Mistaken Identity Crisis: Death On The Cable Car (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 4)

by James J Cudney

  I stood still, unwilling to accept but forced to listen to his words. “Why am I involved?”

  “Surprisingly, Francesca offered to sacrifice her own life to end the war. Yet, as much as she cooperated with me and as anxious as she was to get out from under the watchful scorn of her devious parents, I didn't completely trust your wife. Although an eye for an eye would make up for a lot, it wouldn't have made my family content.” Cristiano released me and stepped backward, crossing his arms and casting a look that made it clear I shouldn't attack him again. “My family wants more than equivalent payback. Reparations for the Castiglianos' past indiscretions have become necessary.”

  “You didn't answer my question. Why are you looping me into this negotiation?”

  “Patience, I'm telling you a story. I thought hard and long about why Francesca was willing to die. I wanted to locate any hidden motives that might harm the Vargas family. I tried a few different methods to break her, but after I threatened to hurt Emma, Francesca finally cringed, begged for mercy, and revealed all the plans her parents had made to destroy us. Don't try anything funny. I'd hate for anything bad to happen to that precious little girl,” Cristiano said, a sinister shadow cast across his face from the glow of the desk lamp. “Once locating the right incentive, with Francesca on board, forcing the Castiglianos to agree to whatever I asked became simple. Using you as a middleman, Francesca and her parents are unable to talk to one another or pass any clues to play tricks on me. People are willing to cooperate when they're unable to hear or see what's happening to someone they love. Now, I'll have everyone's full collaboration and obedience. Fear can be a highly encouraging factor.”

  “The Castiglianos won't share anything with me. They've hated me for years,” I explained, unclear how that would gain him any leverage or control over my in-laws. I only understood how Francesca would listen, knowing she wanted to be with Emma again—that was obvious.

  “The Castiglianos don't want to sacrifice their daughter, but they're also frightened I'll harm Emma. No one wants to lose their entire family, do they?” The sneer on his face manifested all too easily when he handed me a phone from his jacket pocket. “Your monstrous in-laws have zero choice but to trust you if they want to see their daughter and granddaughter survive this ordeal.”

  “I get it now. Emma and I are your leverage. You want me to broker the deal between you and the Castiglianos because it motivates everyone to behave. If I don't or if any of the Castiglianos try to escape or retaliate, Emma, Francesca, and I end up dead. Then, everyone loses.”

  “You catch on quickly, Kellan. That phone is how we'll communicate in the future. Do not use it for anything else but our conversations. I will be in touch in forty-eight hours with instructions. My diligent staff is organizing stimulating bedtime reading that Francesca has generously shared with us.”

  “Do we have the same goal in mind? Are we expecting an outcome we'll both be happy about?”

  “That depends. If you imagine moving forward with your life minus any future worries, we have similar desires. If you anticipate the Castiglianos retaining control of their business investments and interests, we do not.” Cristiano removed a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed a spot on his shoe.

  “Will Francesca be safe until then?”

  “This has never been about her. It was about revenge against her parents and accepting the consequences of their past actions. When I met Francesca two months ago, something fortuitous happened. She's not the woman I thought she would be. Based on her cooperation thus far, no harm should fall her way. If anything feels suspicious, harm will fall your and Emma's way. Agreed?”

  “Not until I speak with Francesca.” I ignored the bitter metallic taste overwhelming my mouth.

  “In time. Do not contact me. I'll call you when I have the details you need.” He stepped a few feet closer and faced me directly. “Emma certainly loves her new puppy. Baxter is the perfect name.”

  “How did you know we named him—”

  Cristiano looked at me as if I'd spoken a foreign language or said the most ridiculous series of childish words, then furiously smacked my abdominals with the palm of his hand. His unexpected physical aggression was taking its toll on me, but I wouldn't let him see me retreat in pain. “I know everything, Kellan. Even how you skipped the last half-mile on your morning run near Crilly Lake. Imagine how much better shape you'd be in, if you challenged yourself and stopped devouring those insidious apple tarts. I'd be more worried those desserts are what'll kill you one day, Little Ayrwick.”

  Five seconds later, Cristiano was gone, and I rushed to the men's room. Either the coffee had cycled through me more quickly than usual or I was more scared than I thought. Once I felt normal again, I swiped my mobile's screen and began to dial April before realizing Cristiano might've tapped my phone line. I wasn't sure if one could tap a mobile phone or if the scheming mastermind had hidden a voice-activated recording device in the office to listen to my every move. I wanted to check with Connor, but April had warned me not to reveal anything to him unnecessarily.

  I briefly searched the office but found nothing obvious. I abandoned the mission and instead downloaded student profiles for my summer course. I walked to Paddington's Play House, the campus theater next door, and commandeered their office phone. April and I made plans to discuss our next steps the following day, and she promised to locate someone to scour my office for any recording devices while I taught Documentary Filmmaking that afternoon. Shortly before noon, I left the Play House and called Nana D from my cell phone to let her know I was driving to Danby Landing for brunch and to solicit background on the jewelry burglaries. Knowing I only had a couple of hours before class started, she'd promised earlier that our meal would be ready when I walked through the door.

  “On your way home yet, brilliant one? You better hurry up,” she said in a muffled voice.

  “Yes, I'll be on time. Why are you acting like I'm already late?” Punctuality was at the high end of Nana D's expectations, and I was certain to avoid punishment for something easily obtainable.

  “You've got some early visitors. We're having a cocktail in your guest cottage—Whiskey Sour for me, Death in the Afternoon for them. It seemed appropriate for your in-laws. I hope you don't mind, but I saw the Castiglianos pull up and didn't want to leave them unattended,” Nana D explained.

  I slammed on the brakes and jolted forward. The last time Nana D had seen my in-laws was when she'd visited LA after Francesca had supposedly died. For the last two-and-a-half years, they'd managed to avoid one another like the plague. “Please behave, I've had enough drama for today!”

  “Gotta run, don't want to leave them sitting by themselves. I need to find Grandpop's shotgun. Better to be armed than defenseless, eh? Toodle-oo, Kellan.” Nana D hung up, snickering wickedly.

  I drove twice the speed limit to get home before one of the three flamboyant caricatures in my life committed murder. If I were a betting man, Nana D would garner the best odds, but what was her aim like these days?

  Chapter 3

  Ten minutes later, I opened my front door to the sound of three distinct laughs. Nana D's garrulous and all-encompassing guffaw, Cecilia's pompous and high-pitched chortle, and Vincenzo's single grunt resembling a snorting pig searching for food in his empty trough. “You're extremely early,” I said, tossing my keys on a nearby table. “What's so funny?”

  Vincenzo's shiny bald head seemed to grow exponentially as he aged, and the salt-and-pepper goatee that insisted upon clinging to his chin in despair left me embarrassed for him. Nonetheless, his eerily calm tone and menacing, stocky body shape frightened most people to no end, including me. “I've missed this face. Hopefully, we can keep it this way. You need to visit more often, especially once everything is back to normal.” He immediately greeted me with a big hug, then kissed both my cheeks.

  Hmmm… had I entered The Twilight Zone? When he pulled away, I felt his fingerprints still etched into my back and shoulders. �
�I trust you had a safe flight.” I directed my gaze at him, then turned to Cecilia. She stared at me coldly and offered no embrace, which was a relief after Vincenzo's salutation. Cecilia, willowy and gaunt, though pretty in the right light with her striking blonde coiffure, matched her husband in height. Neither had ever needed a stepstool to change a lightbulb in a ceiling fixture, not that they'd deign to do that kind of chore themselves.

  She unclenched her teeth. “Let's skate past the small stuff, Kellan. We're not here to partake in afternoon tea. If Seraphina hadn't won her recent mayoral election, I would've suspected she poisoned our cocktails. Alas, she can't afford a scandal right now. I trust you are following our orders?”

  Orders! Everyone wanted me to follow their orders. I was fed up with it all and felt like a puppet whose strings were mismanaged frantically by maniacs. Cecilia and Vincenzo instructed me not to speak with the police or the Vargas family, encouraging me to leave the negotiations in their capable hands. What kind of convoluted scheme were they kicking off this time? I couldn't tell them that Cristiano had visited me earlier that day. I also wouldn't reveal April's involvement in a secret investigation. “I'm aware of your directives. I intend to follow them to the best of my ability. Please cut me some slack; the world of ominous crime families is new to me.”

  Nana D cleared her throat. “For your information, Don Castigliano, or whatever you ridiculous mafia types call yourselves… I wouldn't poison you. I'd arrange for my sons to take you on a little trip into the Saddlebrooke National Forest to monitor our famous grizzly bears coming out of hibernation. Though I'm not sure they'd relish the taste of rancid meat.” She downed the remainder of her cocktail.

  Cecilia pranced forward until she stood face to face with Nana D, albeit an entire foot taller. “I thought we were getting along so well before Kellan arrived home. I suggest you be careful with the words you choose, Seraphina. You wouldn't want to get caught in the crossfire, right?”

  “That's enough threats from the lot of you. Why are you here?” I asked my pugnacious in-laws.

  Vincenzo explained that he and Cecilia had been spying on the Vargas family, looking for information they could use to prevent them from keeping Francesca. “I uncovered a few possibilities last weekend, but I need to set something in motion that will force Las Vargas to return my daughter safely. I cannot go into the details, but it seems Cristiano might not be as clean as he claims to be.”

  I grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the coffee table and poured myself a shot. I swallowed it immediately. Then I poured another and stared at the smooth golden liquid like it were the elixir of life. I downed it just like Nana D had. I debated pouring a third, but two were enough for the afternoon. There was a class to teach. “For years, you've caused nothing but grief for me and my family. Emma knows little about this, and I intend to keep it that way. Push me too much, I will shove back. Do what you want to rescue Francesca, but don't play games with me. Like you, my daughter will always come first.”

  “I assure you; we are just as much victims in this catastrophe as you are, Kellan,” Cecilia tactfully tried to reason with me. “If you'd stayed in Los Angeles, this wouldn't have become a problem.”

  “If he'd stayed in Los Angeles, he might've been fish food,” Nana D whined in a mocking voice, looking as if she was gearing up for a sucker-punch. “What a bunch of stupid—”

  I moved near Nana D to assert control over her actions, which were problematic based on prior experience. “Look, you two plan whatever scheme it takes to find a solution,” I directed at Cecilia and Vincenzo, “and I'll keep Emma sheltered from the truth. She's all I care about right now.”

  Cecilia blasted, “When offered a choice between saving you or my daughter, you'll always lose.”

  “And if there's a choice between saving Francesca or Emma, as I said earlier, I'll choose my daughter every time.” How dare my psycho mother-in-law go down that path!

  “Don't you love Francesca anymore? Don't you want her to return safely?” Vincenzo pleaded with me in a way I knew was meant to frighten and warn me.

  “Yes, of course, but it's been a long time, and I have no idea how this will turn out. Francesca and I need to make that decision together when it's appropriate to do so.” I'd already decided I couldn't recommit to my wife after everything that'd happened, but this wasn't the time or place to discuss it.

  “You haven't heard from Las Vargas since the kidnapping, right?” Cecilia barked conspiratorially.

  I shook my head. I didn't want to lie, but my best course of action was to trust neither side and to bide my time until April found something useful. “How long will you be in Braxton?”

  “A few days,” Vincenzo replied, grabbing Cecilia's arm and shepherding her out the door. “We will call you tomorrow for an update. Our agenda is quite full this afternoon with… other discussions.”

  After they left, Nana D said, “I'm proud you stood your ground. You're doing the right thing.”

  I prayed that she was correct, or that she had a direct line to someone who could protect us all. My mind and body were a wreck. The lies and fear were taking their toll on me, and the thought of what would still play out once Emma learned her mother was alive reminded me of someone who waited for a derailed train to pummel them. “I love you, Nana D. You're my rock throughout this entire fiasco.”

  “Of course, I am. Now, do you want to hear about those jewelry thefts from eight years ago, or did you already forget the purpose of brunch?” Nana D shuffled out of the cottage toward her house to prepare our meal, sighing the entire way about how long it took me to follow her.

  “You're gonna drive me to an early grave. I don't believe anyone can keep up with you.” When we reached her kitchen, she slowed down, enabling me to regain her attention. “What are we having?”

  “Chicken salad with walnuts and cranberries. I know you love them.” Nana D ripped the plastic cover off an oversized bowl. “Whole grain bread, avocado mash, and a small slice of lemon meringue pie on the side. Can't have your sugar dip too low in front of the students, but you need to watch what you eat at your age,” she added, reaching over the table and poking the top of my already tender stomach.

  Was she coordinating today's insults with Cristiano? “My metabolism hasn't stopped. Don't jinx me.” I poured us each a glass of sun tea and selected the two largest sandwiches as my own crude way of fighting back. We sat side by side at the banquette in her farmhouse kitchen staring at the corner of the orchard, where many of the trees dangled and released blossoming fruit. We were experiencing the June Drop, a natural process where trees self-pruned and shed some of their gifts. “Have you heard anything further about the jewelry theft at the Grey estate? Or caught up with Paul about his park dalliances? Imogene is supposed to attend this afternoon's class. I wonder if she'll show up.”

  “I'm meeting Paul on Wednesday. All I know is that the crime happened at Imogene's mother's place, not the family estate. Marcus Stanton is monopolizing all the sheriff's time. He has a few days before leaving office, but he's trying his best to keep information from me.” Nana D made an odd gesture with two curled fingers cursing the vitriolic man. Eleanor must have taught her—not that the women in my family believed in witchcraft, but several claimed to have psychic abilities and receive well-intentioned premonitions. Eleanor had once fastidiously learned to read Tarot Cards and tea leaves.

  “So, that weird gnarly finger move means it's a no?” I asked, gobbling the avocado mash. I'd wanted to interrogate Connor at our workout, but he'd canceled again due to his caseload. Although the jewelry thefts had zilch to do with me, the curious devil inside me wouldn't let it go. Nana D crossed her arms as if my insurgence had insulted her—the epitome of a sullen child when it suited her needs.

  “You really are the best cook in town,” I patronized, hoping to appease her sudden disdain. Nana D shot me a staggering warning glance. “I mean county.” Her added ruffled gaze gave me the willies. “Definitely the whole state. Indubit
ably.” When she leaned closer, I finished expediently, saying, “Okay, maybe I'll just stuff my mouth full of pie.”

  “You've finally said something that makes sense!” she grumbled and handed her plate to me, indicating she wanted a large slice. Nana D shared what she knew of the jewelry thefts from eight years ago. Between May and June, five homes had been burglarized. The first item was an en tremblant brooch, an iridescent French floral spray with a striking trembling effect, owned by Gwendolyn Paddington. She'd been attending a theater performance at the Paddington Play House on campus when it had been purportedly lost. Her family couldn't remember seeing it clipped to her gown, but several witnesses had recalled noticing its glow from the candlelight of the wall sconces at the theater. “The following day, when it didn't turn up in the lost and found or at the Paddington estate, Gwennie contacted the sheriff who sent an officer to check both places. It was a useless exercise.”

  “No leads on who stole it?” I pondered the confusion about where it'd been lost and wondered whether it'd anything to do with the bribes April once mentioned in association with the former sheriff.

  “No, Gwennie insisted the investigation be kept quiet. She was embarrassed at the uncertainty of when and where it had been stolen. Nine days later, Agnes Nutberry lost a choker while listening to her granddaughter, Tiffany's, concert in Stanton Hall.” Tiffany was the daughter of Agnes's son, a pharmacist, and his wife, Lydia, the director of their family mortuary. I'd known the Nutberrys for years and had unfortunately stumbled upon one of their clan's roles in a murder the prior month.

  “Did they publicize the loss?” Something didn't make sense if it had also been silenced.