A Master's in Murder Read online

  Katie Moon

  A Master's in Murder

  Copyright © 2019 by Katie Moon

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Katie Moon asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Katie Moon has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

  Editing by McKay Strong

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  With love, to my husband Michael— “I love you and I like you.” Your support is what made this possible. You gave me the courage to write.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  1

  She was drowning.

  Claire could feel the water brushing gently past her arms, and her mind screamed for her arms to move, to grab onto something, to pull herself out. They continued to float there, two dead weights sinking deeper and deeper into the shadowy abyss.

  How had she gotten here? Hadn’t she been walking down the sidewalk from her apartment only minutes ago? She struggled to remember, but she couldn’t see past the fuzzy haze in her head. The back of her skull throbbed angrily, a dull echo of pain shooting through her body with every ache. She could feel her lungs tightening, begging for oxygen.

  Claire forced open her heavy eyelids. The churning surface was just inches above her. She could see a shadowy figure moving around, blurry under the murky water. If she could just reach out…

  But it was no use. She dropped lower and lower, the surface drifting further and further away. In desperation, she let out a scream that no one would ever hear.

  With the first mouthful of water, everything went black.

  2

  Brielle sat cross-legged on her bed, desperately skimming her notes. Pages upon pages were scattered around the room, covered in highlights, sticky notes, and scribbled annotations. Index cards were feverishly pitched around the room, as if a small tornado had spitefully decided to target only this room. Pictures of a smiling man and woman standing with their cheering daughter in a basketball uniform had been covered by a poster-sized dry-erase board, which displayed more red marker than white background from all of the notes squeezed onto it.

  This test was make or break. If she earned higher than an 86%, Brielle would be set in her GPA to qualify for the graduate program in Cognitive Psychology. She couldn’t imagine anything else she wanted more. Brielle had been a UNC fanatic since she was six years old, when her father had taken her to watch the basketball team play against their rivals, the Duke Blue Devils. The court had been a wave of baby and navy blue, and the fans had stormed and cheered like huge crashes of the sea.

  As the UNC team scored the final basket, her dad had swept her up, and the cheers exploded throughout the stadium. Confetti rained down from the ceiling, and her father pointed down to the court as they watched the team tackle each other in bear hugs.

  Brielle checked the clock again and felt a renewed bolt of desperation: it was nearly 8 AM. She needed to be in the classroom by 8:05 or she would be deducted an immediate 15% off the test. Her professor did not mess around with tardiness. She jumped off her bed and threw her hair up into a messy bun atop her head. Pausing only to shoot a quick look in the mirror, Brielle reflected on how her sense of style had died with each passing day of the semester. Any desire to appear attractive had been turned to sweatpants, sweatshirts, and messy ponytail of swaying brown waves. She wasn’t too worried about it, though, because three-fourths of the college women on campus had adopted that style as well. No one had time to care about appearance when they were living and breathing their classes in the final weeks of term.

  Brielle trundled up the hill, puffing out white clouds in the frigid air. Everyday she thought grumpily about how much she hated this hill, and today was no different. I didn’t think I’d have to climb a mountain every day going to class, she thought disdainfully. Suddenly, she felt a buzzing in her pocket. Reluctantly pulling her hand out of her coat pocket, she read the name on the blinking phone: MOMMA. Glancing quickly around before the crossed the street onto main campus, she held the phone up to her ear and clicked ACCEPT.

  “Hi, Mom,” Brielle panted. She could see the building where her test was being held, and again quickened her pace.

  “Hi, Brilly.” Brielle had been called Brilly by her parents ever since she was little, when she was trying to learn how to say her own name and could only bring herself to say ‘Brilly’. “Test is this morning, right? How are you feeling?”

  “Like I haven’t slept for months, while somehow also being so pumped up on caffeine that I’ll never sleep again. But as for the test, I think I can do it. I don’t know. I definitely feel like I did everything I can possibly do. We’ll see if that’s enough to cut it.”

  Her mom laughed. “Well, don’t worry. You know, if UNC doesn’t pan out, there are still several options closer to home! So really, if you make it, you’ll have a ton to celebrate. And if you don’t make it, I’ll have a ton to celebrate,” her mother teased, and then said in a more serious tone, “But all joking aside, you are brilliant, a hard worker, and a wonderful student, so I’m sure everything will work out.”

  Brielle rolled her eyes but laughed nonetheless. Even coming from a UNC household, as the only child to her two parents, her mother had been broken up to see Brielle moving across the country. Even though she was bursting with pride to see her succeeding at her own alma mater, Brielle’s mother never missed an opportunity to encourage Brielle to come closer to home.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m happy to know you’ll be cheering if I miss out on my dream.”

  Brielle could almost picture her mother’s jovial smile as she heard her laugh echo through the phone. “What are moms for, right?” she responded jokingly.

  Brielle had just reached the door to her building. “Are you sure you didn’t call to make me late so that I automatically am marked down, and I have to come home to study?” she accused playfully as she slid through the heavy doors to the warm lobby.

  “Drat, you figured out my plan.”


  “Ha ha. Well plan foiled. I’m here, gotta go,” said Brielle.

  “Good luck! Love you,” responded her mom, and Brielle clicked END, then held down the power button to shut off the phone.

  As she rushed into the classroom, she glanced at the clock. 8:01. Nodding quickly to the professor, who acknowledged her with a slightly disapproving glance at the clock and nod, Brielle grabbed the test booklet set at the doorway and found the closest open seat. Time to make it count.

  ***

  Eric had never minded the cold. As he walked down the sidewalk toward campus, he watched happily as large white puffs escaped his mouth every time he exhaled. He had grown up never getting to experience true seasons, so getting to feel the highs and lows of the weather here somehow made it more exciting for him. He was one of the few who felt that way, of course. Brielle thought he was crazy for that.

  Eric snorted to himself. It could be 70 degrees out and Brielle would still need a blanket and coat to feel warm. The same way you could depend on the sun to rise in the morning, you could depend on Brielle to be cold.

  It was one of the quirks that made her the woman he loved. Eric had grown up with a slightly cold, perfectionist mother, and as much as he loved her, he knew he wanted the adventure and excitement of someone more expressive. He had found that in Brielle. Brielle was unafraid of being foolish in the name of having fun, seemingly unattached from any form of ego or pride. Very unlike his own mother, whose status was a motivator at all times.

  Eric frowned as he approached the bushes lining the street ahead. He had seen too many times how his mother had snubbed Brielle. Time and time again, he had felt the need to speak to his mother about how she acted towards Brielle, and time and time again his mother had brushed him off lightly, assuring him that she “just wants to make sure her greatest son gets the best”.

  After that night’s argument, though, Eric didn’t want his mom to get in the way anymore when it came to him and Brielle. He had been so angry, so hurt. How could she do such a terrible thing without caring how it would affect others? Eric sighed as he glanced down the street. No cars except a silver Acura, a green Lexus, and a red Jeep parked along the opposite lane. Glancing ahead, he stepped onto the empty road and strolled across the lane. He wasn’t sure how his mother would react to his chastisements. Would she listen? Or would she keep living a lie? Eric glanced up to the clouds shifting across the gloomy sky. And then he had gotten that call. Had that been her idea? Should I tell someone that she—

  Eric whipped around as the sound of an engine suddenly roared in his ear. With a flash of red, his eyes went black.

  ***

  As Brielle walked out of the classroom, she sighed in relief. Did the air smell better somehow? For better or for worse, the test was over. She checked her watch. 11:58. Just in time to meet Eric for lunch, she thought. Brielle and Eric met everyday for lunch at 12:30, and she knew he would be anxious to hear how the test had gone.

  Eric was Brielle’s boyfriend, although she was not a fan of the title. Something about the word “boyfriend” felt so high school, like it described someone you’d like one day and break up with the next. But this was much more than that. Brielle was sure she wanted to marry Eric when the time was right. She loved him, and she really felt like they completed each other. She had never been a fan of the “soulmate” thinking. On the contrary, she felt like what they had was so wonderful because they had consciously chosen each other and were there to make it work, no matter how hard it was at times. It wasn’t fate, it was faith. Faith in each other and faithfulness to each other. So many times Brielle had felt like she was doomed to fail and fall short. Eric had been the one to remind her of her own beauty, the beauty of the person she was within. She would never have gotten this far without him.

  They had met during one of her many late nights in the library. That was a year and a half ago now. Brielle had met up with another student in her class, Jeremy, to study for an exam. Eric had been at the neighboring table, trying to finish up a paper. As boredom set in (as it always does), Eric’s attention turned from his paper to how high he could flip his pencil off the side of the desk. With too hard of a swing, the pencil somersaulted in the air, again and again, until it landed, with a thump, against Jeremy’s head, who had just stood up to exit the library. Eric rushed over, apologizing profusely for the misfire. Jeremy didn’t look too amused, but he graciously shook off Eric’s apologies with polite responses of “no blood, no foul,” and headed to the nearby stairs.

  Eric had turned back to see Brielle giggling behind her hand. “Don’t worry too much about him,” she said. “He’s pretty tightly wound right now. We’re in the fight of our lives in this class, and apparently there just isn’t time for humor.”

  Eric smiled and lifted an eyebrow. “I can sense that, poor guy. I guess I could learn something from his focus, though.” Eric ran a hand through his wavy brown locks. “So is he your boyfriend, then?” he asked.

  Brielle took a quick study of the man standing in front of her. Tall and lean, thin without being lanky. He was attractive. Under his long-sleeve black shirt, she could see the definition of strong arms. His dark brown hair fell loosely above his right eye, curled seemingly effortlessly. It offset his hazel eyes nicely. His eyes seemed to be a mix of warm brown with green and blue jewels. Although he was lightly tan, he still had a small scatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks, giving him a more open and approachable face. His teeth were set in straight white succession, making the colors of his eyes pop all the more.

  Brielle couldn’t deny that she liked what she saw, and that realization made her blush slightly as she responded, “No, just a helpful classmate. I don’t think I would have gotten through my psych courses without classmates who have taken pity on me.” She pulled a grim face but quickly laughed. She paused for a moment, her eyes flickering back onto Eric’s face, and said quickly, “My name is Brielle. Want to join my table while we both trudge on with our work?”

  Brielle still remembered the look on his face. He had looked excited, had almost looked relieved, as he responded, “Eric Artimer,” and settled in the now vacant chair next to her. Eric had told her later how he had been almost “knocked off his feet,” in his words, when he turned around and had seen the beautiful woman seated at the table where his pencil had flown. When she had introduced herself, Eric had hoped it was an encouragement to continue. By the end of the night, he still had not finished his paper, but he had walked away with a date for the following night. To Brielle, no relationship had ever unfolded so perfectly as it had with Eric. She knew that no relationship was perfect, and theirs was no exception. They had had their disagreements, and there had been hurt feelings. But it always came back to an understanding they would put each other first. One of Eric’s favorite things to say to her was, “It’s never you against me. It’s you and me, together as a team, against a problem to solve.” And she loved him for it.

  3

  “Roast beef with provolone on Italian, please,” Brielle listed off to the staff member at the cash register. As he turned to prepare the sandwich, Brielle glanced around the cafeteria. Students were everywhere in clusters, some poring over books, clearly rushing to cram in last-minute studies. Some sat chatting and laughing over their lunches, enjoying the little free time they could find in the exam season. Brielle sniggered as she noticed one student sitting alone at a table with his face pressed against his open textbook, eyes shut with a hint of drool starting to escape the corner of his mouth. Brielle considered all of the little spaces on campus that she had found over the years to act as a nap space: benches, under desks, under the shade of trees in the campus square, corners in deserted hallways, practically anywhere that allowed for it.

  She glanced quickly up at the television screen hung at one of the central columns in the cafeteria. With the noise of food orders and loud chatter, there was no way for her to hear anything from the current news report. She read the blazing headline, “Third Gi
rl Gone Missing from UNC,” before turning away to accept her steaming sub. Brielle briskly made her way across the floor to the west corner of the cafeteria, searching for an open spot. Setting her backpack at an empty table, she quickly nabbed two empty chairs from an adjoining table and sat down. She checked her watch again. 12:25. Eric would probably be entering the building right about now. He spent his Tuesday mornings working as a research assistant to his mentor, Professor Lemmon, until lunchtime when he would meet Brielle.

  Brielle pulled out her laptop and began skimming her notes for the test, checking on questions she had been unsure of. She took a couple of welcome bites of her sandwich, realizing how famished she was now that she could think of something other than the test. She would have to apologize to Eric for not waiting to eat with him.

  Minutes continued to slip by. Brielle, frowning slightly, checked her watch again. 12:51. Brielle’s mind flashed back to the previous Sunday night, when she and Eric had met up to catch an episode of their favorite show, NUMB3RS. Brielle had always fancied herself a sleuth, although Eric always laughed at that claim and teased that if he ever wound up murdered, he hoped someone would be helping who had learned about criminal investigation from more than 50 minute TV episodes.

  Eric had been more distracted than usual that night though, Brielle thought. It had struck Brielle that he had been more distant, yet more vulnerable. Brielle had looked up from her notes as she heard the muffled sound of his voice outside of the apartment door. Through the open blinds, she saw him speaking kindly to a timid-looking woman approaching the apartment belonging to their neighbor and good friend, Randall. The auburn-haired woman was petite and fair, reminding Brielle of a fragile china doll. At being addressed by Eric, Brielle saw the woman start in surprise, but then return a small smile and nod before turning to walk a little further down to the adjacent apartment door. Brielle had smiled brightly as Eric had opened the maroon door and closed it gently behind him. His face looked worn and tired, as if he had been carrying a large load for miles. However, when he had met her bright blue eyes, the etched frown lines softened, and he had smiled gently.