine what Myriam knew. “I know so little about your wife. Given that we all work together, I'd think Ursula could be a little more open and friendlier. Where did she grow up?”

  Myriam stared past me at the whiteboard on the wall opposite her. “Now that the King Lear production is finished and we're beginning to cast our summer production, we need to agree on a few protocols for the remainder of the year I'm… blessed… to be working with you at Braxton.”

  I assumed she wasn't going to discuss Ursula's past. It would be all business. When I'd been offered an assistant professor role at Braxton, it had come with two clauses. First, it was only a one-year contract to provide time for the new executive administration to decide my fate. Second, given a few too many public disagreements Myriam and I'd shared in the past, Ursula mandated we work together at the college's theatre, Paddington's Play House, to conquer our glacial differences.

  “I'm certainly glad you saw the light and extended the permanent stage director role to Arthur Terry. He and Jennifer will need the money now that they're having a baby together,” I noted while turning around to see what Myriam had been reading on the whiteboard.

  “Perhaps I'm learning the art of compromise, Mr. Ayrwick. I'll schedule our first meeting with him for later this week. Be sure to pick up a copy of the script. Time is of the essence here. I expect you will keep yourself from entanglement with anything else.” Myriam pursed her lips, then smiled like a jackal about to consume its prey. “I'm sure Ursula would appreciate you keeping your distance from what's happened with Professor Braun's recent appearance and death.”

  The way Myriam spoke, she knew something I didn't. She paused and ever-so-gently cleared her throat when she said his name. “Of course, I will do whatever Madame President asks me to do. Just as I do whatever you, my immediate supervisor, asks me to do. I think we understand one another.” I wished her a splendiferous day and walked down the hall to my office to prepare for the first set of courses.

  A few hours later, encouraged about the excitement in the classroom, I stopped by The Big Beanery to buy lunch for Maggie. The cozy café on South Campus was a virtual hotspot for anyone to hang out with friends, study for an exam, or cruise the student population for a next date. Not an ideal path for me, but a sizable percentage of the college's near-one-thousand enrollees often spent hours socializing and hobnobbing with one another. With tons of comfy alcoves, free Wi-Fi and charging stations, and the best coffee in all of Wharton County, it was the place to be.

  I wasn't sure if Helena would be visiting Maggie at the library, but we could all share a few sandwiches, chips, and a bowl of fruit. Maybe a couple of chocolate chip croissants for dessert, a necessary part of any meal. I took the next cable car to North Campus wondering when they'd start the summer redesign. It meant two weeks of walking back and forth between campuses—helpful for staying in shape but a dreadful experience in the sweltering heat.

  After I left the station, I stepped on the central cobblestone pathway and ventured to the mailroom in the student union building to check for new deliveries. Besides a catalog advertising the latest genuine leather satchels—I might have an addiction—and office supplies, Braxton's alumni magazine with my father on the cover appeared. Although it was his highly candid outgoing interview, I'd read it another time. I also had a new postcard that'd been postmarked three days earlier in Vancouver. It read:

  You were never one for air travel except for that one trip to Mendoza; you always wanted to Vacation by train given your fear of flying. I know a precious six-year old girl who'd love to visit this area with you one day. Maybe we'll all meet again at the VanDusen Botanical Garden where we can take center stage for a second wedding.

  It had to be from Francesca. She and I had embarked on a two-week train excursion from Los Angeles to Northern Canada. At the botanical garden, we got mixed up with a celebrity couple who decided at the last minute to get married that afternoon. We served as their best man and matron of honor since none of their friends were in Vancouver. If Francesca had been in Canada three days ago, surely that was enough time to show up in Braxton last night. I snapped a photo of the message and sent it off to Cecilia and Vincenzo Castigliano. Maybe it would help them figure out where my wife was hiding.

  I was feeling stalked like Ursula. What was it about people who couldn't be truthful nor accept things happened outside of our control? Ursula had only been trying to stop her brother, Hans, from stealing the cure when she accidentally caused the explosion killing their parents, and maybe him, too. Francesca was the one who got sucked into her family's shenanigans with Las Vargas. Couldn't she put Emma first and stop this hide-and-seek game? We couldn't magically become a family again nor pretend she was suddenly alive. Emma deserved a life without unnecessary fear. Until Vincenzo solved the Vargas family vendetta, this was how it had to be. Why couldn't Francesca understand that approach?

  I turned at the end of the pathway and made a left up the steps leading into Memorial Library. Connor approached from the opposite direction. “Hey, Kellan. Maggie tells me she's expecting you for lunch.”

  “On my way now. Is Helena doing okay?”

  “She spent most of the night at the Wharton County Sheriff's Office. They let her go early this morning, but she's acting highly suspicious. Sheriff Montague thinks Helena is hiding something important. Until April can produce a realistic motive, there's no reason to hold her.” Connor shook my free hand before putting his own back in his pocket.

  “I'm not sure there's anything I can do if Helena won't talk. I'm not inserting myself into the investigation again, so don't give your bestie any ideas that I'm going to interfere with—”

  Connor interrupted. “Listen, April is not my bestie. I've given you a hard time in the past about putting your nose in other people's business. I think this is different. Helena is Maggie's little sister. She was standing over George Braun's dead body. We gotta look out for the Roarke family.”

  I hadn't expected Connor to support my involvement. “Did you learn anything else after I left?”

  Connor indicated the autopsy was scheduled for today. The coroner had done preliminary work last night, and they had a positive identification from Millard Paddington. He was called to the morgue and confirmed it was George Braun. Millard had provided George's local address in Braxton. The guy had bought a cabin outside the Saddlebrooke National Forest on the other side of the Finnulia River. Millard knew nothing about the man's family, but suggested the sheriff follow up with Dean Mulligan and the college's human resources department. They could provide any paperwork George Braun had submitted that might identify his next of kin.

  If he was truly Ursula's brother, Hans Mück, I knew the name of his next of kin. I needed to speak with Ursula as soon as possible. “I wish I knew where he'd come from before moving to Braxton.”

  Connor shrugged his shoulders. “You know the sheriff only tells me the minimum. She needs my cooperation as the director of security at Braxton, but there's a wall she puts up when it broaches revealing too much. Millard might know a little more than he's said. You're close to him. Perhaps you could find out if he remembers something else.”

  “I'll give him a call later today. Hey, not sure if this is important, but Anita Singh lost her lab coat last night. It was part of her Einstein costume. I wonder if that has anything to do with the murder,” I said recalling she was in quite a hurry when I'd run into her.

  “Do you think she's the killer?” Connor said with a distorted face.

  I hadn't thought about that angle, although Dr. Singh had fought with George according to Millard. “Or the killer used her lab coat as a disguise to escape?” When Connor said he'd look into its disappearance, I replied, “Okay. Any
chance Helena said anything else about knowing George Braun, other than meeting him at Memorial Library's costume extravaganza?”

  “Nope. I haven't talked to Helena myself and only know what Maggie's shared with me. I gotta run, there's an administrative meeting with my staff in a few minutes. I have a lengthy list of security changes to drop on them.” Connor suggested a time to meet at the gym the next day and took off for his office. Didn't he know my body was still complaining from his last inhumane workout regimen?

  As I entered the library, I read a text message response from my in-laws. Vincenzo dispatched someone to Vancouver to learn anything new. He'd be in touch again soon. I hadn't told them about seeing their daughter at the party. I still couldn't be sure if I was hallucinating or whether Francesca had something to do with George Braun's death. My wife would never be able to kill someone, but it didn't mean someone else in her family wasn't somehow involved.

  Maggie's office was in a different area of the library, which meant I didn't need to enter the private employee offices nor approach the courtyard. I wanted to check it out during the daylight, but she should escort me in case there was a police officer ensuring it'd remained locked down. When I found her in the office just past the history section, Maggie's head rested on the desk and her fingers massaged her temples in small concentric circles. The space wasn't large, but she'd added a personal touch to the room—a diffuser sputtered lavender-scented steam, a sound machine released a gentle rainstorm, and photos of all the great historical libraries adorned the walls.

  “Is it really that bad?” I lifted my hand to show her the lunch I'd brought. “Salt and vinegar potato chips included. Free of charge, as always.” I couldn't resist, knowing they were her favorite.

  “Based on what I'm about to ask you, I'm the one who should be paying this time.” Maggie lifted her head and motioned for me to come in.