Phi Beta Murder

Phi Beta Murder: A Rex Graves Mystery
© 2010 by C. S. Challinor.

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First e-book edition © 2010

E-book ISBN: 978-07387-2325-9

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Rex Graves
—Scottish Barrister, QC, and part-time sleuth

Moira Wilcox
—Rex’s ardent ex-flame back from Iraq

Mrs. Graves
—Rex’s aging but spry mother who lives in Edinburgh

Campbell Graves
—Rex’s son, sophomore at Hilliard University in Jacksonville, Florida

Helen d’Arcy
—Rex’s current love interest

Dixon Clark
—resident assistant found dead in his dorm room

Kris Florek
—victim’s girlfriend attending the School of Nursing

Justin Paul
—clean-cut jock “Greek” of Phi Beta Kappa, a less than squeaky clean fraternity

Andy Palmer
—bookworm who enjoys chemistry experiments

“Red” Simmons
—engineer student from Colorado, as handy with a rope as a drum kit

Mike Ricardi
—Colts fan and fan of Kris Florek, the deceased’s girlfriend

“Klepto” Clapham
—psychology major with kleptomanic tendencies

R. J. Wylie
—expelled student who had everything going for him

Dominic Jean-Baptiste
—sultry lead singer-guitarist in Dirty Laundry, a university band

Keith and Katherine Clark
—Dixon’s grieving parents from Nantucket

Melodie Clark—victim’s dead-gorgeous sister

Dr. Binkley
—Dean of Students at Hilliard University

Astra Knowles
—garrulous School Registrar with her own agenda

Al Cormack
—hot-headed mathematics professor

Bethany Johnson
—bombshell assistant marine science professor

Becky Ward
—on-campus nurse practitioner

Luella Shaw
—Klepto’s twice-divorced partner

Wayne Price
—unsavory police informant

From Blackford Hill, the
volcanic formation of Arthur’s Seat resembled a pair of buttocks. People with a more sophisticated imagination likened the shape to a sleeping lion, but Rex thought Arthur’s Seat was aptly named. He enjoyed coming up here to clear his head, especially after a heavy week in court or when he had a problem to mull over, as now. For a minute or two, he pondered the troubling phone call from his son, but it was futile to try and read behind what Campbell had said. It would just have to wait until he got to the States.

Yellow-flowered gorse carpeted the grassy slopes on the way up to the top of the lava rock summit. From this vantage point the skyline of the Royal Mile—Edinburgh Castle, the Highland Tolbooth, the hollow-crowned tower of St. Giles’ Cathedral—stood out in crystalline purity, reassuring landmarks that had withstood the test of time and which lent Rex a perspective on the vagaries of life. He had brought Helen up here at Christmas, though the view had not been as spectacular then as on this fresh and sunny spring day.

The sky was so clear he could see, quite distinctly, the road and railway bridges spanning the Firth of Forth, and the Pentland Hills to the south. Feeling warm after his climb, he decided to remove his sweater. Then, seated on a knoll, he watched the swans glide across the reflective blue surface of the loch below and thought of Helen and their time together.

Dreary rain had bleakened the gray stone of the grandiose buildings on Princes Street as they sheltered beneath his brolly, window-shopping at the elegant department stores. Her stay at the house in Morningside had been a hoot (to quote Helen). Separate bedrooms, of course—his mother had even put her on a separate floor for good measure. On the occasions Mrs. Graves had left to attend a charity function and the housekeeper was out shopping, they had managed a few furtive assignations in his room, reminding him nostalgically of his teenage years when he would sneak a girl up the fire escape. Now that he was in his late forties, such subterfuges seemed ridiculous, albeit necessary in view of his mother’s strict Presbyterian ways.

Brushing the grass from the seat of his corduroys, he began his descent down the hill. He had worked up an appetite and was wondering what Miss Bird might have prepared for tea when he caught sight of a tiny, dark-haired figure wrapped in a shawl, waving to him from half way down the path. It couldn’t be … And yet, upon their approaching one another, he saw that it was indeed Moira, whom he had not seen in at least eighteen months.

“How did you know I’d be here?” he demanded, suspecting the housekeeper of divulging his whereabouts. That morning at breakfast he had mentioned he would be going up Arthur’s Seat. “Be sure to take yer sweater,” Miss Bird had warned. “It can get windy up there.” An old joke that had reduced him to giggles when he was a lad …

“We used to climb up here all the time,” Moira reminded him. “I spotted you from the Crags.”

“Sometimes I walk to Blackford Hill or to the Botanic Garden,” he said crossly.

“On a fine day you’d go up here for the view.”

Admittedly, she knew him well. They had dated for over two years before she went off to Iraq.

“When did you get back?” he asked.

“Last week.”

“Did you bring your Australian boyfriend?” It still irked Rex that she had dumped him following months of silence when he didn’t know what might have befallen her, and all the while she’d been seeing this Aussie!

“Don’t be daft. I wouldna be chasing you up this hill if he were with me.”

“What happened to him?”

All Rex knew was that he was a photographer for Sydney News who had rescued Moira from a pile of rubble after a bombing at a Baghdad market. That and the fact he had blue eyes, a detail she had thought fit to mention in her Dear John letter.

“He went back to Australia,” she told him.

“Why did you not go with him?”

Her brown eyes avoided his for a moment. “He’s married.”

“Ah, I see.” Rex refrained from asking if she had known that about him when they first became involved. “Listen, Moira. I have to get home to pack. I’m flying to Florida tomorrow to see Campbell. He seems down about something.”

Her sharp features expressed shock and disappointment. “I only just got back.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were coming back. And, anyway, it wouldna’ve made a difference.”

“What do you mean?”

Sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants, he fingered through the loose change. “I’m seeing someone else.”

“Who is she?”

“You don’t know her.”

“And how long has this been going on?”

That was a difficult question to answer. He had only been intimate with Helen since the summer, after he received the farewell note from Moira, but he had kept in contact with her since he had met her while solving his first case.

“Fifteen months,” he informed Moira. “I told her about you and said there could never be more than a friendship between us while I was seeing you. Though technically I wasna seeing you since you were miles away in Iraq.” His Scots accent intensified as always when he was stressed.

“You don’t need to sound so het up about it. It was my work that kept me there.”

“It was always about your work, Moira. Aye, I know,” Rex said, warding off her objections with a grandiose wave. “It’s right commendable what you’ve been doing for the Iraqi civilians and what have you. I respected that and I was prepared to wait. It’s you who veered from the path—not I.” He didn’t even know why he was bothering to have this conversation. It was over between them.

“You have no idea what it’s like out there!”

“I don’t,” Rex conceded. “Look, let’s drop it.” He stood aside to allow a group of walkers to pass on the slope.

“I made a mistake and I came to tell you I’m sorry!”

“Apology accepted. Take care of yourself, Moira.” Turning abruptly, he continued down the path.

She grabbed his arm. “Ye canna jist leave,” she pleaded. “We need to talk!”

“There’s nothing more to say.”

“Are you in love with her then?”

Rex looked upon Moira’s anxious face. He hated emotional scenes. “Aye, I suppose so.”

A shrewd gleam of triumph lit her eyes. “You don’t sound so sure.”

He sighed in exasperation. “I don’t know what being in love is supposed to feel like at my age.” Yet he felt all the right things for Helen: affection, desire, respect—all the necessary ingredients for love once they spent more time together. As it was, he lived in Scotland and she in north central England.

“Rex,” Moira said, reaching for his sleeve again.

“Goodbye, Moira.”

He strode off down the hill, confident she would never be able to catch up with him, even in her sensible shoes. He blamed her for upsetting his peaceful afternoon. He had wanted to get his thoughts in order before his trip to Florida, and she had thrown them in turmoil. He even found himself wishing she had stayed in Iraq or else emigrated to Australia. He didn’t need this extra complication in his life.