by Frankie Bow
“Huh?”
“Gonif. That’s a thief or a con man. Putz is…more of an all-purpose insult. Listen, Jonah, we found a top-of-the-line synthesizer, just sitting in Kent’s desk drawer. It was so new I’m not sure Kent even used it. It still had the peel-off plastic over some of the input jacks. He had nicer office furniture than the stuff my dean has in his office. He had a massage chair, for crying out loud.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Of course. You were the one who filed the complaint with Marshall Dixon’s office. Did you ever happen to look at Kent’s calendar?”
Jonah shrugged.
“You know, that big one hanging behind his desk?”
Jonah stared at the table.
“Jonah, listen. On the day of the retreat? The day Kent Lovely died?”
“I thought he died later.”
“True. Kent passed away later that night, after they’d airlifted him over to Oahu. But the day of his retreat. There were two numbers written down. Twelve and Thirteen. Are those some kind of codes? Do twelve and thirteen mean anything?”
Jonah blinked.
“Okay. Forget about the numbers themselves. But they were written inside of these heart shapes. Like the suit? In cards? Hearts? Clubs? Spades? Diamonds? Was Kent smuggling diamonds?”
“Dunno.”
“Jonah, you have to help me out here. You must have some ideas.”
The couple at the next table stared at us. I glared at them, and they looked away.
“Twelve plus thirteen is twenty-five. Does the number twenty-five mean something?”
The server came by, deposited a fresh basket of bread and another glass of beer for Jonah. She disappeared before I could ask about my wine.
“Okay, what about this? Did Emma tell you the last call from your and Kent’s office phone was to Linda’s private cell number?”
“Yeah, I think she said something about the office phone. Who’d Kent call?”
“Linda Wilson, from the Student Retention Office. Do you know anything about it? You weren’t the one who made the call to Linda’s phone, by any chance?”
“Wasn’t me. Hey, it’s Park.”
Whoever Jonah was talking about was right behind me, so there was no way for me to twist around for a look without being obvious.
“Who?” I whispered.
“Stephen Park. From theater.”
“Stephen Park is here? At Sprezzatura? The exact same restaurant he was supposed to—Who’s he with?”
“By himself. I think it’s him. Looks like him anyway.”
Stephen was eating at Sprezzatura by himself? What on earth was he up to? Of course Jonah could be wrong. It might just be some other artsy-looking guy with a ponytail.
“You know what? This would be a good time for me to go wash my hands. If the server comes by, can you order me the calamari appetizer? And please remind her about my chardonnay. Oh, and I’d like a bottle, not just a glass. And it doesn’t have to be the house wine. Ask her what she recommends. Thank you.”
I stood up and headed to the rear of the restaurant. In the low light, I could see a man sitting at a table by himself. He was wearing a black turtleneck, and his black hair was slicked back into a ponytail. Pale, oval face. Pointed chin. Stunning cheekbones. Unable to smoke inside the restaurant, he was rolling a piece of bread back and forth in his fingers.
Thankfully, Stephen Park was facing away from me, so I was able to scurry past him unseen. The tiny restaurant bathroom had a single stall, currently occupied. The pillow-shaped fluorescent ceiling fixture was clearly intended for a much larger space. The blue-white glare flooded the tiny bathroom and threw my every complexion flaw into harsh relief. The Molly who dolled herself up for dinner earlier this evening had looked smooth and pretty in my bathroom mirror. The Molly who stared back at me now looked like something from a Grand Guignol poster. I swore to myself I would start getting a full eight hours’ sleep every night, beginning tonight. I dispensed a puff of foamy soap and turned on the faucet to wash my hands. They looked weathered and veiny in the unforgiving light.
A young blonde emerged from the stall. I had seen her somewhere before. Maybe that trendy jewelry boutique downtown? She had the look: sleek bun fastened with a pair of chopsticks, an outfit of charcoal and black layers, severe purple lipstick against pale skin.
“Oh.” She looked startled. “Professor Molly. Hi.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I gave her a tiny smile and a nod of acknowledgement. Was I supposed to know her name? I pulled out a brown paper towel and used it to shut off the faucet without making direct contact with the metal.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not very good with names.”
“Oh. My name’s Alicia. I’m a student at Mahina State. That’s how come I, um, I recognized you.”
And in a flash, I recognized her right back. She was the young woman who had been in the theater with Stephen that day Emma and I had sneaked into the back row to eat lunch. Stage-manager Barbie. Stephen hadn’t come to Sprezzatura by himself. He was sitting alone at the table because his date had gone to the bathroom.
I felt my heart thumping, and willed myself to stay calm. Stephen’s behavior wasn’t little Alicia’s fault. Stephen was the responsible party. He was the grown-up. Anyway, what was I going to do? Get into a hair-pulling fight with an undergraduate? In fact, why should I even be upset? I was over Stephen. Completely.
“So what’s good here?” I asked offhandedly. “Any recommendations? This is my first time at Sprezzatura, and we haven’t ordered yet.”
“Mine too. I haven’t even had a chance to look at the menu. Stephen and me—I mean—um, sorry. I’m here with Stephen.”
Great. She knew about my history with Stephen. She must have been spending time with him while our relationship fell apart. Maybe she was the reason our relationship fell apart.
“Oh, sure, I saw him out in the dining room just now.” As if it were no big deal.
“Oh. Okay. Like I said, we haven’t even looked at the menu yet. We’ve just been talking. He’s such an interesting conversation-ist.”
I’d have bet money that she had been doing very little of the talking in their “conversation.”
“So let me guess. He’s telling you all about Korean culture?”
Alicia stared at me wide-eyed. “How did you know?”
I shrugged, as if to say, lucky guess. “What’s your interest? Are you a Korean Studies major?”
“No, I’m a theater major, but I’m really interested in world cultures.”
I’m not completely proud of what I did next. I mean, I was telling the truth, but still.
“You know, Stephen Park is not Korean.”
Alicia’s lovely young features slacked with surprise.
“What do you mean?”
People assume Stephen Park has Korean ancestry. He doesn’t. Not a drop. Rather than set them straight, he encourages the misconception. In his mind, being thought of as part-Asian gives him extra cool points or something.
“Stephen’s father is from Scotland,” I said. “Park is a Scots name. And his mother is a Schwartz from New Jersey. They live in LA. Have you been to LA?”
“I, uh, yeah?”
“Stephen’s parents own and operate Beverly Hills Aesthetic Centre. You might’ve seen the billboards. It’s not in Beverly Hills, of course, but as it happens it’s perfectly legal to put Beverly Hills in the name.”
“I thought Stephen was part Korean.”
“But he didn’t actually tell you that.”
“Well...”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” I pasted on a pleasant smile. “I mean, Stephen wouldn’t lie.”
Alicia hurried out of the tiny bathroom without washing her hands. I wondered if the lovely young Alicia, so eager to sample the exotic flavors of the East, would continue to find Stephen Park so fascinating now that he was just some white guy whose parents ran a plastic surgery center.
I stayed and reap
plied my lipstick (Russian Red) smoothing it with my pinky until the edges were blended. I dabbed crumbs of stray mascara from under my eyes. I’d have to get a fixture like this in my bathroom at home. This light was really good.
By the time I went back out to join Jonah, the table where Stephen had been sitting was empty.
Jonah noticed me staring at the table.
“They left,” Jonah said. “A girl came over, and said something to him, and then she walked out. Then Park got up and went after her. Dunno what it was about.”
I smiled brightly. “Well, it’s none of our business, anyway.”
“Didn’t you used to go out with him?” Jonah asked.
“Briefly.” I settled into my seat. “Is this mine?”
Thin slices of raw beef were arranged on a large white plate, and drizzled with vinaigrette.
“Wanna try a mozzarella stick?” Jonah proffered his own half-finished plate.
“No, thanks for offering, though,” I said.
“That’s what you wanted, right? I wasn’t sure cause it looks like it’s raw.”
“I think I asked for calamari. This is carpaccio. But—sure. Why not try something new?”
I prodded the carpaccio with my fork, half expecting it to twitch. I don’t even like my meat rare, much less completely uncooked. It was my own fault for leaving Jonah unsupervised to order for me. What was I thinking? This is the guy who got into an argument with Emma about dinosaurs being a hoax because their names are in Latin, and Jonah’s reasoning had been, where would dinosaurs have learned Latin?
“Jonah.” I stared down the translucent slice of beef dangling from my fork, “what do you know about Kent’s red binder?”
“Huh? What red binder?”
The server had left a nice bottle of Napa chardonnay and a chilled glass. First things first. I placed the beef back down, poured half a glass, and took a sip. This was better. Although she probably wondered why I’d ordered white wine with raw beef.
“The binder said SOS on the spine. Sounds of—” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Seduction?”
“Oh. That.” Jonah’s nose crinkled with distaste.
“I know. We listened to a little of it. It was horrible. But is it possible someone wanted it for some reason? Would someone have killed for it?”
“It was junk. Kent’s whole concept was match tempo to heart rate, but it wasn’t even his idea. Lots of people did it before him.”
I stuffed the carpaccio into my mouth. It wasn’t as bad as I expected. The raw beef slices had been pounded thin and drowned in tangy vinaigrette, so I could trick myself into thinking it was mushrooms or something.
“Anyway,” Jonah said, “if that binder was so important, how come you guys found it in the office? Wouldn’t the killer have stolen it?”
“Hm. Good point.”
For someone who thought centaurs (but not dinosaurs) once roamed the earth, Jonah was making a lot of sense.
“So do you have any ideas about what happened? Any theories? Anything?”
“Nuh-uh. Hey, here’s our waitress. You ready to order dinner?”
“With Emma treating? Sure.” I picked up the menu and scanned it for something expensive and delicious.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“So Stephen’s really moved on, ah?” Emma repositioned her elbows on the table and resumed paging through the coupon section of the Sunday paper.
Emma and I have a Sunday morning routine. I attend Mass at St. Damien’s, Emma goes to paddling practice, and afterwards we meet at the Pair-O-Dice Bar and Grill. The establishment’s one outstanding feature is a custom neon sign. “Pair-O-Dice” is spelled out in curvy blue script. An animated pink pair of dice rolls underneath. Green and yellow neon palm trees sway jerkily on either side. The bar’s interior is nothing special: sticky concrete floors and wobbly wooden tables.
So what’s the big draw? The Pair-O-Dice may be a dump, but it affords us a little privacy in a town with none. I’ve never seen anyone from Mahina State there. It’s too down-market for most university employees, and it’s not lively enough for students, who prefer the nightlife down on Hotel Drive. It’s a perfect refuge.
“It’s not that I want Stephen back,” I said. “But it’s hard to accept I’m so replaceable.”
“Oh big deal. You totally moved on, too. Right? You went on a date last night, don’t forget. Oh, hope you enjoyed your New Zealand rack of lamb and your bottle of Chateau Cha-Ching. You’re welcome.”
“It was delicious. Thank you. But it wasn’t a date.”
“Of course it was a date. You and Jonah, table for two at Sprezzatura, and bonus, Stephen saw you.”
“I don’t think he saw…Oh. Maybe he did. You think Stephen saw us?”
“Why do you care if Stephen saw you? You just said you were over him and you weren’t on a date anyway.” Emma turned a page and studied the department store sale coupons. “Eh, you manage to dodge the Passing of the Peace today?”
“I got there just as people were sitting back down. My timing was perfect.”
I picked up a leathery fried wonton from its grease-translucent paper.
“These aren’t very good,”
“Told you you shoulda got the French fries.”
“You know what? I am over Stephen. What kind of adult man carries on with an undergraduate? It’s such a, a—”
“Breach of trust?” Emma suggested. “Abuse of authority?”
“I was going to say cliché. But what you said works too.”
“Shoulda seen it coming,” Emma said. “Stephen likes to be the teacher. The expert. He wants a wide-eyed undergrad who’s completely impressed with him, not some—well, you know.”
“Some what, Emma? I don’t know. Please elaborate.”
“Alls I’m saying is Stephen liked you ’cause he thought you were a challenge. But once you saw through his act and quit fluffing up his ego, he went looking somewhere else.”
“But a student, Emma. An undergraduate. Can he do that?”
“I don’t think there’s an actual rule against professors dating students. Is there?”
“How should I know? It’s not exactly the kind of thing you ask during your job interview.”
“Hey, can I have this coupon?” Emma asked.
“Sure. Take it. Air freshener makes me sneeze. I wonder how impressed his fresh-faced little ingénue is with him now.”
Emma looked up from the paper and raised her eyebrows at me.
“Why? What’d you do?”
“Nothing. Let’s talk about Jonah.”
“Now you’re talking sense. Jonah’s a much better match for you.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, let’s talk about how we’re going to keep your brother off death row.”
“Right on time. Eh, Dummy,” Emma shouted. “Over here.”
Jonah paused in the door, silhouetted against the sunlight outside. It wasn’t hard for him to find us, once his eyes adjusted. Emma and I were the only customers in the Pair-O-Dice.
“You invited Jonah?”
“He couldn’t wait to see you again.” Emma socked me encouragingly on the shoulder.
“I don’t believe that for a second.” I rubbed my shoulder, and not just for show. Emma punches hard. “Oh, hi Jonah. Wow, A Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax shirt. I haven’t seen one of those since high school!”
“You two had a good time at dinner last night, ah?”
Jonah grunted (which presumably meant “yes”), sat down with us, and picked up the “Island Life” section of the newspaper.
“Nothing about you today in the paper, anyways,” Emma said. “Front page today is all about some fistfight at Laukapu High School.”
“A fight at the high school makes the front page?” I asked.
“Yeah, when it’s two of the moms.”
“Whoa.” Jonah frowned at the paper. “The world’s oldest man died again?”
Emma cleared her throat.
“So, you two, how was Sprezzatu
ra?”
“We didn’t really come up with any new insights,” I said. “It might have been helpful if you’d been able to join us. But the food was very nice.”
“I dunno.” Jonah didn’t take his eyes off the paper. “I didn’t like the house dressing. It was totally different from the house dressing at Spiros, remember Emma, the place you took me when I visited you in Ithaca?”
“’Course it’s different, Dummy. You familiar with the concept of house dressing?”
“Jonah told me he wasn’t the one who called Linda from the office,” I said. “So we’re back to assuming it was Kent.”
“So you think it hadda do with the teaching award?”
“I can’t imagine someone committing murder over the teaching award. It’s just a paper certificate. There’s not even cash involved.”
“Jonah.” Emma nudged him. “Whadda you think?”
Jonah shrugged. Emma gave me an exasperated look.
“One of us should talk to Rodge Cowper,” I said. “He has to know something.”
“You can talk to Rodge Cowper,” Emma said. “I’m not gonna do it.”
“What’s the big deal?” Jonah asked.
“Oh Jonah, you have no idea.”
While Rodge wasn’t necessarily my favorite colleague, my interactions with him had always been tolerable. This was because I wasn’t his type. Emma was a different story. Rodge was relentless, trying to work his pickup artist magic on her. He remarked on her “exotic” looks, teased her about her weight, and hinted that when she was ready to trade up from her current husband, he’d consider accommodating her. At first Emma had found him amusing. Then he became annoying. Finally Emma decided she’d exceeded her lifetime exposure limit.
“Even if Rodge Cowper does know something, Molly, how’re you gonna get him to talk to you? Anyways, I’m sure the police already talked to ’im, and whatever they got outta him already wasn’t any help to Jonah.”
We sighed and sat silent for a moment.
“The police car’s gone,” Jonah said.
“Really?” Emma brightened. “When’d they leave?”
“When I left to come here, I saw the car pull out an’ drive away.”
