Legally Blind Luck (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 7)

Book summary

In "Legally Blind Luck," Kellan's world is thrown into chaos when he uncovers a deadly curse and a coveted talisman. With a relentless government agent on his trail, he must safeguard the heirloom, all while navigating a web of murder and deception that threatens his own life. As the list of suspects grows, Kellan and Sheriff April race against time to unravel the mystery, relying on both their wits and a touch of blind luck.

Excerpt from Legally Blind Luck (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 7)

“Are you certain she didn’t kill him? Let’s postpone until next week.” I scraped several cinnamon roll crumbs off the coffee table, concerned the feisty secretary would bestow her trademark death look upon me again. Three times in under ten minutes had broken her record.

“Pop a squat and settle that keister, Kellan. Your incessant pacing has inflamed my arthritis. President Power will oust Cain Endicott in a jiffy.” Prior to stomping toward the door, Ursula’s dictatorial and ornery assistant switched off her Victorian lamp and locked her vintage mirrored desk. “If that rocky discussion shudders your innards,” she added, flicking her pearl-adorned neck in the opposite direction, “yesterday’s bickering would’ve ruptured your blood vessels. Professors and students congregated outside the building to identify the source of the ruckus.”

I shrugged noncommittally while she hastily escaped Prentiss Hall in her high-performance jogging shoes, charcoal-gray pantsuit, and festive pashmina, precariously dangling four-inch pumps and a bedazzled handbag from her fingertips. A terse mention of her husband purchasing almost-impossible-to-locate theater tickets for that night accompanied her plummy voice. Attending a hot new musical sounded way more appetizing than performing my imminent song and dance routine.

After tossing the dirty napkin into the trash bin, I tiptoed closer to Ursula’s door to listen for any death blows signaling the end of their argument. I wasn’t normally prone to eavesdropping, but snooping occasionally happened when something important—okay, yes, it was true—I listened to other people’s conversations ad nauseam. Nana D suggested I inherited my nosiness from her, but mostly I believed it was my adorable charm and unique dedication to pursuing the truth. An occupational hazard for academic folks with a keen love of mysteries and drama. After fifteen months back home, I fully embraced my innate tendency to solve unusual homicide cases, only because I couldn’t retain any self-control for minding my own business.

Behind the wood-paneled interior door, Ursula shouted something about thousands of dollars over budget and lacking the proper authority, to which Cain retorted, “African art is expensive. Did you honestly think I would be the laughingstock of all the institutions in our immediate academic circle? Come on, President Power, this is unnecessary. Surely you’d agree I am capable of….” His voice dropped too low, so I pressed my five-foot-nine frame against the door to overhear the remaining conversation.

As Ursula responded, the outer door from the main hallway blasted open, and Dean Fern Terry raced inside like a galloping giraffe. A single drop of sweat trailed the center of her creased forehead. We were both scheduled to meet with Braxton’s esteemed president, but I wanted to disappear like the rabbit in a cheesy magic trick to avoid whatever hell fury was about to rain down. Especially when Fern trapped her foot under the corner of a leather ottoman, tumbled to the floor, and inadvertently hurled her giant stack of folders in my direction. Ursula and Cain must’ve heard the commotion, because within the subsequent five seconds I fell backward against the interior office door just as Cain opened it. I landed spread eagle on the carpet, littered with Fern’s ridiculous paraphernalia, and cringed as Cain’s cup of hot tea puddled on the front of my khakis—in an overly sensitive and embarrassing spot.

“Argh! What the—”

Cain interrupted my soon-to-be blasphemous outburst with his profusive apology, brushing back a rogue chunk of blackish-brown curls from his high and broad forehead. “I’m so sorry. What happened out here? Looks like a tornado swept through the office.” Among his classic Roman features—wide-set eyes, a hooked nose, and a powerful jaw—lurked an inquisitive yet angry gaze.

“There can only be one reason you’re in the fetal position, Kellan,” Ursula chastised in between chuckling and offering me a bunch of wadded up tissues. Her almond-shaped emerald eyes sparkled from the sun piercing through the windowpanes. “You’re a magnet for unnatural disasters. I hope you understand if I don’t help clean that mess. I’m dealing with enough HR issues these days. Pour some club soda on it before it stains.”

Fern organized her papers while I blotted and spritzed water on my pants. Ursula had readily handed over a spray bottle, filled to the brim explicitly for painstakingly misting her exotic plant collection. I sighed before yielding like a trapped critter, then uttered, “No worries. I’ve got this one all by myself. Maybe we should defer our chat until the inclement weather subsides?”

“Huh? It’s sunny and clear out. What are you babbling about?” A moment later, Cain craned his neck and realized I was being facetious. He vigorously shook his head, stretched for his briefcase, and pointed an accusatory finger in Ursula’s direction. “Over my dead body will I concede. You know I’m right, President Power. We’re shelving it tonight and will address what’s best for Braxton on Monday.”

While Ursula and Cain exchanged a handful of professional but incisive jibes, Fern and I regained our composures inside the presidential office and scouted for two spots near the bay window. We’d been asked to show up for a six o’clock discussion but had no knowledge of the meeting’s purpose. All Ursula’s austere secretary had articulated that morning was, “She asks. You appear. Need I explain more?”

I’d reached an unbearable limit of authoritarian women. Our spring graduation had just concluded, and my boss, the doughty and acerbic Dr. Myriam Castle, insisted I cover the next term even though I’d been assured no classes that summer. Braxton would soon convert from a college into a university, and I sat on the committee to facilitate the relaunch. I had non-existent time to teach a six-week compacted lecture in foreign literature and films, but when the irritable despot who also happened to be married to the college president mandated something, the word no wasn’t an option.

As if Myriam weren’t slinging enough abuse, Nana D—my spitfire grandmother, also the mayor of our secluded north-central Pennsylvania county—had stepped up her regular harassment routine and prodded me daily on several urgent matters. Ever felt two red-hot pokers jabbing your derriere like twin needles on a sewing machine? Not a pretty sight! Given the recent immense tragedy in my life, I craved essential downtime before my head exploded from stress and sorrow.

While I settled into an uncomfortably petite sofa, Cain stormed out of Ursula’s office, and she gracefully ensconced herself behind a white pine desk. “That man has a death wish!” Performing a calming yoga technique, she switched gears and said, “I’ve always loved this building. So much history! Don’t you agree?”

“Over two hundred years old. Must be difficult to concentrate with everything to admire.”

Prentiss Hall, an architecturally stunning, four-story Georgian structure overlooking the South Campus cable car system, housed many of Braxton’s vital administrative departments. Resplendent with exquisite symmetry, the exterior masonry boasted dozens of pediments, arches, and columns, including an English ivy-covered facade. Ursula’s office commandeered the penthouse level, which had been divided into the presidential suite, encompassing a private bathroom and bedroom; an octagonal antechamber, accommodating the secretary’s desk and a waiting area for guests; and a large conference room, used for board meetings and other executive-level summits. With a flair for European minimalism, aerodynamic design, and pale, airy, and lustrous decor, she insisted on spending her own money rather than Braxton’s. The room’s color scheme primarily drew from blue, gray, and beige tones, easily relaxing guests and suggesting a place of harmony. Except, apparently, for that day.

“I agree. It’s vastly different from my dreary offices on North Campus.” Fern glanced back and forth between Ursula and me, then hiccupped. “Excuse me,” she softly added, humbly requesting a pardon for her bluntness, and chugged from her eco-friendly water bottle. “What’s on the agenda this Friday evening, President Power?”

“Let’s take a minute to center ourselves. I apologize for the tirade you’ve just witnessed. We are at a crossroads with Braxton’s forthcoming exhibition.” Ursula explained that Cain Endicott, the chair of the art department, had submitted an unorthodox proposal to her months ago, claiming it would bring a plethora of rich donors to Braxton. His unsubstantiated theory projected that they’d exceed the funds required to complete the fall rebranding as Braxton University.

Fern tugged on her ear, a nervous tick she’d stopped trying to control, and grinned as wide as her quarterback-size shoulders. Her pixie hairdo, pallid complexion, and menacing linebacker body frame kept the student population in control, primarily out of fear and respect. “It’s quite thrilling. I’ve heard so much about next week’s opening.” When Ursula nodded, Fern mentioned her brother-in-law would speak at a session in the controversial event.

“I forgot about your connection to the panel of revered guests. Maybe he’ll contribute something about that infamous African idol.” Ursula crossed her long, shapely legs and arched her back. Somewhere in her forties, she was Braxton’s youngest president. She’d already piloted the campus for a year, deemed an impressive successor to the former head—my father, Wesley Ayrwick.

Dad had retired in parallel to convincing me to return home and teach at Braxton for a year. I’d recently signed on for another term, something I still aggressively debated in my soul every waking moment. Money versus sanity. Family versus relaxation. Happiness versus potential incarceration because I locked them in an underground storm shelter simply to gain an ounce of privacy and a much-deserved break from their lunacy.

Upon checking my watch and realizing I only had thirty minutes before another pressing engagement, I awkwardly cleared my throat. “Not to be rude, but I have to be somewhere soon. Could we address the reason you asked to meet?”

Although Ursula erred on the down-to-earth and open-minded range of personalities, Braxton’s president wielded the upper hand in all conversations. She extended me more leeway than most other professors and administrative staff, and I tried my best not to exploit such charity. “Of course, this shouldn’t take too long. It’s imperative someone get Cain back in line. His grand plans and lavish spending for the upcoming art exhibition have run amok, and I don’t have the time to babysit him.” Ursula explained that his ideas had originally impressed her, and she’d granted him a tad too much slack in the previous weeks. Everything needed to align with our meticulously designed marketing program for the university’s future.

Fern eagerly agreed to sort through the chaos with Cain, despite her primary role as Dean of Students. Our Dean of Academics had resigned, and the influential and much-coveted position was still unoccupied, so Ursula juggled more than usual. I failed to understand why they’d roped me into the melodrama. “Is there any specific value that I offer here? I’m a professor in the communications department. My specialty is film and series productions. I’m not sure what I have to do with Cain’s request for more money.”

Fern released a disturbing guffaw. “Well, I suppose one could say you often motivate others to do the right thing. Your natural charm and wit put people at ease. They ardently trust you.”

“Quite true. You also pose an intelligent and obvious question, Kellan. I’d planned to tap someone else, but he took an unexpected family leave this summer,” countered Ursula, flipping her honey tresses off her shoulders. “Myriam suggested you’d be the perfect replacement candidate. Something about the fortuitous connection between the art exhibition and the impending literature and film seminar you’ll teach. I assume that means something to you. I, unfortunately, am not familiar with every course in the curriculum this semester.” Ursula dispensed two folders, indicating they contained all the details on the exhibition’s budget, schedule, panel of guest speakers, and her specific goals and objectives.

If I weren’t so fantastically adept at solving murders, I’d maim and kill my boss. Knowing my luck, I’d resort to helping the sheriff, coincidentally also my girlfriend, arrest and prosecute myself for Myriam’s untimely demise. Images of Myriam drowning in a sea of Shakespearean quotes—she expertly inserted one into every conversation—triggered me to stifle a childish giggle. “I will have to thank her for this… generous… vote of confidence. I should buy a nice plant for her office. Is your wife fond of poison ivy or foxglove?”

Ursula released an unexpected snort as I spat out the words through gritted teeth. “Are you two still at each other’s throats? I trust you’ll continue to improve your relationship to show students the importance of respectfully disagreeing but nevertheless moving the dial forward. Part of me thinks you inspire one another to excel in your respective areas of expertise.” As she stood, an unspoken sign implying the meeting’s conclusion, Ursula added, “Also, some business school friends have agreed to guide Braxton’s interests in next week’s exhibition. I’ll give them your contact information. Don’t be fooled by your initial impressions. This is one situation where it won’t benefit you to judge a pair of books by its covers. I’m sure the Jaccards will be in touch after I take them to a new restaurant in Woodland this evening. Have a great weekend.”

Fern enthusiastically grabbed my hand and ushered us both out of Ursula’s office before I could object, whine, or throw a tantrum. “This will be exciting! My sister taught me oodles about paintings and sculptures. We’re having dinner after her flight lands tomorrow. She and her husband are frequent intercontinental travelers. I can hardly keep track of my own life these days, especially with a new grandchild.”

“Hmmm… you and I have drastically opposing definitions of exciting,” I barked back as we scurried to the parking lot and arranged our meeting for the following day.

“Oh, Kellan, you’re entirely too dramatic for a man in his early thirties. How do you put up with yourself?” Fern withdrew a car key from her pant pocket and sneered in jest at me.

“A modern wonder, huh?” With a cheesy grin and two thumbs up, I encouraged a handful of dedicated runners obsessing about their heart rate monitors. They’d just crossed the pedestrian bridge over a man-made pond the science department had dug the previous year. Though deep enough to stock a few species of fish, it wasn’t large enough for students to swim in or fraternities and sororities to conduct illegal hazing practices. As Fern shut the car door, I queried, “Any idea what she meant about the Jaccards’ appearance? Are we being punked?”

“No clue. Maybe they’re one of those mis-match couples… you know… where they are total extreme opposites but click perfectly well together?” While rolling up her window and nearly trapping my fingers, Fern ruefully tossed her hands in the air.

“Hmmm… somehow, I don’t think that’s what she implied. See ya tomorrow.”

I’d luckily scheduled myself off for the entire weekend, mostly so I could plan the summer class Myriam had dropped in my lap. All my free moments belonged to others; none remained at my discretion except spending quality time with loved ones—the only activity keeping me sane since the Orlando airport catastrophe had struck ten weeks earlier. Since then, I’d spent an inordinate amount of time investigating my family’s life-changing tragedy. My mind and body were exhausted, but my heart and soul had suffered indelibly upon learning of Uncle Zach’s death in a devastating explosion.

“The cosy mystery was thoroughly entertaining at all levels”

— Amazon Review

“An intriguing read with captivating characters”

— Amazon Review

“The author provides a wonderful balance of new storylines while continuing to give us fans plenty of interaction with our favorite recurring characters in Kellan’s circle of family, friends and frenemies”

— Amazon Review