PURPLE SHADOWS

CHAPTER I

A flash of white slid under her door, sweeping across the dorm room tiles before settling near her desk. Megyn, wrapping a towel around her dripping wet hair, froze.

A note.

She closed her bathrobe tighter before picking up the folded paper. A drop of water from a loose strand of hair fell onto her initials M. Q. written on the front, feathering the black ink.

The crisp cardstock with a linen finish was hardly the type of stationary college students used. Besides, anyone she knew would’ve sent her a text.

Unfolding it, she read the handwritten lines.

Be careful. Watch your back.

-a friend

Goosebumps prickled her skin. Who’d slipped her the note? She raced to the peephole, but no one was there. She cracked the door. Footsteps echoed down the concrete stairwell.

“Hold on! Who are you?”

The rush of the updraft as someone left the dorm was her answer. Three flights below, the metal door slammed. If she hadn’t been barefoot, she would’ve run downstairs.

Hurrying to a window, she yanked the curtains aside. Growing puddles from the thunderstorm converged on the worn brick walkways below. The quad was empty. As empty as her dorm. As empty as the university’s stately brick buildings with their white columns. On any other morning, the Grounds would be abuzz with students. But everyone had already left for spring break, jetting off to beaches and mountains for a week of adventure.

After double-checking the deadbolt, she leaned against the door. She held the note by the edges, careful not to smudge the ink, and reread it.

“Watch my back? What kind of warning is this?” Three and a half years as an undergrad student here, and this anonymous note drop was a first. Had she ticked someone off? She’d aced out a few uber-competitive history majors by being awarded the golden key of Phi Beta Kappa honor society, but she’d worked her butt off to get in the top four percent of the class. That was last year. They couldn’t still hold a grudge. God, she hoped not.

Her brain scrambled while figuring out what her friend could mean, but nothing made sense. Could she have a stalker? Should she contact the university police?

Wait...

She grabbed her phone and called Kent. This was the kind of prank he would play. The tension in her shoulders eased as she recalled the Jefferson Bible that appeared on her doorstep a few months ago. She’d figured out he’d been the anonymous donor. Plus, Kent was the only other student she knew who stayed behind in Charlottesville over break. But the call slipped to his voicemail, so she left a message.

“Thanks for freaking me out.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she unwound the towel from her hair. They’d been lingering in just-friends-limbo for years. Last week, Kent suggested they meet for happy hour over break. Maybe the note was his signal he was ready for more—that he wanted to spar a little—while they had the Grounds to themselves over spring break. Finally. But too bad he’d signed it a friend.

Megyn sure as hell wanted to shake up their just-friends status quo. What was the worst that could happen?

The aroma of hazelnut wafted from her mini coffee maker, tugging her mind back to reality and her thesis meeting this morning. She placed the note next to a wall of textbooks organized by height and subject, then rushed to dry off and get dressed. After saving the document she’d been working on, she packed her backpack with her laptop and research.

But the note beckoned. How could she parlay Kent’s little cloak and dagger game into a challenge while keeping the tone light and flirty? She twisted a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Grinning, tentatively at first, she slipped the note into her raincoat pocket.

Carpe diem.

Sprinting through the Grounds of the University of Virginia in the cold rain, she wrapped her jacket closer to her body, huddling within its warmth. She didn’t bother taking out her umbrella; its life expectancy was limited in this wind. She followed the serpentine brick walls, crunching wet gravel. A gust of wind whipped around her, scattering twigs across her path. Seeking shelter under the Lawn colonnades, she looked up.

The Rotunda.

Even with the dark clouds hovering low in the sky, the building’s white dome made her pause. Her dad graduated right here decades ago. Megyn had grown up on a steady diet of his college stories, his glory days. This school, the friendships he made here, had meant so much to him. There’d never been any question in her heart that she’d follow in his footsteps.

I miss you, Dad…

She strolled along the colonnade until she reached the one with the chipped corner on the base. Her dad’s column. Megyn came here every day.

…but I wish I were saying good morning from a Mexican beach.

The last person Megyn had spoken to—two days ago—was her roommate while helping her pack for spring break.

“Sure wish you were coming to Cancun. There’s got to be some way for you to come along.” Alison dumped her folded bikinis, sundresses and shorts onto her bed and held open her empty suitcase. “I got it! You don’t mind traveling cargo-class, right?”

“That’s about my budget these days.” Megyn laughed despite her dread at spending the next seven days alone. On Grounds. A modern-day ghost town. “Hey, don’t forget these.”

“Oh!” Alison caught the pair of flip flops she’d chucked from their shared closet and walked over to hug her. “You did a good thing. Giving up your trip was…generous. If only things were different—”

“I’ll be fine. Go have fun for both of us, okay?” Megyn forced an over-bright smile and shrugged. Alison understood. After the emergency, she couldn’t justify such a splurge, a Fourth Year spring break beach trip with her best friends when her mom still had stacks of unpaid medical bills. So she’d backed out. Voluntarily. Besides, she had to finish her thesis. And then there was Kent. God, just thinking about that boy did mean things to her respiratory system.

Megyn zipped closed Alison’s suitcase and handed it to her. “Just promise me you won’t bring back some caliente Latino boyfriend as a souvenir, okay? UVA has a thing about no extra roommates in the dorms.”

But that was thirty-six hours ago. Megyn hadn’t seen a soul since.

Megyn scanned the colonnades as she crossed the Lawn. Door after glossy black door stood sentry, paying homage to the Rotunda. But only one door mattered, #46.

Kent’s room.

She scribbled “Game on,” on the outside of her friend note and slipped it through his brass mail slot. Crouching, she lifted the flap and peeked through. The note had slid over the hardwood floor and stopped next to a weathered rocking chair. His bare foot hung off the side of his bed. He was asleep.

Odd. Kent had just been at her dorm less than an hour ago. Maybe he’d been on his way home from partying all night.

Pressing her hand against his door, she shut her eyes. He was right on the other side, a few feet away. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hang out and wait for him to find the note.

She checked her watch and sighed. No student on the planet would’ve agreed to a thesis meeting over spring break. Except her.

Megyn’s new thesis advisor, Phillip Van Balen, had stopped her at the end of class on Friday. He asked her to review her thesis with one of his teaching assistants over break. One flash of his butter-melting smile trained on her sealed the deal. She’d agreed. It hadn’t occurred to her until now that assuming she didn’t have any spring break plans bordered on rudeness.

But then again, she didn’t have any. Staying on Grounds to finish her thesis was her sole goal for the week. Bam.

***

Megyn arrived at Levering Hall a few minutes early for her meeting with the TA. The dark foyer welcomed her with dank, stale air. Since the history department had relocated to Nau Hall, this building had stood empty for a while.

Reaching into her backpack, she grabbed her glasses. She wore them for driving and distance, but she appreciated the all-business impression they presented. Too bad they fogged up in humidity.

A wedge of light splayed across the threadbare hallway rug. She peeked around the open door. A guy scribbled notes on a pad of paper at a weathered table under the window.

She jerked back out of sight. Someone else might have assumed he was some janitor given his stringy shock of cowlicked hair and the packed key ring clipped to his jeans belt loop, but not her. One glimpse of the shapeless charcoal hoodie, not quite hiding his sharp shoulder blades, and she knew exactly who it was.

Crap.

Not James Stavros again. She’d hoped to meet with one of Van Balen’s other TA minions. Anyone else. Men didn’t usually intimidate her, even the intense ones. But James was creepy in a twisted way. The last time they’d met, she’d caught him ogling her. Now they’d be alone. Maybe she should skip the meeting altogether.

No. Rules are meant to be followed. No exceptions. It had been her dad’s motto. She’d agreed to this meeting, James or no James. After double-checking that her cell phone was in her pocket, just in case, she gritted her teeth and entered.

“Hi, James,” she said with a polite nod. She edged the chair away before handing him the print out copy of her bibliography.

James acknowledged her presence with a grunt, then nothing. He just looked at her.

What the hell was he waiting for? This meeting wasn’t her idea. She wiped the condensation from her glasses then fidgeted in her seat. Crammed between the empty, neglected bookshelves and the scuffed up, rickety table, she was trapped when he scooted his chair closer. Jockeying for fresh air, she leaned as far away as discretely possible.

Conceding the silence contest to James, she said, “Rumor has it Mr. Van Balen jetted off to L.A. for a spring break media tour. Heard he’s guest commentating on America’s political climate. Any idea when he gets back in town?”

“Phillip still chafes at being called mister instead of doctor. You’d think he’d be used to UVA’s traditions after a semester.” James snorted but then perked up. “Anyway, he returns from his TV tour on Saturday for his book release press conference.”

“Book release?”

Everyone at UVA knew Van Balen was becoming one of the hot election pundits–history professor-turned-political commentary personality. She’d seen more than a few of his satellite interviews on the news shows, not to mention his popular, edgy vlog. Van Balen’s hook was linking his political analysis back to issues the Founding Fathers tackled. But she hadn’t heard rumblings about Van Balen publishing a new book.

“Yep. He’s hosting a champagne reception in the Rotunda and book signing afterward. Lots of VIPs and celebrity A-listers, even a senator or two.” James frowned and switched gears. Fast. “Walk me through your thesis and link each concept in the paper to the source in your bibliography.”

“What? I thought this meeting was a final review of my paper.” Her jaw dropped. What was this, high school? Van Balen hadn’t mentioned anything about micro-managing her sources. She sat back in her chair. “I’m not sure I understand what’s going on. All my quotations are documented as footnotes throughout the paper. I’ve been reviewing drafts of my thesis with his TAs for months. Why are we doing this again now?”

“Phillip asked me to review your bibliography and footnotes for accuracy.” He squinted, daring her to challenge him. His shoulder twitched. Twice.

She tried to keep her voice as even as possible. “Is there a particular problem Mr. Van Balen has with my sources?”

James leaned closer. “He wants me to go through your thesis. Source. By. Source.”

“But I’ve got hundreds of sources and over ninety pages of text to cover. This could take all day.”

“We have all day. In fact, we have all spring break. But if you’d rather flunk your thesis…”

Megyn’s stomach churned. No way would Van Balen fail her. Failing an honor student was hardly career enhancing, visiting professor or not. And he’d never even hinted that he had a problem with her thesis. James must be bluffing. But she had to play nice. Her thesis was her opus magnum, the critical piece to completing her distinguished honors program in history. And to being accepted into Harvard grad school. She counted to ten and averted her eyes. If nothing else, she would play by his rules.

For now.

Her temper reluctantly returned to its crate as she pulled out her laptop. James put a hand out to stop her. “We’ll use mine.”

Biting her lip to keep from cussing, she dug around for her USB drive. “Home Directory was down for maintenance all weekend. My thesis is on here.” Jeez, she hadn’t used one of these flash drives in a while. But then again, she couldn’t fault the tech guys for working on the server while the students were gone for a week.

After plugging the memory stick into his computer, she opened her document and shifted the screen so they could both read the text.

“Let’s go to the first page.” One of his knees shook against the unbalanced desk. Megyn ignored the urge to wedge a folded piece of paper under the shortest table leg to stop the rattling.

Page by page, she scrolled through her paper. Each new footnote justified yet another complex responsibility Thomas Jefferson’s daughter had assumed. The underlying arguments in her paper were airtight and her sources—most of which were handwritten by Mr. Jefferson—were impeccable.

Why did she have to prove her sources? Were any other students being similarly scrutinized? She made a mental note to ask around when everyone returned to UVA next week.

The rain pelted against the window. While she talked him through the paper, James doodled all over the bibliography print out she’d given him.

He raked his hand through his thinning hair. “Just so you know, Phillip thinks you’re wasting your time. There are so many angles you could take on Jefferson. He’s as close to a demigod as any Founding Father could be. Why did you slum it with his daughter?”

“Mr. Van Balen thinks I’ve been slumming it?” Heat crept up her neck, stinging her cheeks.

“He thinks Patsy is irrelevant. Not worth academic consideration.”

“Since when?” Van Balen had seemed on board with her thesis arguments when they met. What had he called her concept? Fresh. Intriguing. She forced her voice to drop an octave. “How could any thesis based on Thomas Jefferson be irrelevant? So what if my paper is bent more towards his relationship with his daughter than his political career? Patsy was his secret weapon. Mr. Jefferson trusted her to run the day-to-day operations of Monticello. She served as his unofficial First Lady during his presidency. Mr. Jefferson may not have become the icon he was without her support.”

“So cliché. ‘Behind every great man is a woman.’”

She squeezed her fists while exhaling slowly. “Okay, it was unconventional for nineteenth-century ladies to be central to a man’s career. But I’ve researched hundreds of letters between Patsy and Mr. Jefferson that support my interdependence theory.”

“And you believe this bullshit?”

Go to hell, asshole. Why on earth was she still defending herself? Whether or not James agreed with her thesis didn’t matter. He wasn’t grading her paper.

But Van Balen was a different story.

In less than a month she’d be defending this paper in front of a panel of three judges. Even if Van Balen gave her a low ball grade, she’d still pass.

But she couldn’t risk a mediocre passing grade. She’d need to ace her thesis and graduate with honors to claim her pending seat in Harvard’s master's program. If she screwed up her thesis, she could kiss her Ivy League ambitions goodbye.

Megyn tried to keep her tone neutral. “So where were we?” James’ knee brushed hers, causing her to flinch. The guy set her on edge, and not in a good way.

Concept after concept, she justified each footnote she’d flagged in her thesis.

Hours later, James slammed his pencil down. He stood up to stretch, almost knocking over his chair. Megyn leaned back to keep out of his way. “We may need to pick up where we left off. I’ll let you know.”

Thank God.

Megyn tried not to appear too excited about leaving. But as she stood to pack her notes, his gaze skimmed her body. She hugged her backpack to her chest.

“Come over to my place tomorrow night. I’m sure Phillip wouldn’t mind…” He reached for her arm.

Recoiling, she stepped back, banging the bookcase behind her.

Hell no!

This was wrong on so many levels. Dating any TA in the history department was taboo. But James? She’d rather get a slow rip bikini wax than spend any time with him. Socially or otherwise.

“Uh, no thanks.”

She knocked over her chair while dashing toward the door.

MANUSCRIPT AND AUTHOR DETAILS

Title ~ PURPLE SHADOWS

Genre ~ Contemporary Suspense

Age Range ~ Adult

Word Count ~ 80,000

Author ~ Kristin Kisska

Platform ~ 

    Website ~ www.KristinKisska.com

    Twitter ~ @KKMHOO

    Facebook ~ @KristinKisskaAuthor

    Blog ~ www.kristinkisska.com/blog

Hook ~ 

Her professor discovered something new about Thomas Jefferson. He's on all the TV talk shows. There's only one problem. Megyn knows he's lying.

Synopsis~

Megyn, a University of Virginia student, would never have suspected her thesis on Thomas Jefferson could get her killed. Until it’s stolen.

When the deans and police ignore Megyn, her editor friend Kent convinces follow-the-rules girl to do the unthinkable—they break into the Rotunda and leave a letter pleading for help from the Purple Shadows. But UVA’s legendary secret society uncovers a bigger problem. Megyn’s professor, who wrote a book claiming to resolve Jefferson’s alleged sex scandal, is lying and using it as a catalyst to change the fabric of our nation. The key is buried in her missing research.

Caught in a cat-and-mouse game around the stately grounds of UVA, Megyn and Kent race to unravel her professor’s deception before his book is released, thus redefining American citizenship. Not to mention shattering her Harvard grad school dreams. That is if she survives.

Author Bio ~

Like Megyn, I graduated from the University of Virginia, and Thomas Jefferson is my hero. My short stories have been published in several anthologies, most notably Bouchercon’s Murder Under the Oaks, winner of the 2016 Anthony Award for Best Anthology. I’m a member of International Thriller Writers, Sister in Crime, and James River Writers. I live in Richmond, Virginia.