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

her salary from the job at Tempe PD. She was careful with her money and had bought the furniture when it was on sale and a little at the time…as she could afford it. Her parents had given her a car, a new white Corolla, as a graduation present. As a result, the only major debt was her mortgage.

She’d do a little work later, but for now Jillian willed herself to relax and enjoy the tea, and not to think about the case. Wes had always emphasized that you needed to relax and have a life, even when working a serious crime case. He’d been adamant about this, saying “you’ll survive and thrive.” He added that a clear head also made for better thinking. Good advice.

Before Jillian returned her mom’s call, she had to decide how much to tell her about the case. Her parents had been supportive of her job change from Tempe to ASU PD. Of course, they usually were supportive of everything that Jillian did, but they’d been happy about the shift in jobs because they thought that it was safer to be working as an ASU detective than as a Tempe PD detective. But now she was back in the thick of it—a murder AND of an ASU professor. Neither of them had ever given her even a minute of grief, not when she first started working as a PD researcher, not even when she shifted over and became a detective. Sure, they’d been freaked about how her involvement as a researcher had led to the capture of a killer…by her… but, even then…

Oh well, knowing Mom, the issue probably wasn’t how much to tell her about the case…she’d probably already heard about it, and that’s why she was calling. Jillian and her parents talked often, but still, a phone call on the day that an ASU professor is murdered…”not a coincidence,” she thought.

Her mom answered on the second ring. “Hi Jillian…I saw it was you on caller ID.” Mom had always called her ‘Jilly.’ But, when she started grad school and with no warning, ‘Jilly’ became ‘Jillian.’ Of course, now as when she was a kid, sometimes when her mom was angry she still got the full name treatment: ‘Jillian Katherine Warne.’ Her dad still called her ‘Jilly’ as did Wes.

She also was ‘Jillian’ to the Justice Studies faculty and to her former student peers. For some students, a name change in grad school is THE thing. Somehow, they want (or need) more gravitas, so Pat becomes Patricia and Marty becomes Martin. Although she’d seen that with several of her peers, that’s not how ‘Jilly’ became ‘Jillian.’ Because her email signature read Jillian Katherine Warne, to people who didn’t know her, she became ‘Jillian,‘ because that was the first name listed. OK, so maybe she was shooting for a bit more gravitas, too. Then, when she started at Tempe PD, when Lt. Timms had first called her ‘Jillian’ because she’d been talking with Carolyn Patek, somehow, she never got around to correcting her. But then, she had never corrected Carolyn either.

“Thanks for calling back so soon.”

“Yes, Mom, of course…” Jillian left the sentence open.

“Yes, Jillian, I know, I heard it on KJZZ on the way home from work. You OK?”

“I’m OK, Mom. It’s just a little…I was one of the first officers at the scene. So…”

“Oh, my god, Jillian. Was it horrible?”

It’s funny how you revert to being a kid no matter your age when you’re around your parents. Jillian didn’t want to cry, so took a long pull of tea to steady herself. “I was going to say, ‘not so bad,’ but, yes, honestly, it was awful. And I know that it shouldn’t make any difference, but somehow it was worse that the victim was a professor.”

“I’m sorry you have to see things like that, Jillian. And I’m not surprised that it seems worse because she was a professor. You were a student there not so long ago, after all. On the news, they said she was fairly new to ASU, so I assume that you’d never had a class with her.”

“No. And of course my English classes were a long time ago, anyway.” She was quiet, then said, “Mom…and please don’t be upset…I’m going to be on the case. I’m working with Wes. The reason…”

“You don’t have to explain, Jillian. It makes sense in a bureaucratic sort of a way: you’re an ASU detective and the victim’s a professor, so… I do dread your dad’s reaction to this news. You know, he’ll be upset…just a little…proud, but worried.”

“I know. But, it’ll be OK, Mom. If you want me to talk with Dad…”

“No, don’t worry about that, but I may call Wes and make him promise to look out for you. Just kidding,” she chuckled. “I imagine that you’ll enjoy partnering with him again.”

“In a lot of ways, yes, it already feels comfortable. I learned so much from Wes, so maybe this will be like a refresher course.”

“I know better than to ask a lot of questions about a case…especially since it’s so early in. As always, though, call or better still come over, if you’d like to talk.”

“Thanks, Mom, you’re the best.“

“OK, I just heard the garage door opening so your dad’s home. I imagine he’s heard the news, too, so I’ll ring off and he and I will have a confab. Don’t worry, it won’t be a pity-party. But, we are parents so it’s our job to worry some, even if we’re very, very proud.”

“Thanks, Mom. Tell Dad hi and I’ll call him tomorrow.”

OK. And honey, you and Wes catch whoever did this.”

“We will.”

The water in the kettle was still hot, so Jillian re-used her tea bag…just let it steep longer the second time around. While it steeped, she went to the bathroom and splashed some water onto her face. As she dabbed her face with a hand towel, she studied herself in the mirror.

She’d reached the age when genetics were starting