Academic Curveball (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 1)

Book summary

When Kellan Ayrwick returns home for his father’s retirement, he stumbles upon a murder at Diamond Hall. As secrets unravel at the college, involving mysterious donations and altered grades, Kellan, along with his quirky nana, must solve the puzzle before the killer strikes again.

Book excerpt from Academic Curveball

Chapter 1

I've never been comfortable flying. My suspicious nature assumed the magic suspending airplanes in the sky would cease to exist at some master planner's whim. Listening to the whirr of a jet propeller change speeds—or experiencing those jolting, mysterious pockets of rough air—equaled imminent death in an aluminum contraption destined for trouble. I spent the entire flight with my jaw clenched, hands clutching the armrests, and eyes glued to the seatback in front of me, impatiently hoping the diligent crypt keeper didn't claim another victim. Despite my uncanny knack for grasping anything mechanical and Nana D always calling me brilliant, I was entirely too doubtful of this mode of transportation. My gut promised I'd be safer plummeting over Niagara Falls naked and in a barrel.

After landing at the Buffalo Niagara International Airport on a miserable mid-February afternoon, I rented a Jeep to trek another ninety miles south into Pennsylvania. Several inches of densely packed snow and veiled black ice covered the only highway leading to my secluded childhood hometown. Braxton, one of four charming villages surrounded by the Wharton Mountains and the Saddlebrooke National Forest, felt impenetrable from outside forces.

As I changed lanes to avoid a slippery patch, my sister's number lit up the cell screen. I paused Maroon 5 on my Spotify playlist, clicked accept, and moaned. “Remind me why I'm here again?”

“Guilt? Love? Boredom?” Eleanor chuckled.

“Stupidity?” Craving something of substance to squelch the angry noises radiating from my stomach, I grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from a bag on the passenger seat. The extra-tall, salted caramel mocha—free, courtesy of a pretty red-haired barista who'd shamelessly flirted with me—wouldn't suffice on its own. “Please save me from this torture!”

“Not gonna happen, Kellan. You should've heard Mom when I suggested you might not make it. 'He's always inventing excuses not to return home more often. This family needs him here!' Don't worry! I calmed her down,” shouted Eleanor over several dishes and glasses clanging in the background.

“Did she already forget I was here at Christmas?” Another cookie found its way into my mouth. I was powerless to desserts—also known as my kryptonite—hence why I'd always thought they should be a major food group. “Two trips home within six weeks is one too many by my count.”

“How did our darling siblings invent acceptable excuses to skip the biggest social event of the season?” Eleanor said.

“I gave up competing with them years ago. It's easy to get away with things when they're not disappointing our parents like the rest of us.”

“Hey! Don't take me down because you can't escape the awkward middle-child syndrome.” Eleanor placed me on hold to deal with a customer complaint.

My younger sister unhappily turned thirty last month, given she still hadn't met the right man. She also insisted she wasn’t morphing into our mother, despite every hour of every day steamrolling those figments of her imagination into oblivion. Truth be told, Eleanor was the spitting image of Violet Ayrwick, and everyone saw it but them. Twinsies, as Nana D always taunted with the cutest lilt to her voice. Eleanor would definitely be at our father's retirement party, as there wasn't a snowball's chance in you-know-where of me going to that boondoggle by myself. The man of the hour had been the president of Braxton College for the last eight years, but upon turning sixty-five, Wesley Ayrwick stepped down from the coveted role.

Eleanor jumped back on the line. “Was Emma okay with you visiting by yourself this time?”

“Yeah, she's staying with Francesca's parents. I couldn't sign her out of school again, but we'll Facetime every day I'm gone.”

“You're an amazing father. I don't know how you do it on your own,” Eleanor replied. “So, who's the woman you plan to meet while gracing us with your presence this weekend?”

“Abby Monroe completed a bunch of research for my boss, Derek,” I said, cursing the slimy, party-going executive producer of our award-winning television show, Dark Reality. Upon informing Derek that I needed to return home for a family obligation, he generously suggested adding extra days to relax before everything exploded at the network, then assigned me to interview his latest source. “Ever heard the name?”

“Sounds familiar, but I can't place it,” Eleanor replied in between yelling orders to the cook and urging him to hurry. “What's your next storyline?”

Dark Reality, an exposé-style show adding splashy drama to real-life crimes, aired weekly episodes full of cliffhangers like reality television and soap operas. The first season highlighted two serial killers, Jack the Ripper and The Human Vampire, causing it to top the charts as a series debut. “I've got season two's massive show bible to read this weekend… ghost-hunting and witch-burning in seventeenth-century American culture. I really need to get a new job. Or kill my boss.”

“Prison stripes wouldn't look good on you.” Eleanor teased me frequently.

“Don't forget, I'm too handsome.”

“I'm not gonna touch that one. Let Nana D weigh in before I crush you for saying something so pathetic. Maybe Abby will be normal?”

“With my luck, she'll be another bitter, scorned victim rightfully intent on justice for whatever colossal trauma Derek's inflicted,” I replied with a sigh. “I vote she's another loose cannon.”

“When are you gonna interrogate her?”

I'd meant to schedule a lunch to get the basic lowdown on Abby, but I barely made the flight cutoff at the gate in the last-minute rigmarole. “Hopefully tomorrow, if she isn't too far away. Derek confirmed she lives in central Pennsylvania. He has no concept of space or distance.”

“It's getting busy here. Gotta go. Can't make dinner tonight, but I'll see you tomorrow. Don't commit any murders until we chat again. Hugs and kisses.”

“Only if you don't poison any patrons.” I disconnected the phone, begging the gods to transport me back to Los Angeles. I couldn't take the stress anymore and devoured the last two remaining cookies. Given my obsession with desserts, the gym had never not been an option. Exercise happened daily unless I was sick or on vacation, which this trip didn't count as. There would be no beaches, cabanas, or mojitos. Therefore, I wouldn’t enjoy myself.

I navigated the winding highway drive with the heater set to die-from-sauna max and the wiper blades on maniacal passive-aggressive mode to keep the windshield clear of heavy sleet and snow. It was the dead of winter, and my entire body shivered—not a good thing when my feet needed to brake for deer or elk. Yes, they were common in these parts. No, I hadn't hit any. Yet.

No time like the present to suggest a meeting to Abby. When she answered, I wasn't surprised at her naivety regarding my boss's underhanded approach.

“Derek said nothing about meeting anyone else. You got a last name, Kellan?” Abby whined after I'd already explained who I was in the first minute of the call.

“Ayrwick. I'm Kellan Ayrwick, an assistant director on the second season of Dark Reality. I thought we could review the research you prepared and discuss your experience working in the television industry.”

A few seconds of silence lingered. “Ayrwick? As in… well… don’t a few work at Braxton?”

I was momentarily stunned how a groupie girl would know anything about Braxton. Then I speculated she currently attended the college or previously went to school with one of my siblings. “Let's have lunch tomorrow. One o'clock?”

“Not really. I wasn't prepared to chat this weekend. I thought I'd fly out to Derek in the next few days. The timing is off.”

“Can't we meet for a brief introduction?” Derek sure knew how to pick the dramatic ones. I could picture her twirling her hair and blinking her empty eyes despite not knowing what she looked like.

“I'm in the middle of an exclusive exposé about a crime in Wharton County. Might be something to pitch to Derek for… well, it's too early to say anything.” Her voice went limp. She'd probably forgotten how to use the phone or accidentally muted me.

“Is this what you proposed to him for a future season of Dark Reality? I'm more interested in true crimes and investigative reporting. Maybe I could help with this scoop.” Once I realized she was in the same county as me, I tried all angles to snare a meeting.

“Are you Wesley's son? He's got a whole slew of kids.”

My mouth dropped two inches. Nana D would've counted the flies as they swarmed in, given how long it remained open. Who was this girl? “I don't see how that's relevant, but yes, he's my father. Do you attend Braxton, Abby?”

“Attend Braxton? No, you've got a few things to learn if we're going to work together.” She laughed hysterically, reaching full-on snort level.

“Great, so we can meet tomorrow?” The woman's tone annoyed me, but perhaps I'd misjudged her based on Derek's normal taste in women. “Even thirty minutes to build a working relationship. Are you familiar with the Pick-Me-Up Diner?” Eleanor ran the joint, so I'd have an excuse to step away if Abby became too much to handle. My sister could arrange for a waiter to dump a bowl of soup on Abby, then lock her in the bathroom while I escaped. There was nothing more I disliked than foolish, clueless, or vapid people. I'd had enough of them while dating my way through a sorority years ago. If I ran into one more LA valley girl, I'd let Francesca's family, the Castiglianos, take control of the situation. Scratch that, I never said those words out loud.

“No, sorry. I'm gonna be tied up, investigating all the nonsense going on around here. I'll see you on campus tomorrow night.”

I shook my head in frustration and confusion. I clearly heard her stifling an obnoxious laugh again. If she weren't a student, why would she be on campus? “What do you mean tomorrow night?”

“The party celebrating your father's retirement.”

Derek would owe me big-time for this ordeal. If he didn't watch himself, I'd give her his real cell number and not the fake one he initially dispensed.

“How do you know my—” A harsh tone beeped when she disconnected.

I continued on the main road into the heart of Braxton, tooting the horn as I passed Danby Landing, Nana D's organic orchard and farm. I was especially close with Nana D, also known as my grandmother, Seraphina, who'd turn seventy-five later this year. She kept threatening to bend our town's councilman, Marcus Stanton, over her lap, slap his bottom silly, and teach the ninny how things ought to be done in a modern world. It's my second job to keep her in check after the incident where she was supposedly locked up in jail overnight. Lacking any official records, she could continue to deny it, but I knew better given I was the one who had to convince Sheriff Montague to release Nana D. I hoped never again to spar toe-to-toe with our county's ever-so-charming head law enforcer, even if it's necessary to save Nana D from prison. I felt certain that had been a onetime card I could play.

The sun disappeared as I parked the Jeep at my parents' house and scampered toward the trunk to get my bags. Given the temperature had slipped to the single digits, and the icy snow wildly pelted my body, I hurried to the front door. Unfortunately, fate opted for revenge over some past indiscretion and struck back with the vengeance of a thousand plagues. Before long, I skated across a sheet of ice like an awkward ballerina wearing clown shoes and fell flat on my back.

I snapped a selfie while laughing on the frosty ground, to let Nana D know I'd arrived in Braxton. She loved getting pictures and witnessing me make a fool of myself. I couldn't decipher her reply, given my glasses had fogged over, and my vision was equivalent to Mr. Magoo’s. I searched for a piece of a flannel shirt untouched by the falling sleet or the embarrassing crash to the ground and wiped them dry. A glance at the picture I'd sent caused the most absurd guffaw to erupt from my throat. My usually clean-cut dark-blond hair was littered with leaves, and the four days of stubble on my cheeks and chin was blanketed in mounds of snow. I dusted myself off and rushed under the protection of a covered porch to read her text.

Nana D: Is that a dirty wet mop on your head? You're dressed like a hooligan. Put on a coat. It's cold out. I miss you!

Me: Thanks, Captain Obvious. I fell on the walkway. You think I'm normally this much of a disaster?

Nana D: And you're supposed to be the brilliant one? Have you given up on life, or did it give up on you?

Me: Keep it up, and I won't visit this weekend. You're supposed to be a sweet grandma.

Nana D: If that's what you want, go down to the old folks' home and rent yourself a little biddy. Maybe you two can share some smashed peas, green Jell-O, and a tasty glass of Ovaltine. I'll even pay.

After ignoring Nana D's sass, I ran a pair of chilled hands through my hair and entered the foyer. Though the original shell of the house was a wood-framed cabin, my parents had added many rooms, including a west and an east wing bookending the massive structure. The ceilings were vaulted at least twelve feet high and covered in endless cedar planks with knots in all the right places. A pretty hunter-green paint coated three of the walls where the entranceway opened into a gigantic living room. It was anchored by a flagstone fireplace and adorned with hand-crafted antique furniture my parents had traveled all over the state to procure. My father was passionate about keeping the authenticity of a traditional log cabin while my mom required all the modern conveniences. If only the Property Brothers could see the results of their combined styles. Eleanor and I referred to it as the Royal Chic-Shack.

I dropped my bags to the floor and called out, “Anyone home?” My body jumped as the door to my father's study creaked open, and his head popped through the crack. Perhaps I had the paranormal and occult on my mind, knowing Dark Reality's next season was unfortunately in my foreseeable future.

“It's just me. Welcome back,” replied my father, waiting for me to approach the study. “Your mother's still at Braxton, closing on the final admissions list for the prospective class.”

“How's the jolly retiree doing?” I strolled down the hall toward him.

“I'm not retired yet,” my father countered with a sneer. “I finished writing my speech for the party tomorrow evening. Interested in an early preview?”

Saying no would make me a bad son. Eleanor and I had promised one another at Christmas we'd try harder. I really wanted to be a bad son today—just kidding! “Sure, it must be exciting. You've had a bountiful career, Dad. It's undoubtedly the perfect example of oratory excellence.” He loved when I stretched my vocabulary skills to align with his. I shuddered thinking about the spelling bees of long ago.