All The Way Dead: A Luke Littlefield Mystery

By Stephen Stanley

Former underwear model Danny Black has produced several best selling crime novels, but there is only one problem. Danny Black doesn’t exist. Danny Black is, in reality, anthropology professor Luke Littlefield.
After moving to West Hollywood to teach, Luke realizes that no one takes pretty boys seriously. As Luke says, no one has ever asked him how many college degrees he has when he’s standing shirtless at a photo shoot.
Luke puts on thick glasses and baggy clothing to appear more professional. Life seems routine and safe, that is until he meets British film star Ian Stoddard. Luke admits that he has no idea who Ian is, and Ian finds that fact appealing.

When a decades old murder is uncovered at the college, Luke and his anthropology students take the opportunity to construct a case study. Can Luke maintain his two separate identities and solve a decades old murder, or will it all blow up in his face?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Stanley
• Release date: Aug 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310011238

Stephen Stanley

Stephen E. Stanley has been an educator for over thirty years, first as a high school English instructor and then as a full-time teacher mentor for secondary education in a large New Hampshire school district. He grew up in Bath, Maine and currently resides in New Hampshire.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The end of the world was coming to West Hollywood with great speed. At least that’s what the preacher on the Sunset Strip said as I hurried past. Hard to believe that the twenty-first century had passed by some people. I wasn’t so sure that the end was in sight, though. I don’t think the four horseman of the apocalypse have much chance against the southern California traffic, plus I think the heat would do them in.

I had an early morning appointment with one of my graduate students. I had agreed to meet him for coffee and discuss his upcoming project. I teach anthropology at Cranmore College. Cranmore is a recently endowed palace of higher learning. It was founded only ten years ago, but is doing well. My tiny office on Barrow Street was located in an old building and was due to be moved into a newly built facility, so the university’s coffee shop would have to do for the meeting. It was a little out of my routine to leave the house so early. I make some of my living as a writer, and my best writing time is the morning.

It wasn’t just that morning was my writing time, but the truth is I have to make myself leave the house. Left to my own devices I probably would be spending most of my time at home. Anytime I go out of the house, I have to go in professor drag. I slick back my hair, put on loose clothing, and add a pair of thick black-framed glasses. I have perfect eyesight and don’t need the glasses, but it makes me look more like a college professor.

If I went out as myself, nobody would take me seriously. In grad school I made some extra money as an underwear model, which should give you some idea as to how I look when I step out of the shower. People see a six foot-two guy with dark, curly hair and blue eyes and a fairly athletic build and they don’t ever ask me how big my college degree is. West Hollywood was known for its crop of pretty boys and no one ever believed or cared if they had a brain or not.

Not that being moderately good looking had ever helped me. I had exactly two girl friends in high school, two boyfriends in college, and maybe five dates in as many years.

After I finished grad school in Maine I moved to West Hollywood when I read that the population was made up of about forty-one percent gay men, but California didn’t seem to live up to my dreams. Here there was too much money, too much partying, and too many drugs. There also seemed to be a plethora of assholes here as well.

I pulled my Prius into the faculty parking lot and headed to the café. I grabbed a cup of coffee at the counter, looked around and spotted my student at a table in the corner.

Thanks for coming professor Littlefield, greeted Tom Richman, one of my top grad students.

Call me Luke. I’m only a few years older than you. Now tell me your ideas for your project, I said getting right to business.

I want to do a paper on the Tasaday hoax.

The Tasaday were a tribe discovered in the Philippines back in 1971. The tribe was believed to be a primitive tribe that had lived in isolation in the rain forest. It caused a stir in the world of anthropology when they were discovered. Even National Geographic bought into the story and featured them on the cover of the magazine. Manuel Elizalde was head of the cultural agency of the Marco government that was created to protect Philippine minorities. Access to the tribe was limited and only a handful of anthropologists had visited the tribe.

After the fall of the Marco government, anthropologists were able to take a closer look and discovered that the Tasaday tribe was a hoax. They were really members of a nearby tribe who had been set up in the caves. Apparently no one bothered to notice the vaccination scars on the tribe members.

That actually is a good topic, I responded. What’s your focus going to be?

I’m thinking I want to study the willingness everyone had to believe the story. For instance, why did no one question their isolated state when they were a mere three miles from the nearest tribe?

You might want to go back and look at the early publications that came out in 1971.

I will, Tom said as he got up to leave. Thanks, Luke.

No problem. I’ll see you in class.

I looked at my watch and sighed. My whole day was going to be off schedule now. I was scheduled to have lunch with my book agent in two hours. There wouldn’t be time for me to go back home and write. I decided to go to the library and do some class preparation.

***

Lunch with Briana Wright was always a treat. As my book agent she always picked up the check, and her choice of restaurants was always fun. She had a knack for knowing which restaurant was in vogue with the Hollywood crowd. She was constantly pointing out television and movie stars.

Since I don’t go to the movies or watch the boob tube very often, I usually don’t know who she was talking about.

I don’t know why you continue to write those anthropology articles, especially when your crime novel is doing so well. That’s where the money is, said Briana when we had settled at a table in the newest and upcoming café.

I’m an anthropologist, I replied. It’s important that professor-types publish scholarly works. I write the crime novels for the money. I publish the academic works under my own name, but for my fiction books I use the pen name Danny Black.

Still, you could make a lot more money if you spent more time on the crime genre.

I don’t need that much money. My parents were killed in a freak accident while I was in college. I got the proceeds from the house sale, plus a very large insurance policy, and a nice law suit settlement. I’m sure you didn’t invite me out to lunch just to challenge my work ethic, so spill.

"Okay, I’ll get to the point, Dark Informer is on the best seller list, and I’ve booked you on the talk show circuit."

What do you mean by the talk show circuit? How many talk shows are we talking about?

Only three.

Three? Are you crazy? I can’t do talk shows!

It would be great for your career.

Which career? I’d be laughed out of the academic world if they knew I wrote crime novels. You know how I feel about being taken seriously in my work.

Briana sighed and reached over and patted my hand. You know I only have your best interest at heart. I have to say that you take yourself way too seriously. No one is going to make the connection between Luke Littlefield and Danny Black.

Until they see me.

Okay, I think I have a compromise. Forget the TV shows. I can schedule you on some radio talk shows in greater Los Angeles. No one will see you and it’s unlikely that your academic peers listen to talk radio. Maybe I can even get you on NPR.

Okay, I guess I could go along with that.

Then it’s settled. I’ll let you know more after I arrange it. Anything to get you out of that house.

Nothing wrong with my house, I said.

You need to get out more. You need to show up for life.

Could we change the subject?

Oh, look over there; it’s Ian Stoddard.

Who’s that? I asked. I looked across the room and saw a very good looking man with sandy hair and a muscular build talking to a middle aged woman.

Ian Stoddard is the hottest British movie star right now. And the woman he is with is Jane Van Clive, the biographer.

Really? I read her biography of Tallulah Bankhead. To my horror Briana waved to the table. Jane Van Clive waved back and came over to our table. She had the Ian person in tow.

Briana, it’s so good to see you, said Jane. Ian this is my friend Briana Wright. She’s the top book agent in West Hollywood.

Pleased to meet you Ms. Wright. Ian had a very attractive upper class British accent.

This is… Briana hesitated for a moment. Was she going to introduce me as Danny Black or Luke Littlefield? …Luke Littlefield. He’s an anthropology professor at Cranmore College. I shook hands with Jane and Ian. Ian, I thought, was looking me over until I remembered that I was dressed in professor drag. He was probably thinking what a nerd I looked.

"Please come and join us?’ Jane offered.

I looked at my watch. "Sorry I have a class in twenty minutes. I excused myself. As I left the restaurant I had the feeling that someone was watching me. Just my imagination I was sure.

Chapter 2

After class I went to the new social sciences building to see the progress on my new office. It appeared that the only thing needed to complete the room was a coat of paint and the installation of new carpeting.

You should be able to move in early next week. I spun around to see Dean Babcock wearing a yellow hard hat. You’ll be one of the first faculty members to move in. This floor is almost done. Bruce Babcock hired me to teach anthropology when he learned that I had attended the University of Maine. He had been three years ahead of me at the university, though we had never met.

It’ll be nice to have a real office.

Thanks to an anonymous donor we’re able to expand the college.

I can’t envision having that much money.

Or being that generous, Bruce replied. I’ll let you know when you can move in. He turned and left.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was time to go home. I hopped in my Prius and drove the five blocks to my house. I could have walked, but I had never really gotten used to the California heat.

My house is a small California bungalow situated on a quiet street. Coming from Maine I was shocked to see real estate prices in West Hollywood. My neighbor, Mrs. Wentworth, was out working on her garden when I drove up.

How’s school going?

Not bad, I replied. I have all good classes.

Ted should be home soon. Come on over for some ice tea.

Okay. Ted Wentworth was the business manager at the college. The Wentworths had taken me under their wings when I first moved to West Hollywood.

I took a quick shower to wash the product out of my hair, threw on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and sandals. It was nice to be out of school drag. Ted and Mary were on their front porch and I joined them. Mary poured me a glass of ice tea.

I heard your office will be ready next week, said Ted as I settled into a porch rocker.

I took a look at it today. It’s nice and roomy compared to the little cubicle I have in the admin building.

As soon as we’re all moved out, continued Ted, the admin building is going to be remodeled into student housing. The administration building was a large three story single apartment house from the early 1920s that had been broken up into offices when the college bought it.

I heard they want to restore the exterior to its original appearance.

Yes, they have some old photos to go by, he answered.

That should be nice, said Mary. Too much of the old town is being lost.

True, I said. Thanks for the ice tea. I should get back home and prepare for my classes.

You work too much, said Mary. You’re young and good looking. You should be out on the town. I don’t know why you hide behind those baggy clothes and those glasses.

Leave the guy alone, said Ted. He’s one of the best professors we’ve got.

Later, I said and headed next door.

***

I had just sat down at my desk to grade papers when the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and answered it.

Hello Janet.

Luke, I’ve got a job for you. Janet Higgins works for The Gray Modeling Agency that specializes in clothing catalogs.

I haven't modeled in two years. I’m too old.

You’re thirty-one, she reminded me. Besides male clothing models are needed for all age groups.

When was the last time you saw a seventy-year old posing in underwear?

You’ve got a few years to go. It’s for Benson and Bloom.

Benson and Bloom is an upscale men’s clothing chain with very glitzy catalogs.

Let me think about it, I said. I have to admit the offer appealed to my vanity. It was like having a secret persona. No one looking at the catalog would ever think it was me.

Three minutes later I called her back. I’m in.

Grading papers is the least appealing part of teaching. I was hoping to get a grad student as a teaching assistant soon. I was thinking of offering the job to Tom Richman since he was my best student, but I’d have to wait until the end of the semester when he was no longer in my class.

After two hours of grading papers I needed a change, so I turned on my computer and began writing a new crime novel. Black Informer was doing well and I hoped I could duplicate my success. I regarded the blank screen as a challenge and began typing. When I write I really don’t plan out a plot. I create the characters and let them tell the story. It’s like having imaginary friends, but they don’t put you away in the funny farm. At least I hope they don’t.

By late afternoon I’d had enough of both correcting and writing. I figured I had better get to the gym and get in shape for the photo shoot coming up. The gym was filled with West Hollywood pretty boys, and I was able to do my work out without anyone paying any attention to me. The level of narcissism in the gym always amazed me. Guys would strut around while always keeping their eyes on their own reflection in the many mirrors. I suspected that a great deal of plastic surgery had been performed on many of the gym rats.

Professor? I turned to see Tom Collier, a student in my Introduction to Anthropology class. I almost didn’t recognize you in that workout suit.

Hi Tom.

"This is quite the place isn’t it? I bet you have some observations being an anthropologist and