Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar by Gray Cavender (red scrolls of magic TXT) 📗

Marilyn, an accountant, worked in a small CPA firm over near the Lakes, off Baseline Road. They had two kids: Kelley 12 and Brian 10.

Wes pulled into her condo complex and let her off. By agreement, tomorrow, all day, she’d work out of Tempe PD. “Love to Marilyn and the kiddos,” Jillian said as she extracted her key and headed for her unit.

She opened the door and when the beeps started, punched in her security code. This was a nice neighborhood, but from her days in the Research Division, Jillian knew the burglary stats in Tempe, and had an alarm.

She dropped her keys in a tray by the phone in the kitchen. She always kept them in the same place, as her dad had taught her…”that way, you’ll always know where they are.” Her other “getting home” ritual was to unload and store her pistol, a Glock 19. She had a standard pancake holster for days when she carried the weapon on her hip, and also two “carry” purses (one black, one brown) for the days she didn’t want to wear a jacket. Because it was hot, today had been a purse day.

Walking into her place was always a treat because she liked where she lived, liked being in her own home. Today, however, felt a bit different. She was working with Tempe PD again…on a murder investigation…Professor Nelda Siemens. Jillian could see the Professor in her mind’s eye…both versions of her: happy in the photo with her family, but also on the floor lying behind her desk. That image kept coming back to her…she couldn’t shake it.

Trying to clear her head, she filled the electric kettle, hit the ‘On’ switch, and sifted through her tea selection. She found one that struck her fancy, then headed to the bedroom to change clothes. It was summertime hot, so her house clothes consisted of gym shorts, a Brandy Clark tee shirt, and flip flops. She had one “oh no” moment, then realized that today wasn’t a judo class day. She could enjoy the tea and just chill at home.

Jillian had a three-bedroom, two-bath condo…everything on one level…street level. She’d converted a bedroom into an office complete with desk, book shelves…maybe not as nice as those in Professor Siemens’ offices, but wood…OK, wood veneer, but a good job. She still had most of her academic books—they brought so little on resale, so why bother. She had a stash of novels because she liked to read, and a growing library on policing written by criminologists, but by practitioners, too. Jillian figured that if she was going to do this for a living, she’d do it right and know as much about it as possible. This idea of digging-in to a topic was a hold-over from her student days.

Her guest bedroom had a futon couch that folded down into a bed, an old chest-of-drawers that she’d had as an undergraduate student, and a chair that she’d bought at a yard sale; the chair had been in really good shape and was still comfortable. Her bedroom had a real bed, a chest-of-drawers, a small dresser, and a nice chair. She’d bought all these pieces at the same time—the furniture store had a great sale going—and then bargained for a free delivery…actually, she bargained for the delivery first, then bought the furniture.

Jillian poured herself a cup of tea, turned on the timer to let it steep, and checked her messages. Only one…from Mom…she’d call her in a little while. While the tea steeped, she went outside to the group mail boxes and fished out her mail, which was almost totally circulars and catalogues. People mostly texted or emailed; they didn’t write much anymore, and increasingly even her bills were online.

Back inside, the tea was ready. She added some milk and a little honey, and sat in a tan, slimmed-down recliner that she’d bought at a Danish furniture outlet store in Tempe. Her matching couch was from there, too, and again, purchased on sale, just not at the same time as the chair.

As she sipped her tea, Jillian looked around the room and automatically started comparing it with Professor Siemens’ place. The professor had original art and numbered prints. Jillian’s claim to art was two prints: Mary Cassatt’s Child in a Straw Hat and Vermeer’s The Concert, both gifts from her mom. Mom had bought the Cassatt print for her in the gift shop at The National Gallery in D.C. Her mom, who liked art as much as her dad liked poetry, was excited that Mary Cassatt was a woman Impressionist AND from the U.S. Mom had purchased the Vermeer print after a visit to The Isabella Gardner Museum in Boston…this was pre-theft so she’d actually seen the painting. The Concert was one of the priceless artworks stolen in the infamous Gardner Museum heist back in 1990. When Jillian became a detective, her dad teased that her first order of business should be to solve the mystery of the Gardner robbery, and to locate the missing Vermeer. He’d told her that finding the Vermeer would be a great gift for her mom.

Jillian’s other wall décor consisted of a Veronica Mars poster that she’d received for donating to a Kickstarter Campaign to finance the 2014 Veronica Mars movie. Her two ASU diplomas were on the office wall, too. Maybe that’s why she was so quick to notice the diplomas in Professor Siemens’ and Professor Gilroy’s offices. She also had a Dream Catcher on the wall behind her bed; it came from The Heard Museum Gift Shop, a housewarming gift from her parents.

She was pleased with her house and furnishings. She had left college with no indebtedness—difficult these days—in part because she was a good student and had gotten a number of ASU scholarships and a couple of national scholarships, too. Plus, her parents had paid the cost of her undergraduate education. Jillian had paid for the full year of grad school herself with