Kelly Brakenhoff's Blog, page 12
January 8, 2021
January Online Book Club: Cruel Candy by Mildred Abbott
A quick, fun read and a photogenic dog. A fitting beginning to a new year, Cruel Candy is about Winifred "Fred" Page who resets her life by moving home to scenic Estes Park, Colorado and opening a bookstore. Accompanied by her smart, chubby corgi, Watson, she discovers a dead body before the ink is dry on her new store lease.
December 31, 2020
2020 Reading Challenge: Interview with Goodreads Power Reader James Cudney
This year, my Goodreads Reading Challenge Goal was 36 books and I actually read 39 books. Just when I finished patting myself on the back, I saw that Jay had read 163 books in 2020!
December 24, 2020
A Day in My Life ~ Cassandra Sato
In my everyday job as Vice President for Student Affairs at Morton College, I’m more comfortable writing meeting minutes, strategic plans, or academic articles for Chronicles of Higher Education than entertaining people with stories about my day. Normally most people would say I lead a pretty boring life.
December 7, 2020
December Online Book Club: Rebel Queen by Michelle Moran
This story has it all: tragedy, intrigue, conspiracies, murder, and brutality. Also love, kindness, friendship, and the Queen's courage to fight for her people's survival.
December 3, 2020
Four Gifts: A Simpler Way to Give
Are you scaling back your holidays or going full Hallmark movie level celebration?
The Four Gifts idea has been around for a while and with everyone doing more online shopping this year, simple is more relevant than ever.
The Four Gifts idea has been around for a while and with everyone doing more online shopping this year, simple is more relevant than ever.
November 20, 2020
Book Tour and Apple Pie Recipe
Cassandra Sato's new dog, Murphy, makes his first internet appearance! And my Grandma Ruth's Apple Pie and Oil Pastry recipe. Shhh. . . don't tell my aunts. I don't want to get into trouble for spilling family secrets.
A Cornucopia of Book Tour Delights
Cassandra Sato's new dog, Murphy, makes his first internet appearance!
November 18, 2020
Dead of Winter Break Sneak Peek!
Peek at the first chapter of Dead of Winter Break, now available from Amazon and Kindle Unlimited as well as paperback.
Chapter One
December in Nebraska was best left to poets droning on about the dubious merits of frosty icicles and face-freezing temperatures. Inside the stuffy Performing Arts Center, Cassandra Sato felt sweat rivulets slide down her back under her academic regalia. Easing the light blue velvet sash a few inches away from her throat, she crossed her ankles and inhaled deeply to slow her heartbeat.
Moments earlier, while the Fall Commencement speaker—an economist who had graduated in the 1950s—launched the concluding salvo in his uninspiring remarks, Cassandra had glanced across the stage at Board of Directors Chairman Alan Hershey, Master of Ceremonies and owner of an age-defying head of hair that never fell out of place. Hershey had raised two fingers of his right hand and dipped his chin in a subtle greeting to someone in the audience.
Cassandra had followed his gaze to the parents and guests in the lower level seating that curved behind the Morton College graduates. The center’s Gothic interior resembled an old European chapel. Except instead of a central altar, a stage was flanked by two levels of box seats. Decorative carvings on the pillars and ceiling continued the impression of an old, stately theatre.
She smiled at the families wearing their finest clothes, pride in their new graduates obvious as they snapped photos of every aspect of the auspicious day. She loved commencements. Poignant endings and eager degree candidates brimming with promise for the future made her heart swell.
Cassandra had met a small number of parents in her four-plus months as Vice President for Student Affairs. As her eyes slid down a row about halfway up the section where Hershey had nodded, she hadn’t expected to recognize any of the faces.
Which was why her heart had lurched so suddenly.
With narrowed eyes, she confirmed the tall, thin, gray-haired man with the unruly eyebrows was indeed her former boss. Why was Dr. Gary Nielson sitting in the commencement audience instead of floating in a fishing trawler off the Florida coast wearing the goofy hat he’d posed in for the postcard Cassandra had received less than two weeks ago?
She racked her brain for a good reason why Nielson would end his sunny retirement trip so abruptly and return to wintry Carson, Nebraska. The skin on his face was several shades darker than the pale complexions he and his wife had sported in early November upon departing to begin their new life. His unexpected exit had thrown Cassandra’s office into a bit of chaos while the administrative departments divided up his duties and the board of directors hired an interim president.
That had not worked out as anyone had hoped. Now they were back to a vacancy, with Chairman Hershey making important decisions while pursuing a suitable replacement.
Just minutes before spotting Nielson, Cassandra had daydreamed of the time when she would become president of a university and it would be her duty—no, her deepest pleasure—to impart her own wisdom while standing before a crowd of beaming graduates and well-wishers.
The rest of the ceremony had passed in a distracted rush of excited motion and frustration while Cassandra waited to corner Chairman Hershey. The ending bars of Pomp and Circumstance echoed in the main hall while the stage party and graduates marched out to the lobby.
Unzipping her black outer gown, Cassandra left her floppy velvet tam in place so she wouldn’t mess up her hair. “Mr. Hershey, a moment— “
“Dr. Sato!” Hershey was only a few inches taller than her in heeled knee-high boots. “Glad I caught you before the reception. Dr. Nielson has changed his mind and will be reinstated as president for the spring term, giving us ample time to search for a permanent replacement.”
Six weeks of retirement under his belt and Nielson had changed his mind. Who does that?
Disappointment pinched a nerve in her temple. “Reinstated? He just left in November—"
“You well know the past two months have been controversial,” Hershey nodded. “Donors have complained. Parents have encouraged their children to transfer. Dr. Nielson was kind enough to oblige us on short notice.”
One student’s death, another violently attacked, campus protests, and media controversy had made for an exhausting first semester. All Cassandra wanted for the next four weeks of Winter Break was to watch mindless TV, wash every surface of her house, and write a telecommunications grant proposal.
Nielson’s reappearance seemed too coincidental. “But sir, —"
Hershey’s hair-sprayed head leaned closer to her ear. “Personally, I wish you had the age and experience to apply for the president’s job,” he said. Parents and audience members streamed into the lobby to meet up with their graduates. “Although I feel obligated to mention that it’s doubtful you’ll be seriously considered for the job here, no matter how mature or experienced you become. You, um . . . well, you don’t fit the Morton presidential mold . . .”
Without a trace of malice in his voice or expression, Hershey had just dismissed her aspirations as easily as one casts off a pair of shoes because she wasn’t the right style or color. Cassandra squinted and squeezed the heavy cardboard program in her hand until it bent in half. How dare he?
Cassandra’s face reddened and she’d just opened her mouth to reply when she felt a strong hand grip her elbow and an arm settle on her waist. She was steered away from Hershey and hustled off to the alcove leading to the women’s bathroom.
Cassandra yanked her arm away. Shaking out her poufy green striped velvet sleeves, she directed the indignation she’d felt toward Hershey at her friend Meg O’Brien instead.
“Why are you pushing me?”
Meg held both her palms up in mock surrender, flipped her wavy red hair over one shoulder, and glared back at Cassandra using a stink eye so authentically Hawaiian that Mama Sato would have been proud. “Is that how you thank me, wahine?” Meg’s index finger came up between them and hovered just inches from Cassandra’s chin. “I saved you from making a scene in front of all those people.”
If Meg ever used that look on her ten-year-old son, Tony, he’d probably turn to ash. Cassandra batted Meg’s finger away. Her face was inches from Meg’s, and she stage whispered, “I wasn’t making a scene! That patriarchal good ol’ boy just assured me I’d never get the president’s job here.”
“I overheard that part,” said Meg.
Cassandra backed away from her best friend and opened the bathroom door. They stepped around the corner into the lounge and huddled together on a chaise, out of range of others using the restroom stalls and sinks. “Does he think I’m too female or too Asian to fit the Morton presidential mold?”
Meg had worked at the commencement in her role as Morton’s ASL Interpreter Coordinator. A cantaloupe-sized baby bump protruded from her black sweater dress. Black tights and black boots made her outfit funeral-ready, but that was her standard uniform for stage events. “Mr. Country Club Helmet Head wasn’t trying to piss you off. He thought he was giving you friendly advice. Hershey likes you, Cass, although he’s oblivious to how backward he sounds. Didn’t you tell me after the fiasco with Dr. Winters that you won’t be applying for the vacant president’s job?”
The ladies lounge door banged open and Cinda Weller zeroed in on Cassandra and Meg in the corner. “I’m not wearing your ridiculously heavy outfit, but I’m still dying in this overheated mausoleum.” Cinda fanned herself with a souvenir program while her bouncy, blonde hair wilted into frizz. Morton’s Counseling and Career Services Director was practically defined by her dry humor and oddball Southern sayings. Several years younger than Cassandra and the mom of two young sons, she’d quickly become Cassandra’s friend.
Cassandra adjusted her robes. “I love the costumes only slightly more than I love commencements. I only get to wear mine twice per year.”
At the same time Cassandra and Cinda said, “It’s old school.” One of them meant it as a compliment, the other did not.
Cinda wore navy slacks with a Morton blue blazer and minimal makeup. She shook her head. “Did you notice that line of students who marched down the wrong aisle and had to double back around to their seats?”
Meg shrugged. “Dr. Bryant was their line leader, but don’t blame us for the mix-up. We did our jobs. That whole scuffle with the air horn was distracting.” Dr. Shannon Bryant was the Deaf Studies professor who Cassandra had recently gotten to know a little better. Meg worked with him often. Pointing toward the bathroom stalls, Meg said, “Mommy bladder.”
Cassandra had heard air horns several times throughout the program in disregard for signs at the entrance listing commencement etiquette do’s and don’ts. An announcement had been repeated during the ceremony requesting that the audience refrain from unruly behavior and everyone had complied. Except for one. Finally, Bob Gregory, the Business Office Director, had beelined over to a well-dressed woman and her disheveled friend in the left seating area and told them to leave.
The young woman had tossed her dark, tightly waved waist-length hair and loudly protested. “We’re cheering for our friends! We aren’t hurting anyone. Don’t be so uptight!” After his stern beckoning gesture, they’d shuffled over the legs of ten people to exit the row.
There’s at least one smartass in every audience.
By the time she and her companion had crawled their way to the aisle, the eyeballs of most males in the vicinity were fixed on the young woman’s long legs, short skirt, and pretty face. She repeated apologies to each person she stepped around. “Excuse me. Thanks. Hey, how are you? Good to see you. Hi, Professor.” The guy with her was dressed in jeans and a wrinkly t-shirt under a black leather jacket. He stood quietly in the aisle waiting for her until Gregory ushered them both out.
Some people had noticed the disruption, but the incident took only half a minute and the ceremony had continued smoothly.
As soon as Cassandra returned to the lobby, Bob Gregory appeared by her side. “Those air horn people were removed by campus security.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. “I tried to calm the young lady down and was willing to let her stay for the post-commencement luncheon if she agreed to relinquish the offending device, but she refused.”
The way Gregory said lady made it clear he did not consider her worthy of the title. “Apparently her mother is some diplomatic la-ti-da and she threatened to complain about her treatment today. Frankly, she was quite disrespectful.” His large stomach heaved upwards with his breath and his lower lip formed into a small pout. “Most of these young folks are nowadays. Disrespectful.” He nodded to himself as though Cassandra’s opinion was unnecessary for the conversation.
It was all she could do not to roll her eyes and tell him, okay, Boomer.
“Thanks for letting me know.” Cassandra said, “I’ll take care of it from here.”
Pulling her phone out of her blazer’s pocket, she sent a text to the campus security director, Andy Summers. “Hey Andy. Are you still with the couple from the graduation? Where are they now?”
While waiting for a response, Cassandra moved among the luncheon tables, congratulating graduates she recognized and meeting their parents. Small private colleges like Morton had a leg up on the chaotic busyness of her former college, Oahu State, because of intimate events like these.
Her phone vibrated with Andy’s text response. “Back at Picotte Hall. Student believes staff shamed her by singling her out.”
Fake candlelight blazed brightly overhead in the baroque chandelier, and Cassandra pressed her lips together.
She typed back, “Hang on there. I’ll be over in a few.”
Cassandra scanned the crowd until she found Cinda Weller. She waited near the doorway for the luncheon buffet line to thin down while chatting with a student and his family.
Cassandra stepped into Cinda’s line of sight, nodded her head to the hallway twice, and waited for Cinda to join her outside. “Would you mind going with me to deal with the students who were removed from the ceremony?”
“What was Sela thinking? I could hardly hear the graduates’ names with all that racket!”
“You know her? Is she a troublemaker?”
Cinda looked around the lobby and stepped closer to Cassandra. “Not exactly trouble. More like high maintenance. Her mother works in DC for an embassy or something fancy pants. The guy is Daniel Leung, but I haven’t had any problems with him. Sela Roberts . . .” Cinda made a big exhale. “That girl can be a long day.”
“Great. Well it might be an even longer day if she raises a stink about being called out.”
Cassandra often walked the fine line between enforcing rules and letting students express themselves in productive ways.
They claimed their heavy winter coats from the cloakroom. Cinda said, “It’s colder than a well digger’s butt out there.”
Indeed.
Dr. Bryant walked out the main doors the same time she and Cinda were leaving. He made the sign for cold and then pointed toward the banquet room as though he wondered why she and Cinda weren’t staying to eat.
Cassandra typed into her phone and showed it to him. “Checking on the students with the air horn.”
Bryant laughed and pointed at his ear. “Didn’t bother me,” he signed in ASL.
Cassandra laughed and waved goodbye while they turned away. Leaves crunched under their boots as they walked past the central square covered in brown grass.
Picotte Hall was only one city block away from the Arts Center, but a stabbing pain on Cassandra’s right pinky toe formed halfway there. Cassandra had assumed that her dress boots with 3” heels would be a perfect fit for the ceremony. Since moving to Carson, Cassandra had experienced several catastrophic footwear events, but she wasn’t giving up her love of beautiful shoes. No knockoff flats or clunky snow boots yet.
When Cassandra and Cinda made it past the security desk to the residence hall’s lobby, Andy Summers was waiting alone, thumbing through his phone, one hand resting on his thick black utility belt.
“Hey Andy. Where did the students go?”
His eyes broke away from the phone and slowly traveled from Cassandra’s boots to her face, then lingered on her head. She was still wearing the graduation tam. “We had a friendly chat. I think I convinced them not to file a complaint.”
About her age, military-cut blonde hair now covered by a thick navy stocking cap, Andy probably could stand to lose twenty pounds around his middle. Not that she was judging. Because not everyone had inherited their metabolism from Cassandra’s parents who moved constantly like worker bees and never gained a pound over their healthy weight.
“My ears are still ringing,” Cinda snorted. “I should file a complaint.”
“You could have texted us before we walked all the way over here.”
Andy’s ears flushed red. “They literally just left the lobby before you arrived. I thought you’d appreciate not having to deal with Sela and Daniel.”
“Okay.” Were they really so difficult to handle? “Thanks for the assist. While we’re all here, I need to ask you something else.” Cassandra stepped to a seating area and perched on the edge of a large ottoman. Andy and Cinda rested on the nearby couch and chair.
“Did either of you see Dr. Nielson at the grad ceremony?”
Identical expressions of skeptical confusion appeared on their faces.
Cinda said, “How much of that Kona coffee did you drink this morning? Dr. Nielson? He and his wife are in Florida.”
“I wish,” Cassandra breathed quietly to herself. “I didn’t see his wife, but Dr. Nielson was in the parent section, all dressed up and enjoying the show. Afterwards, Mr. Hershey told me that Nielson is coming back to work as president for the spring semester.”
Andy Summers blew out a soft whistle. “That’s good news! Nielson’s a good guy.”
“Hope nothing is wrong with his family,” Cinda said. “Maybe they’re in town for the holidays.”
Adjusting her boot to relieve the pinch in her shoe, Cassandra stood. “Let’s stop at Nielson’s office. I don’t want to wait until Monday to get the story.”
Fifteen minutes later, Cassandra swiped her key card to open the administrative suite and she and Cinda entered the president’s office area. The reception area and large desk where the president’s assistant normally worked was quiet, grey light penetrating the wall of windows.
Cinda paged through the piles of paper on the desktop.
“Don’t snoop, Cinda!” Cassandra stage whispered.
“How else would we find out anything?”
Cassandra’s high heels sunk into the plush carpet as she slowly pushed the heavy wooden door separating the entry area from Nielson’s old/new office. Finding it unlocked, she opened it wide enough to see the overhead lights were on. Cassandra knocked. “Hello, is anyone in here? Dr. Nielson?”
No one answered. Was Nielson’s key card still valid or had Hershey given him a new one already? Although Cassandra had no basis to feel unease, an urgency she couldn’t express made her cross boundaries she normally would have respected. Both women pushed inside.
Mismatched furniture and cardboard boxes sat where they’d been since the previous occupant’s hasty departure two weeks prior.
Cassandra made a circuit of the room, noticing a banker’s box containing awards and framed diplomas on the white desk chair. Maybe he’d brought some of his old things from storage and begun unpacking already. A cup of pens, a blank desktop calendar, a Morton College coffee cup, a commemorative keychain, and a pad of yellow sticky notes were the only items on the desk. The top paper on the yellow pad had a few words printed in Nielson’s trademark neat handwriting. He had been here at some point that morning.
“Should we check the men’s bathroom?”
Cinda was taking this hunt too far and Cassandra hated wasting time. Cassandra’s lips formed a line. “No, that’s fine. Let’s go back to the luncheon. Maybe Nielson is there meeting parents and hanging out with Mr. Hershey.”
Turning off the lights and closing the door behind them, they headed downstairs and back to the Performing Arts Center. Cinda said, “Aren’t you relieved that Nielson’s back? Less work for all of us now that we don’t have to do his job plus ours. I thought you liked working for him.”
Cassandra had looked forward to working at her own pace without anyone nosing over her shoulder. She thought a minute before answering carefully. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful he took a chance and hired me. But Nielson can be . . .”
“Oh bless his heart, he’s a sweet old coot.”
Cassandra laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. You didn’t see him at the graduation this morning. His skin was tan like he’d been outside, but something was off. I need to talk to him.” She nodded. “Then I’ll adjust to having my boss back.”
Chapter One
December in Nebraska was best left to poets droning on about the dubious merits of frosty icicles and face-freezing temperatures. Inside the stuffy Performing Arts Center, Cassandra Sato felt sweat rivulets slide down her back under her academic regalia. Easing the light blue velvet sash a few inches away from her throat, she crossed her ankles and inhaled deeply to slow her heartbeat.
Moments earlier, while the Fall Commencement speaker—an economist who had graduated in the 1950s—launched the concluding salvo in his uninspiring remarks, Cassandra had glanced across the stage at Board of Directors Chairman Alan Hershey, Master of Ceremonies and owner of an age-defying head of hair that never fell out of place. Hershey had raised two fingers of his right hand and dipped his chin in a subtle greeting to someone in the audience.
Cassandra had followed his gaze to the parents and guests in the lower level seating that curved behind the Morton College graduates. The center’s Gothic interior resembled an old European chapel. Except instead of a central altar, a stage was flanked by two levels of box seats. Decorative carvings on the pillars and ceiling continued the impression of an old, stately theatre.
She smiled at the families wearing their finest clothes, pride in their new graduates obvious as they snapped photos of every aspect of the auspicious day. She loved commencements. Poignant endings and eager degree candidates brimming with promise for the future made her heart swell.
Cassandra had met a small number of parents in her four-plus months as Vice President for Student Affairs. As her eyes slid down a row about halfway up the section where Hershey had nodded, she hadn’t expected to recognize any of the faces.
Which was why her heart had lurched so suddenly.
With narrowed eyes, she confirmed the tall, thin, gray-haired man with the unruly eyebrows was indeed her former boss. Why was Dr. Gary Nielson sitting in the commencement audience instead of floating in a fishing trawler off the Florida coast wearing the goofy hat he’d posed in for the postcard Cassandra had received less than two weeks ago?
She racked her brain for a good reason why Nielson would end his sunny retirement trip so abruptly and return to wintry Carson, Nebraska. The skin on his face was several shades darker than the pale complexions he and his wife had sported in early November upon departing to begin their new life. His unexpected exit had thrown Cassandra’s office into a bit of chaos while the administrative departments divided up his duties and the board of directors hired an interim president.
That had not worked out as anyone had hoped. Now they were back to a vacancy, with Chairman Hershey making important decisions while pursuing a suitable replacement.
Just minutes before spotting Nielson, Cassandra had daydreamed of the time when she would become president of a university and it would be her duty—no, her deepest pleasure—to impart her own wisdom while standing before a crowd of beaming graduates and well-wishers.
The rest of the ceremony had passed in a distracted rush of excited motion and frustration while Cassandra waited to corner Chairman Hershey. The ending bars of Pomp and Circumstance echoed in the main hall while the stage party and graduates marched out to the lobby.
Unzipping her black outer gown, Cassandra left her floppy velvet tam in place so she wouldn’t mess up her hair. “Mr. Hershey, a moment— “
“Dr. Sato!” Hershey was only a few inches taller than her in heeled knee-high boots. “Glad I caught you before the reception. Dr. Nielson has changed his mind and will be reinstated as president for the spring term, giving us ample time to search for a permanent replacement.”
Six weeks of retirement under his belt and Nielson had changed his mind. Who does that?
Disappointment pinched a nerve in her temple. “Reinstated? He just left in November—"
“You well know the past two months have been controversial,” Hershey nodded. “Donors have complained. Parents have encouraged their children to transfer. Dr. Nielson was kind enough to oblige us on short notice.”
One student’s death, another violently attacked, campus protests, and media controversy had made for an exhausting first semester. All Cassandra wanted for the next four weeks of Winter Break was to watch mindless TV, wash every surface of her house, and write a telecommunications grant proposal.
Nielson’s reappearance seemed too coincidental. “But sir, —"
Hershey’s hair-sprayed head leaned closer to her ear. “Personally, I wish you had the age and experience to apply for the president’s job,” he said. Parents and audience members streamed into the lobby to meet up with their graduates. “Although I feel obligated to mention that it’s doubtful you’ll be seriously considered for the job here, no matter how mature or experienced you become. You, um . . . well, you don’t fit the Morton presidential mold . . .”
Without a trace of malice in his voice or expression, Hershey had just dismissed her aspirations as easily as one casts off a pair of shoes because she wasn’t the right style or color. Cassandra squinted and squeezed the heavy cardboard program in her hand until it bent in half. How dare he?
Cassandra’s face reddened and she’d just opened her mouth to reply when she felt a strong hand grip her elbow and an arm settle on her waist. She was steered away from Hershey and hustled off to the alcove leading to the women’s bathroom.
Cassandra yanked her arm away. Shaking out her poufy green striped velvet sleeves, she directed the indignation she’d felt toward Hershey at her friend Meg O’Brien instead.
“Why are you pushing me?”
Meg held both her palms up in mock surrender, flipped her wavy red hair over one shoulder, and glared back at Cassandra using a stink eye so authentically Hawaiian that Mama Sato would have been proud. “Is that how you thank me, wahine?” Meg’s index finger came up between them and hovered just inches from Cassandra’s chin. “I saved you from making a scene in front of all those people.”
If Meg ever used that look on her ten-year-old son, Tony, he’d probably turn to ash. Cassandra batted Meg’s finger away. Her face was inches from Meg’s, and she stage whispered, “I wasn’t making a scene! That patriarchal good ol’ boy just assured me I’d never get the president’s job here.”
“I overheard that part,” said Meg.
Cassandra backed away from her best friend and opened the bathroom door. They stepped around the corner into the lounge and huddled together on a chaise, out of range of others using the restroom stalls and sinks. “Does he think I’m too female or too Asian to fit the Morton presidential mold?”
Meg had worked at the commencement in her role as Morton’s ASL Interpreter Coordinator. A cantaloupe-sized baby bump protruded from her black sweater dress. Black tights and black boots made her outfit funeral-ready, but that was her standard uniform for stage events. “Mr. Country Club Helmet Head wasn’t trying to piss you off. He thought he was giving you friendly advice. Hershey likes you, Cass, although he’s oblivious to how backward he sounds. Didn’t you tell me after the fiasco with Dr. Winters that you won’t be applying for the vacant president’s job?”
The ladies lounge door banged open and Cinda Weller zeroed in on Cassandra and Meg in the corner. “I’m not wearing your ridiculously heavy outfit, but I’m still dying in this overheated mausoleum.” Cinda fanned herself with a souvenir program while her bouncy, blonde hair wilted into frizz. Morton’s Counseling and Career Services Director was practically defined by her dry humor and oddball Southern sayings. Several years younger than Cassandra and the mom of two young sons, she’d quickly become Cassandra’s friend.
Cassandra adjusted her robes. “I love the costumes only slightly more than I love commencements. I only get to wear mine twice per year.”
At the same time Cassandra and Cinda said, “It’s old school.” One of them meant it as a compliment, the other did not.
Cinda wore navy slacks with a Morton blue blazer and minimal makeup. She shook her head. “Did you notice that line of students who marched down the wrong aisle and had to double back around to their seats?”
Meg shrugged. “Dr. Bryant was their line leader, but don’t blame us for the mix-up. We did our jobs. That whole scuffle with the air horn was distracting.” Dr. Shannon Bryant was the Deaf Studies professor who Cassandra had recently gotten to know a little better. Meg worked with him often. Pointing toward the bathroom stalls, Meg said, “Mommy bladder.”
Cassandra had heard air horns several times throughout the program in disregard for signs at the entrance listing commencement etiquette do’s and don’ts. An announcement had been repeated during the ceremony requesting that the audience refrain from unruly behavior and everyone had complied. Except for one. Finally, Bob Gregory, the Business Office Director, had beelined over to a well-dressed woman and her disheveled friend in the left seating area and told them to leave.
The young woman had tossed her dark, tightly waved waist-length hair and loudly protested. “We’re cheering for our friends! We aren’t hurting anyone. Don’t be so uptight!” After his stern beckoning gesture, they’d shuffled over the legs of ten people to exit the row.
There’s at least one smartass in every audience.
By the time she and her companion had crawled their way to the aisle, the eyeballs of most males in the vicinity were fixed on the young woman’s long legs, short skirt, and pretty face. She repeated apologies to each person she stepped around. “Excuse me. Thanks. Hey, how are you? Good to see you. Hi, Professor.” The guy with her was dressed in jeans and a wrinkly t-shirt under a black leather jacket. He stood quietly in the aisle waiting for her until Gregory ushered them both out.
Some people had noticed the disruption, but the incident took only half a minute and the ceremony had continued smoothly.
As soon as Cassandra returned to the lobby, Bob Gregory appeared by her side. “Those air horn people were removed by campus security.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. “I tried to calm the young lady down and was willing to let her stay for the post-commencement luncheon if she agreed to relinquish the offending device, but she refused.”
The way Gregory said lady made it clear he did not consider her worthy of the title. “Apparently her mother is some diplomatic la-ti-da and she threatened to complain about her treatment today. Frankly, she was quite disrespectful.” His large stomach heaved upwards with his breath and his lower lip formed into a small pout. “Most of these young folks are nowadays. Disrespectful.” He nodded to himself as though Cassandra’s opinion was unnecessary for the conversation.
It was all she could do not to roll her eyes and tell him, okay, Boomer.
“Thanks for letting me know.” Cassandra said, “I’ll take care of it from here.”
Pulling her phone out of her blazer’s pocket, she sent a text to the campus security director, Andy Summers. “Hey Andy. Are you still with the couple from the graduation? Where are they now?”
While waiting for a response, Cassandra moved among the luncheon tables, congratulating graduates she recognized and meeting their parents. Small private colleges like Morton had a leg up on the chaotic busyness of her former college, Oahu State, because of intimate events like these.
Her phone vibrated with Andy’s text response. “Back at Picotte Hall. Student believes staff shamed her by singling her out.”
Fake candlelight blazed brightly overhead in the baroque chandelier, and Cassandra pressed her lips together.
She typed back, “Hang on there. I’ll be over in a few.”
Cassandra scanned the crowd until she found Cinda Weller. She waited near the doorway for the luncheon buffet line to thin down while chatting with a student and his family.
Cassandra stepped into Cinda’s line of sight, nodded her head to the hallway twice, and waited for Cinda to join her outside. “Would you mind going with me to deal with the students who were removed from the ceremony?”
“What was Sela thinking? I could hardly hear the graduates’ names with all that racket!”
“You know her? Is she a troublemaker?”
Cinda looked around the lobby and stepped closer to Cassandra. “Not exactly trouble. More like high maintenance. Her mother works in DC for an embassy or something fancy pants. The guy is Daniel Leung, but I haven’t had any problems with him. Sela Roberts . . .” Cinda made a big exhale. “That girl can be a long day.”
“Great. Well it might be an even longer day if she raises a stink about being called out.”
Cassandra often walked the fine line between enforcing rules and letting students express themselves in productive ways.
They claimed their heavy winter coats from the cloakroom. Cinda said, “It’s colder than a well digger’s butt out there.”
Indeed.
Dr. Bryant walked out the main doors the same time she and Cinda were leaving. He made the sign for cold and then pointed toward the banquet room as though he wondered why she and Cinda weren’t staying to eat.
Cassandra typed into her phone and showed it to him. “Checking on the students with the air horn.”
Bryant laughed and pointed at his ear. “Didn’t bother me,” he signed in ASL.
Cassandra laughed and waved goodbye while they turned away. Leaves crunched under their boots as they walked past the central square covered in brown grass.
Picotte Hall was only one city block away from the Arts Center, but a stabbing pain on Cassandra’s right pinky toe formed halfway there. Cassandra had assumed that her dress boots with 3” heels would be a perfect fit for the ceremony. Since moving to Carson, Cassandra had experienced several catastrophic footwear events, but she wasn’t giving up her love of beautiful shoes. No knockoff flats or clunky snow boots yet.
When Cassandra and Cinda made it past the security desk to the residence hall’s lobby, Andy Summers was waiting alone, thumbing through his phone, one hand resting on his thick black utility belt.
“Hey Andy. Where did the students go?”
His eyes broke away from the phone and slowly traveled from Cassandra’s boots to her face, then lingered on her head. She was still wearing the graduation tam. “We had a friendly chat. I think I convinced them not to file a complaint.”
About her age, military-cut blonde hair now covered by a thick navy stocking cap, Andy probably could stand to lose twenty pounds around his middle. Not that she was judging. Because not everyone had inherited their metabolism from Cassandra’s parents who moved constantly like worker bees and never gained a pound over their healthy weight.
“My ears are still ringing,” Cinda snorted. “I should file a complaint.”
“You could have texted us before we walked all the way over here.”
Andy’s ears flushed red. “They literally just left the lobby before you arrived. I thought you’d appreciate not having to deal with Sela and Daniel.”
“Okay.” Were they really so difficult to handle? “Thanks for the assist. While we’re all here, I need to ask you something else.” Cassandra stepped to a seating area and perched on the edge of a large ottoman. Andy and Cinda rested on the nearby couch and chair.
“Did either of you see Dr. Nielson at the grad ceremony?”
Identical expressions of skeptical confusion appeared on their faces.
Cinda said, “How much of that Kona coffee did you drink this morning? Dr. Nielson? He and his wife are in Florida.”
“I wish,” Cassandra breathed quietly to herself. “I didn’t see his wife, but Dr. Nielson was in the parent section, all dressed up and enjoying the show. Afterwards, Mr. Hershey told me that Nielson is coming back to work as president for the spring semester.”
Andy Summers blew out a soft whistle. “That’s good news! Nielson’s a good guy.”
“Hope nothing is wrong with his family,” Cinda said. “Maybe they’re in town for the holidays.”
Adjusting her boot to relieve the pinch in her shoe, Cassandra stood. “Let’s stop at Nielson’s office. I don’t want to wait until Monday to get the story.”
Fifteen minutes later, Cassandra swiped her key card to open the administrative suite and she and Cinda entered the president’s office area. The reception area and large desk where the president’s assistant normally worked was quiet, grey light penetrating the wall of windows.
Cinda paged through the piles of paper on the desktop.
“Don’t snoop, Cinda!” Cassandra stage whispered.
“How else would we find out anything?”
Cassandra’s high heels sunk into the plush carpet as she slowly pushed the heavy wooden door separating the entry area from Nielson’s old/new office. Finding it unlocked, she opened it wide enough to see the overhead lights were on. Cassandra knocked. “Hello, is anyone in here? Dr. Nielson?”
No one answered. Was Nielson’s key card still valid or had Hershey given him a new one already? Although Cassandra had no basis to feel unease, an urgency she couldn’t express made her cross boundaries she normally would have respected. Both women pushed inside.
Mismatched furniture and cardboard boxes sat where they’d been since the previous occupant’s hasty departure two weeks prior.
Cassandra made a circuit of the room, noticing a banker’s box containing awards and framed diplomas on the white desk chair. Maybe he’d brought some of his old things from storage and begun unpacking already. A cup of pens, a blank desktop calendar, a Morton College coffee cup, a commemorative keychain, and a pad of yellow sticky notes were the only items on the desk. The top paper on the yellow pad had a few words printed in Nielson’s trademark neat handwriting. He had been here at some point that morning.
“Should we check the men’s bathroom?”
Cinda was taking this hunt too far and Cassandra hated wasting time. Cassandra’s lips formed a line. “No, that’s fine. Let’s go back to the luncheon. Maybe Nielson is there meeting parents and hanging out with Mr. Hershey.”
Turning off the lights and closing the door behind them, they headed downstairs and back to the Performing Arts Center. Cinda said, “Aren’t you relieved that Nielson’s back? Less work for all of us now that we don’t have to do his job plus ours. I thought you liked working for him.”
Cassandra had looked forward to working at her own pace without anyone nosing over her shoulder. She thought a minute before answering carefully. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful he took a chance and hired me. But Nielson can be . . .”
“Oh bless his heart, he’s a sweet old coot.”
Cassandra laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. You didn’t see him at the graduation this morning. His skin was tan like he’d been outside, but something was off. I need to talk to him.” She nodded. “Then I’ll adjust to having my boss back.”
November 16, 2020
Dead of Winter Break Release and Blog Tour
Join me in celebrating my victory over pandemic quarantines, couch potato syndrome, and writer's block. The latest episode in Cassandra Sato's mystery series is here! Follow the Great Escapes Blog Tour to read interviews, reviews, a family heirloom recipe, and enter a giveaway to win an eBook copy.
November 10, 2020
5 Stars for Farts Make Noise
Today I'm thrilled to share a recent review of Farts Make Noise.
Reviewed by Rosie Malezer for Readers' Favorite
Farts Make Noise is the second book in the Duke the Deaf Dog (ASL Series) written by Kelly Brakenhoff and illustrated by Theresa Murray. Duke is a Deaf dog who attends public school. During breakfast, at school, and during leisurely activities, Duke learns from his friends and family that in some situations, noise occurs when it should not. At the breakfast table, in a cinema during a film, in the classroom, hearing people are quickly distracted by noise which would otherwise not distract a Deaf person at all. All of these rules of proper etiquette need to be learned by both Deaf and hearing people alike.
As a Deaf reader, it always feels good to read books such as Farts Make Noise, as it teaches both Deaf and hearing about acceptable behavior. When we are only in the company of our Deaf friends, we tend to be quite animated and loud when interacting in ASL, but hearing people tend to find this rather unbecoming. With each lesson that Farts Make Noise delivers, I felt a special joy in my heart not to read any audist language whatsoever (such as hearing-impaired) and the tale definitely embraced the everyday lives of not only the hearing but also those of us who are Deaf. I applaud Kelly Brakenhoff for a Deaf-friendly tale that teaches good manners to all of us, regardless of who we are. I would even go so far as to call this a “safe space” book as it does not look upon us (Deaf folks) as being inadequate or broken. I fully recommend Farts Make Noise to readers of all ages, and look forward to reading the rest of the Duke the Deaf Dog (ASL Series) tales.
Reviewed by Rosie Malezer for Readers' Favorite
Farts Make Noise is the second book in the Duke the Deaf Dog (ASL Series) written by Kelly Brakenhoff and illustrated by Theresa Murray. Duke is a Deaf dog who attends public school. During breakfast, at school, and during leisurely activities, Duke learns from his friends and family that in some situations, noise occurs when it should not. At the breakfast table, in a cinema during a film, in the classroom, hearing people are quickly distracted by noise which would otherwise not distract a Deaf person at all. All of these rules of proper etiquette need to be learned by both Deaf and hearing people alike.
As a Deaf reader, it always feels good to read books such as Farts Make Noise, as it teaches both Deaf and hearing about acceptable behavior. When we are only in the company of our Deaf friends, we tend to be quite animated and loud when interacting in ASL, but hearing people tend to find this rather unbecoming. With each lesson that Farts Make Noise delivers, I felt a special joy in my heart not to read any audist language whatsoever (such as hearing-impaired) and the tale definitely embraced the everyday lives of not only the hearing but also those of us who are Deaf. I applaud Kelly Brakenhoff for a Deaf-friendly tale that teaches good manners to all of us, regardless of who we are. I would even go so far as to call this a “safe space” book as it does not look upon us (Deaf folks) as being inadequate or broken. I fully recommend Farts Make Noise to readers of all ages, and look forward to reading the rest of the Duke the Deaf Dog (ASL Series) tales.
