Braxton Campus Mysteries Collection - Books 1-4

Excerpt from Braxton Campus Mysteries Collection - Books 1-4

I caught the cable car back to North Campus. Students shared pics and tweets on their phone, arguing about which pitcher should start that Saturday. I'd been a baseball freak for years, but living in Los Angeles was difficult for a Phillies fan. Eventually, I'd given up quarreling over baseball and instead picked up football as my sport of choice. As the cable car pulled in, a light bulb went off in my head about how I could introduce myself to Coach Oliver.

I exited the cable car and took the shortest path to the cafeteria in the student union building. Lunch was winding down, so I got in and out quickly with two chicken salad croissants and a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, Maggie's favorite.

No one at the library's reception desk stopped me from entering the building. Student workers busily studied or looked up naughty things on the reference computers. I made a right at the history section and found Maggie sitting behind her desk in the corner office. She smiled and pointed at the adjacent chair. The décor was truly in need of an update.

“I brought snacks, if you're hungry?”

“You're a savior! The staff meeting ran longer than expected, and I forgot to bring lunch. Please tell me those are potato chips?”

“It'll cost you,” I said with a beaming smile. “My fees have gone up since senior year.”

“I've never forgotten your silly games, Kellan. You always knew how to make me relax when the day had worn me out.” She shifted a few books to the side of her desk and cleared a place for us to eat. “What's the price today? Study guides for an exam? Write an essay for you?”

“Inflation, baby. We're looking at a hundred-dollar bottle of champagne, or at the very least, an advanced copy of the latest Follett novel. I know you have connections as a librarian.”

“As if I'd share it with you before I read it. I hardly think a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips is worth that much effort.” Her eyes twinkled at me, and for a moment, I thought she caught me staring at her.

“True, I jumped the shark with that request, didn't I? Okay, today's a freebie, but next time, watch out. I won't be as easy with you.”

We chatted about her new role at Memorial Library. She’d throw a magnificent costume ball later that semester for residents of Braxton, to receive more donations for the renovations. Although her predecessor was a fantastic librarian, Mrs. O'Malley hadn't embraced the technology curve as much as she should have. The college severely lacked access to the latest library hardware and software.

As we finished eating, Maggie surprised me by bringing up Abby's death. “Connor tells me they're announcing later today that they're close to identifying the killer. I guess they must reveal it was murder at that point, huh?”

I don't know whether I was more concerned they might apprehend someone I knew, or that Maggie had further demonstrated how close she and Connor had become in the last few weeks. “Really? I talked to him this morning. He mentioned nothing about an arrest.”

“He called a few minutes ago. I'm glad we connected this year,” she said with a rising glow.

A student worker popped in to ask if he could leave fifteen minutes early for an unplanned baseball practice. Maggie let him go and wished him luck on Saturday's game.

“So, what exactly are you and Connor these days?” Better to know than feel like I'd been left in the dark.

Maggie coughed and took a big swig of water. “Connor and… ummm… we are… well, what makes you ask, Kellan?” I'd seen that look on her face before, although in the past it was much more innocent.

“Yeah, I mean, you both lost touch like we did. Are you friends again? Are you colleagues who chat from time to time? You know what I mean.” I didn't want to ask outright. I'd been clear enough with an open-ended question, but Maggie wasn't sure or didn't feel comfortable discussing it.

“I'd say we're friends. Good friends. He's been a big comfort since I returned. Connor's helped me figure out how to move on without my husband anymore.” Maggie fiddled with the books on the desk, then stood. “I should get back to work. I'm so glad you came by today.”

Ouch! I was being kicked out again, but Maggie’s directness impressed me. “We must do this again soon. I should get going too. I need to swing by Grey Sports Complex to talk with Coach Oliver.”

Maggie shifted her head sideways. “What's that about?”

“My mother thought I should meet him. That's all,” I lied. Not that I didn't trust Maggie, but I wasn't sure it would amount to anything given the awkward moments we'd just shared. “What do you think of him?”

“He's a solid coach. Loves his job, but not a big supporter of the whole educational purpose for student enrollment at Braxton. That's why I let that pitcher leave early. If Jordan showed up late, Coach Oliver would penalize him in front of the entire team.”

“That's cruel.” No wonder I stayed away from playing sports back in college. I wouldn't have accepted it and gotten myself into trouble. I had a minor issue with authority figures in my teens and early twenties—the downside of being too clever for your own good.

“A bit, but he's trying to instill some discipline in the team. They had a rough year, and he wants to get a few of them into the minor or major leagues after graduation.”

“I don't agree with his approach, but perhaps his heart's in the right place,” I said.

“Listen, Kellan, it'd be nice to have dinner before you leave town. Call me when you have a free night?” When she grabbed my hand, a shock ran through my system.

I smiled my biggest smile since arriving back in Braxton. “Definitely. I'll call you soon, Maggie.”

“I never could resist those baby blue eyes of yours.” she said with a wink, giving me the shivers.

Ten minutes later, I stood outside Grey Sports Complex, a giant series of three-story buildings connected by a common, central entranceway. Above the front reception doors on the second floor, an enclosed courtyard with a ten-foot-tall statue of the college's founder, Heathcliff Braxton, loomed larger than life. Although you could see the top of the statue from the ground, the peaceful garden surrounding it—used by students in the spring and fall for outdoor physical education lectures—was only accessible from the second floor.

I rehearsed my planned conversation with Coach Oliver. I'm a professional, I can do this, I convinced myself while entering reception. There were two couches and a table, three doors besides the one I came in, and a television screen on the wall showing various camera positions throughout the building. I saw the baseball field, a swimming pool, what appeared to either be a tennis or volleyball court—the camera had a weird angle—and the fitness center. I looked around the reception area to determine where to go, but someone stopped me in my tracks. “May I help you?”

I heard the voice but couldn't find the corresponding body. I searched all around me in the small room, but I was alone. “Ummm… I'd love to introduce myself, but where exactly are you?”

“Please state your name and whom you are here to see.”

Someone was way ruder than she needed to be. “Kellan Ayrwick. I am here to see Coach Oliver. Seriously, where are you hiding?”

“Notifying Coach Oliver. Please hold.” The girl wasn't anywhere in the room, leading me to question my sanity.

Annoyed she wouldn't reveal herself, I tried all three of the doors. They were locked. Two minutes later, the middle door opened. After I walked twenty feet down the hall, another voice said, “May I help you?”

Oh, not this again. I was about to use some foul language, but then it occurred to me I heard a male voice this time. Maybe he could help me find Coach Oliver. When I reached the steps, a familiar man approached—the same guy in the blue sedan outside Abby Monroe's house. All my worlds were colliding in that one moment.

After the initial shock wore off, my entire plan to meet the athletic director flew out the window. I tried the first approach I could think of. “There was a voice that spoke to me in reception. I'm not crazy, or at least I don't think I am, but I told the girl I was looking for Coach Oliver.”

The man laughed and extended his hand. “You've come to the right place. That would be me.”

Luck must be on my side today, but that only connected a few of the dots for me. “Oh, terrific. Then I'm heading in the right direction. I'm Kellan Ayrwick. Could you explain what happened back there?”

“Ah, we're testing out some technology. Rather than pay a student to sit out front all day and check identification cards for who can enter the building, we've installed new facial recognition software. It didn't know who you were, so the system asked you to identify yourself. When I heard you state your name, I released the door to let you in.” Coach Oliver told me to follow him to the third floor.

I remembered the blogger had mentioned something about technology for the athletics department. “Is this for sports teams? I saw something similar at my father's party the other night.”

Coach Oliver responded, “Ah, you're their son. Your mother volunteered to use it to track entry at the retirement party. We're eventually hoping to use it around the college but initially at the sports games to help with access control and improved security.”

While what he said made sense, I still didn't grasp fully how it functioned. “So, does that mean I was speaking to some robot or computer back in reception?”

“Yes, a camera snaps a photo when someone enters the building. We match it against the system to grant access. Eventually, we'll record your movement throughout the facility, but for now, the facial recognition software is only installed in the reception area.” We'd reached the third floor, and he made a left down the hall. “Our new fitness center is down the other hall to the right.”

“What else have you installed so far?”

“We have one camera near the fitness center and several around Grey Field. They're currently fitting voice-activated controls for the lighting on the third floor in my office and nearby conference room. Just the minimum until we finish testing it next week. The system isn't yet fully functional.”

“Cool stuff,” I replied, unconvinced of its potential value on campus. “Braxton seems like such a small school to need all these advanced systems.”

“It's a way to move toward the twenty-first century. We need to look like we're at the front of the curve if we want the right people to notice us,” he replied hesitantly and breathing more heavily.

“Happy with it?” I wondered who was expected to notice them. Potential students?

“Everyone forgets their identification cards. Facial recognition has helped our operations, although a few people have gotten in without proper access. We're working out the kinks. I only use the system's features for tracking player performance and interacting with potential team sponsors and sports management companies.”

“How did you get the financial support for such an expensive technology?” I became the blogger taking aim at anyone supporting the athletics department.

“Not sure. I guess the Board of Trustees ultimately found the funds.” Coach Oliver started sweating once we reached his office. Was it the two flights of stairs or the questions about the money?

“Those anonymous donations must have helped with the improvements to the playing fields.” While Coach Oliver considered my words, the bags under his eyes indicated he hadn't slept in a few nights.

“No clue who donated the money, nor can I say much about the security side of it. Our security director can fill you in on that. How can I help today?” He absentmindedly scratched his balding head.

Oh, true. I had a reason to meet him before I'd realized he was the same guy I'd seen at Abby's place. “I'm in town for a few days and sorely missing the gym, but there aren't any true fitness centers in the area. “Could I use the college's facilities while I'm in Braxton? I wouldn't ask but—”

“Ah, yes, that would be totally fine. Your parents are good people, I'd do anything to help them. Your father's a big supporter of the athletics department. I'll add access to your identification card and account, so you can use the fitness center. We're open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.” He pulled out his phone and typed a few commands while leading me toward the fitness center down the hall. “Are you attending our opening game this Saturday? Expecting a full crowd.” The excitement in his words leaped from his mouth. For someone who potentially killed Abby or just lost his friend, it was curious. Either he was a great actor or something else was going on behind the scenes in this mystery.

“I heard about a big rivalry between two pitchers. What was it, Striker and Jimmy?” I kept my tone simple, looking disinterested and as though I were making normal conversation.

“Jordan Ballantine, last year's relief pitcher. I used to bring him in, in the seventh or eighth inning whenever Striker tired out or gave up too many hits. I spent a lot of time with Jordan over the summer. His new curveball came out of nowhere. That kid might come close to a hundred miles per hour. He's got a chance of making the major leagues, but Striker's the current top dog.”

“Sounds like a healthy competition. Decided who will start?”

“Got one more practice this week, then I'll make a big announcement on Friday at the pep rally,” Coach Oliver replied, noting he had to finish working on a few things. “Come by the fitness center anytime. Top-notch facility here, just bought a few new pieces of equipment that'll work wonders for those delts of yours.” He slapped the back of my shoulder with heavy force.

I couldn't let him go that easily. “I appreciate it. My mom thought you'd be able to help. She was upset over missing you at the party. Thought she saw you walking that night, but you were looking the other way or something. I guess you never made it, huh?”

Coach Oliver startled like a fox caught in the henhouse. “Saw me? Really? Hmmm… I got to the party and met your sister, Eleanor, in the lobby… on her way out.”

I let him squirm. When he didn't seem to recall or offer anything further, I triggered his memory. “I think she said you might have been right outside Diamond Hall.”

“Ah, yeah,” Coach Oliver said with a slightly higher pitch to his voice. “I just remembered. I was late dropping off the schedule for the upcoming week. President Ayrwick, I mean your father, likes a hand-delivered copy of the weekly sporting event schedule each Friday, so he can plan accordingly. I ran into his assistant, and she offered to drop it off for me.”

Lorraine hadn't mentioned this to me, which seemed odd. Surely, Coach Oliver wouldn't lie about something I could easily disprove. I didn't want to alienate him, so I nodded and smoothed over the conversation. Maybe he'd admit to knowing Abby. “Oh, that makes sense. My father is particular about his schedule. Such a shame about what happened to that professor.”

“Definitely. It's always hard to hear someone's died, but to know they had an accident at such a young age, that’s worse. She had a lot of life left in her.”

Given he opened the door, I stepped further inside. “I take it you knew her well?”