braxton-campus-mysteries-cozy-mystery-series-with-strong-male-lead

Cozy Mystery Book Series With Strong Male Lead

Braxton Campus Mysteries Series by James J. Cudney

On Tuesday, I woke early and pushed myself to visit Grey Sports Complex for my first workout in five days. Jordan, the student employee who worked at Memorial Library—and Striker's new competition—ran on a treadmill. A pretty blonde raced furiously on the stationary bicycle. When I walked past both, I heard Jordan call out, “You're gonna beat your record, hot stuff!” She smiled at him, and they both focused on their workouts.

Rather than address a specific body part or group, I tested several of the new machines and acclimated to the equipment. Although I wouldn't stay in Braxton long, it would be helpful to take advantage of the opportunity.

When I arrived home, I scarfed down an early lunch—chocolate whey protein shake with almond milk, peanut butter, strawberries, and flaxseed. 'Don't knock it til you try it,' I remembered the juice-maker telling me back at my home gym. Ever since that introduction, it'd become my new standard lunch on workout days. I unlocked my iPad, opened the FaceTime app, and contacted my daughter. As expected, she accepted the call without her grandmother's help and waved hello to me.

“Hello, my precious girl. Good morning to you.”

“Daddy! Where are you?” Although Emma knew how to hold the device properly, so the camera caught her face, she couldn't stop from bouncing up and down on the couch in excitement.

“Slow down, baby. I'm gonna get seasick.”

“Sorry. But if you bounced too, maybe we'd both look like we were super still.”

I found little fault with her logic about not getting seasick. Maybe she was onto something. “What did you eat for breakfast?” I noticed blueberry stains on her lips. She loved to eat fruit and didn't seem to care for desserts. I often questioned if she were truly my daughter.

“Bear Berries. Ummm… Grandma said we could go to the zoo. They have a new baby giraffe.”

Emma was in her obsessed-with-animals phase and wanted to go to the zoo every weekend. I suggested other sites like the planetarium or the beach, but nothing had taken the zoo's place in months. At some point, you had to give in if you wanted to maintain your sanity as a parent.

I told Emma about Nana D playing the clarinet years ago. She asked to take lessons after the next zoo trip. When her cartoons came on, she tossed the iPad to her grandmother. Cecilia waved hello and asked when I'd be back. Not another person adding to my list of aggravations.

While Francesca's parents were fantastic grandparents, they were horrendous in-laws. Were they still in-laws if I wasn't married to their daughter anymore? My point—they were amazing to Emma when Francesca died. But a few months after the burial, once life somehow got normal again—as normal as it could be for a thirty-year-old widower with a four-year-old daughter—I started seeing unfortunate changes. Vincenzo and Cecilia Castigliano showed up uninvited at my house with a request to keep Emma overnight, claiming they missed their daughter and wanted to feel close to her. One afternoon, Happy Tots Day Care called to say Emma's grandparents wanted to sign her out for the afternoon. I tried to keep an open mind about the Castigliano behavioral changes, but on the one-year anniversary of Francesca's death, Vincenzo snuck into my office to inform me he and Cecilia had decided it would be better if Emma moved in with them. I'd always known Vincenzo brokered shady business deals, but I never knew the extent until that night when Francesca's sister revealed their father was part of a Los Angeles mob. I started asking around, and a colleague pointed out the Castigliano family weren't just part of a Los Angeles mob. They were the main family who ran the Los Angeles mob.

Although I was non-confrontational, I needed their help since I was a single parent and wasn't planning to move back to Pennsylvania. I made it clear Emma was never to be placed in any dangerous situations given the family business. Vincenzo had shrugged and grunted, then said, “I don't know what you talk about. We run a lovely import-export business. Very quiet and safe.” We'd come to an agreement, but if they ever stepped out of line, I wouldn't be afraid to do something more drastic.

After I hung up, I dropped my head to the counter and closed my eyes. I was weary and needed a moment of silence. Too bad that wouldn’t happen.

“Good afternoon, Kellan. It's about time you woke up,” my father commented as he stood over me with a glass of water and a plate full of scattered whole wheat toast crumbs.

“I've been up since at least eight. Don't forget that's like five to me with the time difference. I haven't yet adjusted.” I wish I knew whether he was serious or simply enjoyed pushing my buttons.

“You're young enough it shouldn't matter. At your age, I already had—”

“What are you doing home, anyway?” I couldn't compare our lives anymore. He'd always win. “Has retirement already begun?”

“As your mother and Lorraine told you yesterday, I can't return to my office until the sheriff finishes searching the building. It's easier to get most of my work done at home in the mornings, then go on campus for meetings in the afternoon. I won't be using the temporary office anymore and asked the facilities department to put my furniture in storage until they complete the renovations.”

“Does Lorraine report everything she tells me back to you?” I'd have to be careful how much I spoke my mind in front of her. “She’s concerned about what Sheriff Montague wants from you.”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Kellan. The sheriff and I are on good terms with this whole debacle. I'm confident they’ll do the right thing soon,” he replied. “While you're here, I need to speak with you about something.”

Oh, great. If he asked how long I'd be staying again, I'd pack my bags that afternoon and hop the next flight no matter the cost or location, even if Derek fired me. Speaking of Derek, I owed him a status update. “What's on your mind? I have some questions for you too, Dad.”

“Go ahead. You first.” My father perched on a stool at the kitchen island and glared at me.

“Where did you go the night of the retirement party? Mom's worried about you. Something's weird around here.” I didn't want to bring up the call I'd overheard yet.

“Well, since you've put that so eloquently, Kellan, I was doing my job. Not all of us have the freedom to come and go or choose what projects we work on. I had an impromptu conversation with the Board of Trustees about something urgent near the end of their meeting.”

“They meet on Saturday night. Who does that?”

“If you must know, they were discussing their final recommendations on the new president before the panel interviews. Their meeting was held after they all stopped by my party.” He turned his hands over, so both palms faced upwards, then pulled them back to his body and crossed them in his lap.

I had the sudden urge to mock him. I didn't, as it wouldn't win me any favors. “Anything new from the blogger? I couldn't remember the site name to check myself.”

“Yes, there was another post on Sunday talking about the opulence of my retirement party.” His color faded as he spoke, making me debate if he were more human than I'd given him credit for. “Your mother and I paid for that party out of our pockets. The Board wanted to cover all costs, but we insisted they'd already bought me a wonderful going away present.” He handed me his phone to read the post:

If you weren't in attendance at Saturday night's grand ceremony, you missed a soirée fit for royalty. Between the exotic scents and rare foods dripping in excess, I found everyone's admiration for Wesley Ayrwick to be so sickening, I couldn't force myself to stay exceptionally long. I'd hoped to share photos, but a security attendant who treated us like criminals stopped any camera or video recordings. Are we supposed to bow to our king? He should’ve spoken less about the baseball team's new uniforms and more about the questionable source of the anonymous donations frivolously spent in all the wrong places. Stop by Grey Sports Complex to test the ridiculous new systems that were integrated into our curiously modernized athletic facility. I managed to overhear quite a conversation about an upcoming special visitor to campus, and a well-known community citizen might shake in their boots once I reveal what's been going on behind our backs. Look for my next post to disclose all the details of these shady shenanigans.

When I asked my father if there was any truth to the post, he changed the subject. He noted how students found the blogger to be a funny distraction but gave his or her messages little consideration. I recalled the conversation where Myriam accused him of spending the college's money in ways he shouldn't have. He'd let her believe Braxton covered the costs of the party and never attempted to defend himself. Was he learning how to be less combative with other people, just not me? “Do you think Myriam Castle is leading this crusade against you?”

“Doubtful. Myriam and I spar from time to time, and she doesn't particularly like me, but she's not someone to hide behind her words. She directly indicts me of wrongdoing.”

He had a good point about why she'd blog under an anonymous name yet accuse him of similar things in a public setting, where anyone could have overheard the conversation. “What about the new technology at Grey Sports Complex? How did that get funded?”

“I don't know all the details going on behind the scenes at Braxton. The Board of Trustees decided. You should touch base with Councilman Stanton. He's on the Board,” he replied. “That all?”

Nana D would be a perfect person to grill the councilman. Since I couldn't bring up the mysterious phone call, I jumped to other topics. “Why didn't you tell me that Maggie and Connor were working at Braxton? I was just here in December, and you could have said something. Or picked up the phone.”

“I didn't think it was important. You haven't mentioned either in a decade. I'd assumed you lost touch and cared little about what had happened to them. You've never been one to rehash the past.”

Ouch. The digs were back in full force. “That's a little unfair, Dad. I may have lost touch, but Mom's having weekly coffee dates with Maggie. Connor works as your director of security.”

“I thought you'd be happy I hired your friends. Some might call that nepotism.”

Why did he always know what to say to shut me up? And why did I always feel like I was five years old around him? Since throwing a tantrum wasn't an option, I reined in my frustrations and leapt into the big topic. “Who do you think murdered Abby Monroe?”

“That's a matter for Sheriff Montague. I can tell you that neither I nor Lorraine had anything to do with it. What the sheriff does next, I don't know, but hopefully, she listens to me on the topic.”

“Which means… what?” Seriously, did everyone have this much trouble with their parents?

“We had a complicated relationship. I liked Abby as a person, but she wasn't qualified for her position. The Board of Trustees was too worried about potential lawsuits if we tried to fire her. Instead, we kept her power in check,” he said while crossing his arms and scowling. “I have it on good authority she'd been job hunting before Saturday's incident. The woman made enemies and was going through a nasty divorce. The sheriff plans to investigate those angles and put an end to this entire affair. Can I now discuss what I wanted to talk to you about?”

Abby was the person my father had been talking about failing to terminate on the call I'd overheard. I considered all his news and rationalized he had a solid theory about the investigation. “Yes, go ahead, Dad. I'm listening.” I assumed it had something to do with Emma or my mother.

“Abby's death has left a hole in the communications department. There's only one other professor with experience in media studies, but she's covering Abby's administrative responsibilities for Dean Mulligan. We don't have anyone who can teach her classes for a few weeks until we find a suitable replacement.” He paused to see if I had any reactions. If I remembered correctly, Dean Mulligan, Abby's boss, oversaw all the academic departments.

I suspected where he was going with the conversation but wanted him to ask me directly, before I put my foot in my mouth. “I imagine it's quite a predicament. You've solved bigger problems before.”