Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1)

by Kelly Brakenhoff

Meg shrugged, “She’s from Iowa.”

  Fischer nodded once as though that was a valid explanation. Cassandra ducked into the bathroom and on the way back to the booth, Fischer met her by the hallway wall. Quietly he said, “This week is getting worse by the day.”

  She nodded. “Tomorrow I’ll order the collection of those student blood, lab, and food service samples and send them for testing. You were right earlier.”

  “Right or wrong doesn’t matter. Students’ safety matters. You sound like Nielson when you refuse to believe it’s all connected.”

  Bullseye. She’d felt like an idiot earlier speaking to the TV reporter and reassuring everyone that the college had it all under control. “Maybe Nielson says stuff like that because he’s trying to make people feel safer.”

  “Being yourself would make people feel safer. Catching the creeps behind this would be even better.”

  He seemed like he wanted to say more. He was just looking at her eyes, her hair, her mouth. She nodded, wondering why he didn’t move. He said, “Just be careful,” turned, and left the bar.

  When Cassandra returned to the booth, Meg said, “That looked intense.”

  Fischer’s comparing her to Nielson stung even though she’d had the same thought already. She didn’t have time to sit around worrying about his personal judgments. Cassandra needed to keep the college free from worse scandal. “I can’t read his mind.”

  Meg turned it around on her. “Ok . . . we won’t read Fischer’s mind tonight. Let’s talk about you instead. You’re not getting any younger. Is there a space in your heart for someone new? At least to date even if it’s not serious?”

  Two months ago she would have said absolutely not. Tonight, she wasn’t sure. “Happiness is an elusive, moving target.”

  Meg stared over Cassandra’s shoulder into the past. “I thought there was nothing that would take you away from your family, friends, and home.” She nibbled on popcorn. “Now that you’ve done the inconceivable, does that throw the gate open wide?”

  Meg asked nosy questions but she was so sincere, Cassandra found herself saying more than she expected. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was grateful for the push from my mentors to move far away and put my past behind me. That clean slate looked very attractive.”

  However tonight, all Cassandra could see were the huge changes she’d already undertaken. Tears welled up. “What if moving far away from my parents was the wrong thing to do? What if they get sick, or something happens and I’m not there?”

  Meg laid a hand on Cassandra’s arm. “Look at Austin Price, Cass. Even in our same zip code, we couldn’t prevent bad things from happening.”

  Cassandra conceded, “We can’t prevent them from happening, but I’d like to be close enough to help pick up the pieces.”

  Meg lightly squeezed her arm. “I’ve said this before, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Cassandra wasn’t as sure as Meg. Doubts often kept her restless in bed. She fisted her hands on the tabletop. “What if there isn’t a right plan, or a wrong plan? What if you just make your choices, walk the path, and deal with the obstacles as they present themselves? Like a grown-up Whack-a-Mole. Is that the meaning of life?”

  Meg laughed, “We’d need at least one full bottle of wine to answer that.”

  They looked around at the crowd which grew younger by the minute. Thursday nights began the weekend for many students. “What about you?” Cassandra probed, “are you and Connor still as happy as when you were newlyweds living the dream in Honolulu?”

  Meg smiled. “Wow. You go right for the hard questions, don’t you?”

  “Keepin it real, sistah. You no like da questions, don’t ask me da kine first.”

  Meg chuckled when Cassandra slipped into Hawaiian creole so easily. “I forgot how much I miss hearing local people talking around me. I wish someday I could live part time here and part time there.”

  Cassandra knew Meg’s love of people and Deaf culture were why she worked, not to get rich. “On an interpreter’s salary?”

  “We’re good. Every couple has struggles. If Connor doesn’t learn how to wash dishes, I may kill him.” She drank some water and hesitated. “Well, since you asked . . . we might try for another baby.”

  That explained all the water drinking lately instead of wine. Cassandra looked more closely at Meg’s light skinned, freckled face. Her eyes looked wounded, not as lightly carefree as usual. “I loved growing up in a big family . . . But apparently wanting is not enough . . .”

  Cassandra’s heart felt for Meg. She remembered when Tony had been born. Her brother’s keiki had also been beautiful babies. “Will you be able to try again? Do you want to?”

  Meg’s eyebrows wiggled, and she broke into her wide smile. “The ‘trying again’ part is the most fun!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Cassandra asked Meg, “Do Nebraska people normally have small, private funerals? I assumed since Austin was so young, it’d be very large and public.” Late Friday morning, they ate turkey sandwiches from the student center at the little table in Cassandra’s office.

  Meg answered around a mouthful of sandwich. “No, It’s pretty strange for someone his age. Maybe his family just wants to grieve privately for now. I feel weird that Lance was the only one of us invited this morning.”

  Suddenly there was a loud commotion in the outer office. Meg got up with her bag of chips still in hand and stepped out to look. She smirked and tilted her head back to Cassandra like, you gotta see this! When Cassandra joined her in the doorway, Andy Summers and another security officer stood just inside the office. Andy had one hand on his radio and the other held a baton. They were braced for a fight, eyes darting in the office corners assessing for threats.

  Logan Dunn and Haley Owens gaped wide-eyed from the reception desk and work table.

  “You called us?” Summers’ voice was loud and commanding. “Are you all ok?”

  The students slowly shook their heads and turned towards Cassandra. “We didn’t call them, did you?”

  “No. We’re eating lunch. There’s no bad guys. There’s only four of us in here.” She held out her hands to encompass the empty room.

  Summers dropped his head, and his shoulders relaxed. “Somebody hit the silent alarm.”

  Logan and Haley asked at the same time. “What silent alarm?”

  Cassandra pointed under the reception desk to a little box with a red button attached to the inside left wall. “The one under that desk you’re sitting at, Logan. We use it to call for backup when a student gets out of control.”

  Haley exclaimed, “You pushed the red button!”

  “Use your indoor voice, will ya?” Logan ducked his head enough to see the box. “Ohhh, that red button. I noticed it before, but I forgot to ask . . . Good to know.”

  Andy and his assistant holstered their batons. They spoke quietly for a minute, and the assistant left. Andy followed the women back into Cassandra’s office. “You gotta make sure all the new student-workers get the training.”

  Cassandra would’ve laughed if she wasn’t already on edge. “Can someone from your office come to our next staff meeting and do a refresher?”

  He typed a reminder into his phone while Meg packed up her trash and left for class.

  Andy stayed to talk to Cassandra. “I heard from the Lincoln fire inspector. Someone deliberately tampered with the pressure relief valve on that nitrogen cylinder. Those canisters are inspected and certified frequently. They don’t just pop off. One of the students yesterday told me that thing shot across the room like a bullet; it whizzed by Luke Peterson’s head, missing him by inches.”

  Andy Summers turned one of the student chairs around and faced Cassandra on the couch. “The next so-called accident could be worse. We shouldn’t wait until another student gets killed before we do something drastic.”

  Sandwich finished, Cassandra bit into a large chocolate chip cookie and offered anothe
r to Andy. “I’m not disagreeing with you, Andy. I just don’t know what else to do.” He waved off the treat. Which was good because it might be a two-cookie day.

  She recapped the previous night’s conversations with her friends for him. “Cinda Weller thinks I should look at my student appointment list to see if anyone could be disgruntled enough to harm me personally.”

  “Other than the broken plant against your garage, what else has happened to you?” he asked.

  “I mentioned before that someone smashed a pumpkin against my window a while ago. That was probably just kids’ stuff for Halloween, right? I’ve gotten texts telling me to go home to Hawai’i, or that I’m not welcome here.”

  She had written the messages off as uneducated bullying, but Andy frowned. “People have actually told you that?”

  Cassandra gestured to her face, “Most people I’ve met here have been nice, but there are definitely some folks in town who think Asian faces don’t belong. Little kids stare at me in the food market; their moms pull them away like I have some disease. Or when I’m waiting in a line to buy something, I become invisible until I’m the last person left standing. The texts are more blatant, but the subtle things are more hurtful. It’s been a big culture shock to realize how much I fit in at home—”

  “. . . And how different it is here?” Andy finished. “Let me apologize for them. We’ve always grown up with the same families in town. While locals know that different people and cultures are out there in the world, we’ve always felt insulated in our little dot on the map. Ignorance never excuses bigotry, though. That’s just wrong. Do any students’ names come to mind who might be after you or the college for some reason?”

  She wrote a sticky note with the Facebook kid’s name that she’d referred to Cinda for counseling and handed it to him. “I had one whack-a-doodle—not the correct term, I know—earlier this week who looked like the Unabomber and gave me chicken skin. He knew Luke Peterson.”

  Andy nodded when he read the paper slip. “Counseling already gave us this guy’s name. I’ll follow up with him to find out where he was yesterday.”

  Facebook Guy was probably harmless, but it wouldn’t hurt to check him out. Events had definitely taken a wrong turn. “There’s one other teensy problem though. Some of the college board and donors don’t think I’m handling our side of the investigation quickly enough. Or quietly enough.”

  “We should get the test results back soon on those syringes from the research lab. I can’t make it any quicker than that.”

  “I don’t see any way this is all connected to one thing, do you?”

  His chest puffed out a little, and he leaned back. “No, but I don’t believe in coincidences either. From a safety standpoint, it doesn’t matter if it’s all connected or not. The lab is trouble, and you’re being harassed.” He stood and walked over to the window overlooking the quad. “Ok, I think we should close that lab down for the weekend. It’s not safe there.”

  Cassandra joined him by the window. She hoped the sun would shine all afternoon while she had to be outside. “That’s a no-go. Doesn’t someone have to feed and water the rats? Plus, Dr. Schneider mentioned that Luke Peterson’s study ends soon. He’d be first in line to complain if you shut it down.”

  Andy was acting all authoritative and brotherly. “That’s a good point. We don’t need a room full of dead rats. Ok, at the very least, you should cancel your appointments and special event appearances for a few days.”

  She’d taken care of herself more than ten years and didn’t need a protector. Sure, her family had been nearby, but she wasn’t some weakling. Cassandra’s shoulders tensed from his bossy tone. “I can’t! It’s Homecoming. Nielson scheduled me to take his place in the parade tonight. And the big game is tomorrow. And the bonfire. I won’t just hide in my office.”

  He backed down when he saw that the brotherly thing wasn’t going to fly. “I’ll use extra physical plant and maintenance guys to help with security this weekend, but I still think you’re vulnerable.”

  He’d made his point, and she’d disagreed. Cassandra firmly believed that if students had fun this weekend, people would see Morton was safe. She had one chance to prove she was ready for more responsibility. “Don’t worry about me; I’m fine. We know it’s something to do with the lab. Post guys around that building, and only allow the essential workers inside. The students would be thrilled if we cancel biology classes for a couple of days.”

  “I’d feel better if you don’t ride in the parade.”

  She stopped herself from blurting out that she wasn’t here to make him feel better. She took a deep breath and remembered he was not her enemy. “Nielson and the board want it to look like business as usual around here. We can’t take away the social highlight of the semester because of a broken plant and a freak lab accident.” Even as she spoke, she cringed inwardly. Instinct told her it wasn’t an accident, but she couldn’t cancel a weekend’s worth of events on a string of unconnected hunches.

  Summers searched her face until she felt a smidge uncomfortable. She worried he’d say something personal.

  “Sorry, I promised Meg I’d meet her before the parade.” Cassandra stood abruptly and pointed to her watch, but softened at the puppy dog eyes staring back at her too long. “I’m tougher than I look, Andy.”

  * * *

  Meg perched on the edge of Cassandra’s vintage white claw foot bathtub. They’d squished together into her bathroom and Meg spouted advice in preparation for the Homecoming parade. “Acceptable Midwestern Fall college fashion is this: sweater, skinny jeans with knee high boots, or yoga pants with a sweatshirt.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “I’m still learning the ropes about this place, but even I can see that the yoga pant thing is strictly for the 25-and-under crowd.”

  While Cassandra started on her makeup, Meg asked, “Do you think the yoga girls even look at their backside in the mirror before they leave the house? Would your mom have let you go out dressed like that?”

  Cassandra skillfully applied foundation and concealer until her skin was dewy fresh. “My mother’s wardrobe has never varied in the 34 years I’ve been alive. Baggy black ankle pants, loose woven top and either nice black flats for work, or rubber slippahs around the house. The shirts may change over time, but it’s pretty much all looked the same. She’d have an aneurysm if I had my back side hanging out like that for all the world to see. I would’ve been grounded until my next birthday.”

  “I know, right? Mama Ruth would’ve locked my bedroom door if my bum wasn’t covered by a long top over those tight pants. It’s one thing if you’re out jogging and wear that thick spandex sport fabric. Some yoga pants are so thin, I can see skin color underneath them as I’m walking across campus behind these girls! And I’m not looking on purpose! Believe me, I’m trying to avert my eyes.”

  Cassandra had seen them too and looked anywhere but in front of her to avoid seeing the jiggling flesh under filmy cloth. She laughed while she worked on her eyes.

  Meg added, “There’s another part of me that’s just fascinated like, wow you really think your butt and legs are so toned that you can wear those without a trace of self-consciousness. You go, girl! You have way more body confidence than I had at twenty! But after about 40 yards, I just start thinking, could you please put on a longer top so I don’t have to look at everything hanging out there while I’m walking to class?”

  Meg shielded her eyes on the sides of her head like a horse wearing blinders. “And I’m just an old married woman with a 9-year-old boy. By the time he’s 17, I hope baggy 80’s pants are back in style.”

  Cassandra laughed so hard she had to stop applying mascara before she poked her eye.

  Meg held up the dark jeans one more time, but Cassandra shook her head emphatically. No way was she wearing them for work. They finally compromised on some slim leg black ankle pants, a white long-sleeved t-shirt and a long navy blue cardigan. Meg found a cute gold me
tallic belt in a box in the back of the closet. “And you, my friend, have the very opposite problem.”

  “I promise I’ll wear the jeans tomorrow at the football game, ok? I need to look Vice Presidential at the parade. If I’m too casual, I look like an undergrad.”

  “You’re so petite, I can see why. But you carry yourself with a 34-year-old Vice President’s confidence, not like an 18-year-old psych major. You have that classy poise thing going on. Showing it off wouldn’t hurt the Big Kahuna’s perceptions of you. Remember this is an opportunity to schmooze some of the fancy board donors; looking calm and controlled could work in your favor.”

  Cassandra could see Meg’s point; she just hated that her everyday hard work wasn’t enough to convince them of her competence. “Bergstrom said he’d work the donors for me. Tell them about my Young Leaders of Higher Ed award, and how I came up with the idea for the Women of Tomorrow Academy.”

  Meg hopped up and sorted through a bin of hair products and clips. “Maybe I’ll fix your hair too, so the wind doesn’t blow it around in the car.”

  Cassandra assessed herself in the mirror: flat walking shoes, dark solid color clothes and camera-ready makeup. “What’s wrong with my bun? I like my bun. It’s easy and professional.”

  “Yes, it is. And maybe if we keep the top part up and let the bottom part loose, you will look your age, not like your 74-year-old grandma.”

  Cassandra flashed her with stink eye. “Hey sistah, take it easy! You get one mean!”

  Meg didn’t flinch, only patted the tub’s edge to indicate where Cassandra should sit so Meg could reach the top of her head. “Ok before we clip it back, let me tease the top poofy. That’s how we Nebraskans roll.” Meg held a comb in one hand and a big hunk of thick, silky black hair in the other. She stuck a few bobby pins in her mouth. “How close to God do you want your hair?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Expecting a small turnout of students and faculty, Cassandra was surprised by the parade fans’ enthusiasm. Although the beefy football linebacker and blonde beauty in the car behind her were notably attractive, they weren’t exactly famous pop stars. Didn’t seem to matter to the crowd.