Flower Power Trip Page 7

  Puffy red eyes indicated she'd been crying recently. “I'm so sorry this happened to you. Before we talk about your sister, did you raise everything you needed for the renovation fund?”

  “That's the only positive thing about last night. I checked the figures my staff recorded from everyone who visited the donations table. We're ahead by five percent. We might be able to afford a brand-new, state of the art security system, which is apparently necessary at Braxton these days.”

  “That's probably a grand idea.” I thought I saw a small upward curl on Maggie's lips. Was she coming out of her daze? I hugged her, then sat across the desk and opened the sandwiches and chips. “Eat up, it'll help you feel better. As for security around Braxton, I'm not sure what's going on, but something is out of order. I'm sure Connor is on top of it all.”

  “Thank you for coming today. Helena is at home. Mom and Dad want to keep her safe for now. Lara Bouvier from the WCLN news station followed us home last night and tried to interview her about the murder.” Maggie ate a chip and opened a bottle of seltzer. I could see a bit of her color coming back.

  “How is Helena doing?” I wondered whether she'd told Maggie anything else important.

  “Insists on returning to work this morning. She's cleaning rooms and working a normal schedule,” Maggie noted, then revealed George Braun had been a guest at the Roarke & Daughters Inn.

  I guess that meant Helena knew him before the library event had kicked off the previous night. “Were there any issues between them? Did she tell the sheriff about it?”

  “Yes, once Mom and Dad showed up at the sheriff's office last night, everything came out. George Braun rented a room three weeks ago claiming he'd bought a cabin but was having repairs done on it before he could officially move in. He was due to check out of the bed and breakfast next week.”

  “Meaning she mingled with him while cleaning his room and attending to normal guest needs?”

  “Yes. And this morning, one of the other chambermaids told the detective that George and Helena were recently engaged in a heated discussion. Yuri didn't know the details, but apparently George slammed the door shut and told Helena to stay out of his room for the rest of the weekend.” Maggie brushed a few crumbs off the desk into a wastepaper basket as a student worker knocked on the door. “Yes, what do you need?”

  “Ummm… some lady detective or cop stopped at the front desk and asked me to locate you. She said it was important,” the student worker nervously advised. “And I gotta go. Dr. Singh's science lab starts in ten minutes.”

  Maggie told him he could leave but to let the sheriff know she'd be there in five minutes. “Helena won't listen to my parents or to me. I called Finnigan Masters this morning to ask for his help in case the police arrest her for George Braun's murder. The inn is swarming with police officers. The library's private employee offices are sealed off, so I had to let some of the staff stay home today. I've got to keep this place running, but I also need to meet with the chief of staff and Ursula today to discuss the situation.”

  “Should I visit your sister? I can try to persuade her to let Finnigan help or find out what she's hiding. Maybe she'll be more comfortable talking to someone outside her family.” I needed to clarify if George and Hans were the same person. I also had to find out why Anita Singh and George didn't get along. Maybe Helena knew or saw something in his room at the Roarke & Daughters Inn.

  “Yes, please, but first come with me to see the sheriff. There's one more fact Helena neglected to tell the detective about. I'm worried,” Maggie noted as she shut and locked her office door.

  “What?” I walked up the steps to the main floor. “Does it make her situation look worse?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I'm not sure. She told me who she saw arguing with George Braun shortly before she found his body.”

  I worried it was Ursula. I had been with Ursula around that time, but I wasn't with her the whole night. “Anyone we know?”

  “Cheney Stoddard. He's the son of the couple who recently moved to town to open the restaurant and event management company. Remember, they catered last night's party for me.” Maggie stopped when we reached the front entrance. The sheriff stood a few feet away at the desk. “Don't say anything until you talk to Helena about it.”

  “Isn't she dating him?” I asked Maggie as Sheriff Montague walked toward us. What did the Stoddard family have to do with George Braun? Was it a coincidence, or had they known the professor prior to moving to Braxton? I remember Maggie saying the Stoddards came from the Midwest. Could it have been Chicago where Ursula had caused a lab explosion all those years ago?

  Chapter 6

  Sheriff Montague frowned when she saw me, then asked Maggie for a minute alone. Maggie said, “You can speak in front of Kellan, Sheriff. He's my eyes and ears while I'm protecting Helena.”

  I was about to provide assault and battery coverage for myself when my phone buzzed with a text message. “Excuse me a moment,” I noted, leaving Maggie and the sheriff to chat.

  Ursula: We must talk today. Can you come by around five o'clock?

  Me: Sure, but I'll have Emma with me. Need to get her from after-school activities.

  Ursula: I can meet you at the Pick-Me-Up Diner for an early dinner. Myriam's teaching class tonight.

  Me: See you then. I'm doing some research today and might have news.

  When I finished texting and looked toward the front desk, Maggie was gone. I thought it was time to leave until a grumpy voice startled me.

  “I asked her to review her statement with Detective Gilkrist. She'll be back in a little while. What are you doing here?” a charged-up Sheriff Montague grumbled from a short distance away. Her standard blazer and dark blue jeans were crisply pressed. Her brassy blonde hair was well-styled for a change. Usually her motorcycle helmet squashed portions down like permanent bedhead.

  “At the risk of sounding rude, this is the college's library and I am a professor in the communications department. I'm often in the building doing research and checking out these awesome paper, ink, and glue things called books.” I rolled my eyes, adjusted my glasses, and lifted a Brian L. Porter novel from my new leather satchel, as if to make an indisputable point about why I was there.

  “You don't say! And here I thought you were just another pretty face around campus. Thanks for clarifying your prestigious occupation for the umpteenth time, Little Ayrwick.” April leaned against a desk covered in magazines and searched in her leather folder for something. “Since you just happened to be here, and I just happened to have your statement with me, maybe you could do us both a favor and help me cross one more item off my very lengthy list of to-dos.”

  “Don't you have someone to take care of those pesky things for you?” I asked, intending to acknowledge her own importance. I'd think the sheriff had more urgent things to do than carry around witness statements to be signed. “What I'm trying to say is I understand how busy you must be with last night's unexpected murder.”

  “Murder is always unexpected, at least in my world. I suppose in the mafia world, it's anticipated, eh? If I knew someone was going to be murdered, don't you think I'd try to stop it?” Sheriff Montague uncapped her pen and gently pushed it across the periodicals desk in my direction.

  I wasn't helping the situation. “We keep getting off on the wrong foot, April. I'm sorry. Maggie asked me to stop by to cover a few things. I am not trying to get in your way.” I looked at the written report and made a few notes of facts that weren't one-hundred percent accurate. “May I ask a question about the murder weapon?”

  “Is it pertinent to your statement, Mr. Ayrwick, or are you exhibiting eccentric curiosities again?” She ran her fingers through her hair and straightened out her bangs. April had been growing her do much longer during the last few months. It made her look a bit softer in a positive way.

  “Possibly. I should clarify that when I encountered Helena in the courtyard, I was aware of the knife before she stood up. I vividly remembe
r the blade glistening when the light hit it. I thought I noticed some sort of design or scroll on the handle before it fell to the ground. If that's the case, she couldn't have been holding it, right?” I knew it had some sort of writing on it, but it was too dark and far away to read the exact wording.

  “What you're saying is you didn't see her stab the victim, nor pull the knife out of his body. But you did see her drop it when you were walking toward her. Fair?” April typed a few notes on her mobile tablet as she spoke.

  “It looked as if the knife just fell away from her body. I'm not exactly sure she'd been aware it was even there at first. Do you understand what I mean?” It had all happened so fast, but it didn't look like Helena was trying to hide anything.

  “That's helpful. I'm not sure what it means, but after we run all the fingerprint tests and determine who owns the knife, I'll be in touch with additional questions. Thank you.”

  The sheriff indicated she'd have a revised statement available the following day. While she exited into the private employee office area, I gathered my belongings and prepared to leave. The clerk at the main desk wanted to reconfirm one of the books I'd requested, which took a few minutes. Unfortunately, she was only using it as a chance to flirt with me. I informed her I had a no dating policy when it came to students. Just as the student was done sulking, Maggie returned to the floor.

  “Oh, I'm glad you're still here. I didn't get to thank you for keeping quiet about Cheney. Once you find out from Helena what she knows, I'll understand if you need to tell the sheriff. I wanted to ask that you get all the details before saying anything. I'm sorry to put you in a difficult spot.” As Maggie hugged me, it felt like she was reaching ten years into the past to a time when we first became friends.

  “I'm here for you. There's only a handful of people who could get me to risk my sanity and freedom being hauled off to jail by our unkind-hearted sheriff for obstruction of justice.”

  “She'd never do that. April Montague is all bark and no bite when it comes to you. Trust me, a woman knows these things. By the way, she showed me a picture of the murder weapon and asked if I recognized it. They're trying to find out if it belonged to the victim, killer, or came from the library.” Maggie shared that she saw German writing on the handle. It was partially discolored and difficult to read, but she noticed a family crest with a lion fighting a bear. It looked like it had a ü, an umlaut symbol. “It definitely didn't come from the library, and I highly doubt Helena would even carry a knife. She's been afraid of them since our sisters forced her to watch slasher movies when we were kids.”

  Maggie had to return to work, and I had to pick up my daughter. As I left Memorial Library, I couldn't help but wonder if the knife belonged to someone else in my life. Might it be a letter in Ursula's former last name, Mück? If it was, did it belong to George Braun, formerly known as Hans Mück, or to Ursula, formerly known as Sofia Mück?

  * * *

  By five o'clock, the Pick-Me-Up Diner would be crowded with rowdy teenagers who were overly excited about finishing their last weeks in high school before summer break. I'd forgotten it would also be packed with half the population of the Willow Trees Retirement Complex and Braxton's infinite social circle of economically-savvy senior citizens. I hadn't expected to run into my favorite blue-haired rabble rouser, but in the far corner booth Eustacia Paddington slurped the daily blue-plate special, a bowl of lentil soup, with her brother, Millard. Since Ursula hadn't arrived, Emma and I strolled over for a visit.

  “Is it supposed to be that icky mud color?” Emma asked while climbing onto the dark gray leather seat next to Eustacia. My daughter's nose wrinkled as she shook her head. “I like vegetables but that looks awful. Ewww… who cooked that mess?”

  “It tastes delicious, but your manners need a slight improvement,” chastised Eustacia as she adjusted the collar on her fuchsia-colored silk blouse. “Your nana would not tolerate such disobedience. Come, little critic, let's take a walk to see if your Aunt Eleanor and her chef have a bowl for you to taste.”

  As Emma waited for Eustacia to gain her balance from stepping off the platform, she giggled and said, “Daddy, her cane almost crushed my toes!” Emma's eyes bugged out as she followed Eustacia toward the kitchen. From Eustacia's exaggerated wink that looked more like the beginning of a seizure, I could tell she was giving Millard and me a moment alone.

  “Your daughter might teach my sister a thing or two, Kellan,” Millard quipped and motioned a hand to the seat across from him.

  “They grow up way too fast. We just celebrated Emma's seventh birthday a few weeks ago.” I pushed Eustacia's nearly empty soup bowl to the side and sat. “How're you holding up? I was planning to check on you today. George Braun's unfortunate death must mean you're busier than you'd hoped.”

  “Ah, Eustacia's surprise invitation to dinner tonight. I suppose that was your doing, eh?” Millard said as he wiped a dollop of soup from his lower lip. “I appreciate your concern. It was a shock. I'd only begun chatting with him a few months ago, but the world has lost a brilliant researcher and scientist.”

  “Indeed. How well did you know him?” I asked. Millard had only shared a brief history with me when I'd run into him on campus over the weekend. What else would he be able to tell me now?

  “We'd corresponded a few times over the years but hadn't met in person until I'd caught one of his speaking engagements at a conference in January. I asked him to visit Braxton, but he declined indicating his busy schedule wouldn't allow for it.” Millard explained that George contacted him a few weeks later feverishly excited to offer a chance to bring the Mendel flower show to Braxton if Millard would contact the college about his availability to teach a summer course.

  “Did he say what changed his mind?”

  “No, but I contacted Ed Mulligan and Anita Singh to suggest they consider him for a summer course. Anita was vehemently opposed to it. The dean was excited about the prospect of someone with George's credentials temporarily teaching at Braxton.” After Millard explained their history, I wondered if during his research George had come across a news report highlighting Ursula's acceptance of the school's presidency. Could he have recognized her from the photo and finally found a way to track down his long-lost sister?

  “Was there a formal interview process or anything odd about why he was hired?” I hoped to learn more of substance about George's relationship with anyone he'd met in his brief time at Braxton.

  Millard noted George had interviewed with Dean Mulligan, Dr. Singh, the school's chief-of-staff, and someone in the human resources group. “Standard approach for a visiting professor teaching one class,” he added, as Ursula walked into the diner and toward our booth. “Based on my limited experience working with her, Anita Singh is an overly complicated woman. Dean Mulligan ultimately reassigned responsibilities as the co-chair of the Mendel flower show from Anita to George. There were some ruffles over presenting George's personal research between the three of them.”

  “What was his research focused on?” It felt promising to add two possible suspects to my list.

  “George claimed to have made a huge discovery about a certain flower having a powerful impact on a well-known disease. I'm hoping the details are still in his files or belongings. Either he kept nothing at Braxton's Cambridge Hall of Science, or someone stole his work.”

  I waved to Ursula and pointed at a table a few seats away. As she sat, I turned back to Millard. “I appreciate your help. Maggie's worried about Helena finding his body at the library. I'm trying to learn a little about George to see if there is any other connection that could help April Montague.”

  Millard nodded. “Sure, Kellan. I had nothing but respect for the man's work. As a person, he was arrogant and ruthless. While I'm confident the sheriff will determine who killed George, having you investigate the matter seems like an advantage she's not yet realized. At least as far as past experience tells us. Right, my friend?” His embellished smile was enough to indicate he knew I lo
ved a good mystery. “By the way, George hired that new assistant. He or she was supposedly staying at the cabin George bought to assist with the renovations. Maybe that might provide some additional information to point you in the right direction.”

  “Don't tell me, Kellan's pushing you to gossip all about that dead professor,” Eustacia chortled as she approached the table, flicking her fingers at me. “I assume you've gotten what you needed from my brother. I'll take my seat now. I imagine you've got some investigating to do.”

  I thanked Eustacia for her generosity and inquired into the whereabouts of my daughter. Emma was having chicken fingers and celery stalks in the kitchen with Chef Manny. Eleanor also agreed to watch her while I had dinner with Ursula. Before I stepped away, Eustacia reminded me, “You took a little too long finding my sister-in-law's killer, Kellan. Please try to wrap this one up sooner. Your reputation is on the line, you know.”

  I shook my head and walked away without responding. I knew better than to ask her what she meant or to challenge any of her opinions. I didn't need to be reprimanded in the middle of the Pick-Me-Up Diner. Upon sitting across from Ursula, I said, “I think we've got a lot to discuss.”

  “I've been researching George Braun during the last few hours. There're no formal records for the man before 1995. His bio says he grew up in and around the Chicago area, attended a post-graduate program in Washington D.C., and began his career at a Swiss institute. I've got a friend checking at Georgetown University to confirm his attendance.” Ursula looked exhausted despite her attempt to conceal a heavy pair of dark under-eye bags.

  “You said the explosion happened in 1993, right? Two years for him to recover from his burns and injuries, then maybe he changed his identity from Hans Mück to George Braun and created a new life. It's possible, but why?” My fingers idly tapped on the table while a waitress approached and took our orders. I wanted a glass of wine or a cocktail, but it was not an option since I was driving with Emma. Even though I now knew Francesca hadn't been killed in a drunk driving accident, I still couldn't bring myself to imbibe a drop of alcohol whenever my daughter would be in the car with me.