Academic Curveball

by James J Cudney

  “I was right on the border, but the dean said I could play as long as I kept up a 'B+' all semester long. Waiting on two grades from my biology class and Professor Monroe.”

  “Isn't Monroe the professor who had an accident last weekend?” I asked playing dumb to see what else he'd reveal. I hadn't realized my coming to the fitness center would be a useful connection this morning. Kudos to me for doing the right thing. Nana D was right, I am brilliant.

  “Yep,” he replied before wiping himself off with a towel. “I'm confident I did well on a biology paper. I should know this morning. We haven't heard if Professor Monroe turned in the grades before…” He made a BOOM sound and dropped his head to the side.

  I was dealing with someone just as mature as I'd once been. “Do you think Professor Monroe gave you a good grade?”

  “Doubt it. She didn't like me very much for some reason last semester. She's the one who failed me. That's why I'm back in her Intro to Film class again this semester. It fills one of my elective courses and unfortunately was the only other one that matched my schedule between baseball, my job, and other classes.” Striker tagged me in to do my own set of chest presses. “Go ahead, your turn.”

  “If you need any help with the class, I could tutor you. I was a communications major here a few years ago, and I'm well-versed in the broadcast curriculum.”

  “Seriously, you'd help me out? I barely know you.” His friendliness and smile were contagious.

  “You seem like a good guy. Besides, I met Coach Oliver yesterday. He's counting on you to take the team to the championship this year, even get you to the majors, I'm sure.” I didn't want to inflate Striker's hopes, but he might have the scoop on what was going on between Coach Oliver and Abby. Or he could have been the person who knocked Abby on her head and pushed her down the stairs.

  When we finished working out, I handed him my cell number and told him I'd be around for a few days. He mentioned he'd let me know after he found out his latest grade.

  “Was Coach Oliver friendly with Professor Monroe? I wonder if he tried to talk with her about getting you some help with the class.” It seemed unusual that those two had some sort of relationship while one of the star baseball students was stuck in the middle. I also remembered my mother mentioning changes to the policy of fraternization between certain departments after a scandal a year ago involving a staff member accused of harassing someone. Was Coach Oliver to blame back then?

  “Wouldn't know. I tried to stay away from Professor Monroe as much as possible. Coach Oliver told me he'd help however he could, but I don't know if he did anything after she failed me last semester.” Striker drank some water from the fountain, then wiped the bench with a wet towel. “I'm gonna hit the showers. Got class in thirty minutes. Thanks for spotting today.”

  “No worries. Good luck, Striker.”

  After he left, I finished my workout and reflected on everything I'd learned the last few days. Had Sheriff Montague learned the same information and decided how the Jenga puzzle mysteriously collapsed in murder?

  When I pulled out my phone to call her, I saw a new email from Derek with the name of the hotel and a copy of his check-in registration. I noticed he'd checked out the day before which meant he was back in Los Angeles. I dialed the number for registration and pretended to be him inquiring about my final bill. While I listened to a lovely but ironic minute-long version of Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal, I walked to the locker room to change into a towel before showering. The clerk came back on the line and confirmed the purchases I'd made in the room last Saturday and Sunday, as well as the additional damage fee for the state I'd left the room in the day before. She mentioned it was the first time they'd ever had to replace a mattress due to guest misuse. “Oops, my bad,” I said trying to sound like Derek but feeling a sense of fake guilt for something he'd done.

  Unless Derek had sent someone in his place to Hawaii enabling him to show up in Braxton, which he'd probably never even heard of, he likely hadn't killed Abby. I felt better knowing I didn't work for a murderer, but I still had to call the creep. After showering and noticing the marked improvement in my muscle definition, I pinged him on FaceTime, so I could see if his tell gave him away. Just to put the final checkmark on his alibi, I asked if he knew any good mattress stores claiming I was in the market to find a new one. Given what I currently slept on, it wasn't too far from the truth.

  “Dude, I don't know but call and ask that hotel. Somehow my date and I broke the springs. They had the audacity to charge me an extra fee!” He didn't blink nor did his lip quiver. He had told the truth.

  With the alibi now confirmed and my stomach near revolt, I updated him on Abby's death formally being considered a murder. He responded, “Kel-baby, you've got quite a story. Maybe we could re-position season two to be about her murder. Find out everything you can today. This is your top priority. Do whatever you have to do.”

  “Yep, I'm on it.” This time I hung up on him feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment. I still wanted to know what he'd done to the mattress, but then again, maybe I didn't! Now I had many compelling reasons to say involved in the case.

  I called the precinct to verify Sheriff Montague was in her office, but Officer Flatman told me she'd driven to Braxton to meet with Connor. Perfect, I could talk to them both at the same time, that is, after I stopped off at The Big Beanery to pick up a bribe—I mean thoughtful and kind gesture.

  Twenty minutes later, I parked in the guest lot a few blocks away and dashed to the BCS Office. When I arrived, I saw the frown forming on Sheriff Montague's face from the outside walkway.

  “Good afternoon,” I said through the door, then opened it and entered the foyer. “I thought I'd stop by to visit my old friend, Connor. Fancy running into you here.” I set the three coffees and donuts on the counter in front of them. “I happened to have an extra cup if you're interested, sheriff.”

  “Little Ayrwick, you're pushing me… Flatman already texted that you were looking for me. What do you want?” She had the classic annoyed-detective appearance again—hands on her hips, tweed blazer too tight across her back pushing her shoulders up in the air, lips pursed, and frankly, that same look Nana D gets when she's had too many prunes.

  “I thought you might want to hear a few things I learned this week. Maybe you could give me an update on access to Abby's office or on anything happening with the case?” I stepped back in case she started swinging at me, but either she held out for one giant wallop, or she was considering my offer.

  “Something tells me you won't go away until I entertain whatever you feel the hernia-popping need to divulge. If you have helpful information to share, maybe I'll feel obliged to return the favor. What's got those purple lacy panties crawling half way up your…”

  Connor spit out his coffee this time. “Dude, she's got your number. You better watch yourself.”

  His interruption had at least stopped her from finishing her thoughts. As much as her attitude annoyed me, I liked being abused in a humorous sort of way. Little did she know I once had to wear a pair of purple lacy panties after losing a bet with Connor during our junior year. Could April Montague and I be friends in some alternate universe? When I thought about having to look at that dreadful tweed blazer over drinks or at a football game, I had the obvious answer. I stopped myself from retching.

  “Well, I went to Abby's house to see if she had a roommate or husband that might let me in to check, but when I got there…” I reiterated everything I'd learned to date. “It might have been a coincidence, or the meeting the night of Abby's murder might have changed times. Just felt it my responsibility to share the news.”

  Sheriff Montague smirked for a full minute. “Not bad for an inexperienced, nosy pain in the butt. You discovered a few things my detectives haven't come up with yet. They'll suffer, thanks. We knew about her neighbor and that Abby was seen around with someone, but not about it being Coach Oliver. I appreciate the academic tips, but we're already looking i
nto her cell phone records. Next time… one, don't dillydally before telling me, and two, stay out of my case. You've been warned not to interfere.”

  “Wait a minute! I have it on good authority you've nearly completed your search of Abby's office, yet there's been no phone call telling me when and where to show up.” I was probably pushing my luck, but what could she do with Connor standing there as a witness.

  “All accurate information except I didn't promise you. I said I'd take it under advisement. And I did. I also chose to follow proper protocol. Something you seem to have difficulty with.” She manhandled two of the donuts and the remaining cup of coffee enabling me to confirm she wore no wedding ring. “Thanks for the snacks, Little Ayrwick. I'll be in touch if I need additional assistance from Seraphina Danby's errand boy and savior, or if I learn which of you two won the award for Braxton's latest interfering washerwoman who likes to gab.” She turned to Connor. “I know you have no control over him, and none of this is directed at you. I value your help as Braxton's security director.”

  I ignored the huge grin on Connor's face. He clearly hadn't picked up on the crush the sheriff had on him. And Nana D and I definitely did not deserve that comment about gabbing. “Wait, didn't you say you'd share something as long as I provided useful information? Come on, Connor, you heard it, too? How about the murder weapon? Any clues yet?”

  I swear little hearts shot out from the sheriff's eyes in Connor's direction. “You kinda did say that,” he replied. “But I could have heard it wrong.”

  “Boys, and I do mean boys for one of you, this is not a game we're playing here. Let me wash, rinse, and repeat for those of you who seem to own stock in all the hair gel companies. Murder is not a game. I can appreciate you want to do your part. I don't think you have any bad intentions, Little Ayrwick. I need to protect the evidence and paper trails in the case, so we can clearly put our criminal behind bars. Keep your dirty paws to yourself. I'll only ask nicely once.”

  I nodded, she had a good point. “I'm not looking to receive any special favors this time. Maybe you could keep me in the loop. I'll immediately share anything I learn and stay out of your way. Honest!”

  “We're still running tests to identify the shape and size of the murder weapon. I haven't given you access to Abby Monroe's office because I haven't been cleared to do so. I need approval from her next of kin and from Braxton staff. I just finished chatting with your father. I'm meeting momentarily with the other.” She saluted us both and headed to the door. “Expect a call tomorrow, Little Ayrwick.”

  As she left, I turned to hit Connor in the shoulder with as much power as I could muster after having been deflated and emasculated by Sheriff Montague. “You could have stood up for me, dude.”

  Connor laughed. “I work with that woman all the time. I don't want to be on her bad side.”

  “Oh, is there another side of her you want to be on?” I teased forgetting how diesel he'd gotten and how easily I could end up on the floor from one punch. I'd never learn my lessons, would I?

  “I'll ignore that. But I'll also point out you missed a key revelation there, Deputy Clueless. Besides the fact that she doesn't like your hair, pretty boy.” The sheriff's comment was obviously meant for me given I had the long and wavy curls. Connor's buzz cut seemed to be off limits to her.

  I shook my head at him. What clue did I miss? “I'm not sure what you… oooh!” If the sheriff was meeting with Abby's next of kin, then Alton Monroe had been located. “The husband's back in town!”

  “Always the first one to figure it out, eh, Kellan? Listen, I need to finish some work before I meet up with Maggie. Take it easy, man,” Connor replied while shoving a donut in his mouth.

  Connor disappeared into his office leaving me standing alone and disgruntled in the front area of the building. What was he meeting Maggie for? I reached into the bag to grab a donut, but there were none left. “Bollocks! You got the better of me too many times today, Connor. Don't make me start a war.”

  Chapter 11

  After Connor had one-upped me, I spent the rest of Wednesday working on urgent items Derek needed me to handle for Dark Reality. Promo schedules, contract negotiations with supporting actors, and script edits to introduce the topic of Abby Monroe into season two's scope. Although we didn't have a full story, he wanted to show the updated plan to his boss at the network. I quickly pulled together revised outlines and some taglines feeling a little unnerved about using Abby's death as a marketing ploy.

  With my immediate deadlines addressed, I went for a run Thursday morning and intentionally stopped at the Pick-Me-Up Diner to touch base with Eleanor. As I entered, Eustacia Paddington grabbed my arm and shook her head wildly. “You gotta do something about that wicked grandmother of yours, Kellan. She's outta control!” Wisps of gray hair shot out in all directions underneath a furry blue hat three-sizes too big on her frail and wrinkled head.

  Eustacia Paddington had gone to high school with my nana. They'd been frenemies ever since. Whatever Ms. Paddington did, my nana had to go one step further in their quest to annoy one another. On the last count, Nana D rallied six volunteers to take assigned weeks for shoveling snow at nearby Willow Trees, a senior citizen's community where Eustacia Paddington resided. Somehow all the volunteers were under the impression they could drop the mounds of shoveled snow on the corner lot. Eustacia's lot. Which Nana D had told everyone was empty for the winter while the tenant was in Florida. But she wasn't away which meant Ms. Paddington couldn't get out of her home for a week.

  I wasn't looking forward to hearing the latest battle. “Good to see you, Ms. Paddington. That color blue makes your eyes shine. How are you doing?”

  “I know when I'm being worked. Don't even try the you-catch-more-with-honey-than-vinegar game with me. Your nana is the fly in this flaming puddle of hemorrhoid ointment, sonny.” She stomped her wooden cane on the ground and caused a picture frame to fall off the wall. “She's trying to steal Lindsey Endicott. Everyone at Willow Trees knows we've been dating for months. You tell her…”

  “I don't think she's trying to steal him away from you, Ms. Paddington. Nana D seems hardly interested in dating,” I began but was interrupted before I could finish my thoughts. Could Nana D really be putting herself on the market again? After that last debacle with Eustacia Paddington's brother, Nana D pitched such a fit I thought she was going to take a vow of chastity and join the nunnery.

  “That woman is out to get me. You tell her not to start something she won't be able to finish!” As she left, all I could see was the blurry image of her giant pink parka waving in the parking lot like one of those tall, inflatable tube machines people put outside stores when holding sales and trying to capture shopper's attention. She looked like Gumby's ancient grandmother in need of an oxygen boost.

  “You know Nana D probably flirted with him,” Eleanor said as she pushed the cash drawer shut. “She was in here earlier talking about pulling the wool over someone's eyes.”

  My sister was right. I didn't doubt it, but I couldn't let Eustacia Paddington know I was on to my nana's tricks. “Speaking of sly ones, what's up with you avoiding me yesterday?”

  Eleanor lifted the countertop and passed through to the main waiting area. At least she'd swapped out the condiment-stained outfit from two days before with a clean pair of pants and a brighter top. “Just busy. You take everything so personally sometimes, Kellan. If I didn't know better, I'd think my big brother got his wee little feelings hurt.” She kissed my cheek and placed two menus back in the cubby on the entrance wall while humming a tune from some psychic medium show.

  I rolled my eyes at her. It was apparently my signature move. “What do your Tarot cards say?”

  “Touché,” she teased. “I'm sorry I ran off the other day. It's been a busy few weeks. Everyone's a little jumpy with the professor's death.” Eleanor had a habit of shutting down whenever something was bothering her instead of opening up to me or anyone else for that matter. I assumed my mother had s
aid or done something to annoy her again. Twinsies gone rogue!

  “Tell me about it. I've been home for less than a week, and everything seems to have changed,” I said while following her to the back office. “Hey, have you noticed anything going on between Connor and Maggie? I'm not sure if I picked up a weird vibe or if…”

  “No, why?” she replied abruptly.

  “I think she's seen him twice already since I've been home. Whenever I notice them together, it's almost like they're making googly eyes…” I couldn't finish my thought again. It seemed people like to interrupt me. Maybe I needed to be more assertive.

  “I'm sure they're just being friendly since they both work together at Braxton now.” As she sat in her office chair, the phone rang, and I listened to her argue with a supplier about a late delivery.

  Eleanor had squashed my theory about anything going on between Connor and Maggie. Still, I asked myself, why do I care? I had more pressing things to worry about. I checked email on my phone, but nothing from Derek. I was flipping through my calendar when Eleanor hung up.

  “There's nothing between them, I'm sure of it,” she replied. “Sorry about that, I'm having trouble with the laundry facility not cleaning the napkins well enough, and even when they do, it's always a day later than I need them.”

  Something told me there was more going on than Eleanor was willing to reveal at that point. Since I wasn't ready to get into it with her, I decided to let the Maggie and Connor situation go. “Maybe you could swap suppliers. Perhaps the place Mom used to help with Dad's party could provide an alternative option.”

  “I'm capable of figuring it out on my own, Kellan. Did you need something or were you just swinging by to perform a good deed for the day?” she asked before standing and giving me the distinct impression that it was time for me to leave. All the color had drained from her face.