by Frankie Bow
It took me a while to find a working computer, and once I was logged on, the internet connection was sluggish. Happily, the Foundation’s website had an online feedback form, so I didn’t even have to sign up for a throwaway email account.
We want to hear your feedback. Please type into the box below.
I started typing, and before long I had exceeded the character limit. I went back and edited my statement down to the essentials:
Mahina State has taken Foundation money and made things worse, not better, for our students, I wrote. The Student Retention Office uses Foundation funds to pressure faculty and administrators to inflate grades, dumb down assignments, and let cheaters go unpunished. Now local employers refuse to hire our graduates. This is in direct contradiction to the Foundation’s stated goal of “increasing success in higher education.” Being unemployable upon graduation is not “success” for our students.
Once the Foundation got my message, there would be some changes made. I was sure of it. Maybe they wouldn’t believe me about the off-island degree requirement, though. I had to provide solid evidence. I could do that.
I retrieved a copy of the County Courier from the periodical section, and opened it to the classifieds. I typed in a list of employers who included “off-island degree required” in their ads. Before long, I bumped up against the character limit again. I edited the message down, looked it over for typos, pressed “send,” and went to look for Iker.
Maybe the Foundation will redirect the money to something to actually help students, I thought. A tutoring center. Some full-time composition instructors. They might even shut down the Student Retention Office. Sorry, Linda, but you and your minions should’ve chosen a less evil line of work.
I found Iker at the circulation desk. He politely stood aside to let me push through the turnstile first. (I always go hands-free and push through with my hips, because who knows what kinds of hand germs are living on that metal?) Then he followed me out. As soon as we were outside, I turned to him.
“Iker,” I said, “I have an idea. If you don’t mind and can spare a few minutes. Can we stop by Natural High? Would you mind?”
“Natural High? The herbolario, with the pungent smell?”
“It won’t take long. I just want to check something. It’s for our audit.”
“It is not an audit,” Iker said, sternly. “Only a certified—”
“Sorry. Investigation is what I meant to say. I finally feel like we might be making some progress.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I parked my T-bird at the far end of the bayfront. Iker and I climbed out of the car and headed down the row of storefronts to Natural High Organic Foods.
“I don’t know why it’s so hard to find parking down here,” I said. “I’d like to think it’s because business is booming downtown, but the stores always seem empty.”
“It is a paradox,” Iker agreed.
The bayfront’s Old-West-style false-front buildings were gaily painted in pinks, blues, and yellows. Across the street, the ocean lapped on a thin strip of shoreline spiked with tall coconut palms. We passed the ‘awa bar, several vacant storefronts, and a new dress shop. Finally we reached the carved wooden sign that hung at the entrance of Natural High Organic Foods. Natural High has been doing business in the same spot since 1972. Neither the store nor the neighborhood has changed much since then.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Iker?” I asked.
“Yes. It may help our investigation, and so I will do it.”
Iker pulled open the wood-framed screen door to allow me to enter first. A musty ginseng scent permeated Natural High’s interior. I wandered over to the display of rubber gardening shoes, and watched Iker wander toward the back of the store. He made a show of examining the shelves, and was quickly accosted by a blonde-dreadlocked young woman wearing a green apron. I picked up a basket from the stack next to the front door and went over to the bulk bins, straining to eavesdrop as I pretended to study the tamari almonds. Iker seemed to be doing a fine job. I decided I should pick up one or two things before I followed him out so it wouldn’t look suspicious. By the time I finished my shopping, Iker was waiting for me outside the store. I stood and gazed at the sparkling blue ocean on the other side of the road. Six-man canoes zipped along past the breakwater.
“I have learned something today,” Iker said, when he realized I was standing next to him. “Do you know that on the sole of the foot and here, in the palm of the hand…” (He pressed his palm with his finger.) “…and at several points beside the ankle, there are points of pressure connected to the kidneys? Allow me, please.”
Iker relieved me of one of my grocery bags.
“Do you think someone gave Kent Lovely some kind of ankle death grip? Was someone hiding under his table or something?”
“Many things are possible,” Iker said. “And yet nothing is certain.”
We started back up the street to where I had parked the Thunderbird. Mahina’s famous bayfront looked quaint and colorful from a distance and photographed nicely for travel features in airline magazines. Up close, though, the years of the buildings being blasted by salty air and chewed up by termites became obvious. Paint peeled and blistered. Walls and walkways sagged precariously. A few spaces had been repopulated with various social services and nonprofit agencies.
We had almost reached my car when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I turned around to see a towering security guard hurrying up to us.
“Excuse me, Professor?”
Was there something in my bag I hadn’t paid for? And how did he know I was a professor?
“Yes, Sir.” I stopped walking and clutched my groceries defensively. “Is there a problem?”
Iker was still walking toward the car ahead of me, unaware.
“Eh, Professor Barda, I’m in your Business Planning class. In the fall.”
“Oh, you’re a student.” I smiled at the hulking young man.
“Oh yah, sorry.” The guy looked down at his chest as if he had just noticed he was wearing a security guard’s uniform. “This my summer job. Working loss prevention for Sacred Herb. Saw you guys coming out of Natural High, an’ thought I could catch you before you was gone already.”
“Did you say Business Planning?”
“BP, yah. Business Planning. I wanted to ask you, we get a textbook or what? I didn’t see nothing in the bookstore.”
“Actually, Business Planning isn’t my class. I teach Business Communication. Roger Cowper teaches Business Planning.”
“Yah, Business Planning. Like a brand-new business.”
“Okay, but it’s not my class—”
“So check it out, Professor, I got this idea for a private security company, yah? But local kine, wit’ aloha.”
“Well, that sounds very interesting, but—”
“We could do baby luaus, weddings, all da kine, but get one personal touch. Like uncle get too much to drink at the baby luau, we no whack.’im over the head or t’row ’im out into the road, nothing li’ dat. We just get ’im on the couch, sleep it off. So no get all kapakahi, yah?”
“Okay.”
“Name of my company gonna be Aloha Security. Don’t tell nobody but. I don’t want no one to steal my idea. Eh, Professor Legazpi. Howzit?”
Iker had realized that he’d been walking by himself and turned back.
“Ah, Mister Kawānanakoa,” Iker said. “A very good afternoon to you.”
“Eh professor Legazpi, I like retake managerial in the fall. Hope I do good this time.”
“That is my hope as well,” Iker said. “What is the expression, the third time is the most charming?”
“Why does everyone think I’m teaching Rodge’s classes?” I asked, when the young man had returned to his post at Sacred Herb. Sacred Herb was a small but thriving specialty shop done up in the same red, gold, and green palette as the new Mahina State school colors.
“You would do a better job at these courses than Roger Cowper, I believe.�
�
“Thank you for saying so, although I’m not sure it’s true. I don’t have any background at all in business. My doctorate is in literature and creative writing.”
“Yes, it is as they say. The old fox sheds its old hair, but not its old habits.”
“Well?” I asked. “What did you find?”
“They do not sell the pills at Natural High,” Iker said. “I attempted to describe the container. The young lady believes that they were for…the gentleman who requires some assistance in fulfilling his marital obligations.”
“So not likely that Rodge used them to kill Kent. Darn. Sorry, Iker, not that I’m disappointed that Rodge isn’t poisoning people. But then why did he get rid of them?”
“Perhaps he believed such a display was unseemly during this time.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. Rodge is the walking embodiment of ‘unseemly’. Do you mind if we make just one more stop?”
Iker’s forehead creased with concern.
“Molly, we already have the information from Natural High Organic Foods. Perhaps the rest of this is best left to the policemen.”
“Well, here’s the problem. The policemen already have their susp—um.”
Whoops. Iker didn’t know about Emma’s arrest.
“I’m afraid either Emma or Jonah might fall under suspicion,” I said. “In the absence of another likely suspect.”
“Yes. I know a police car has been parked near to Emma’s house, the one she shares with her husband and her brother.”
“Right. I know. Can you imagine living like that? No privacy, police watching everything you do?”
Iker’s baby face clouded.
“Yes. I can indeed.”
“Just a quick stop at Fujioka’s Music and Party Supply. Remember, the place where Margaret Adams is working over the summer? She told us her shift was starting soon, so she’s probably there now.”
“You wish to go to the music store?” Iker asked.
“If you don’t mind. If we hurry, we can get there before they close.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The rain started to patter on the roof of the Thunderbird as we drove up from the bayfront toward Fujioka’s Music and Party Supply. The green jungle on either side of the narrow road gleamed against the grey sky. Dripping black power lines garlanded from one termite-chewed utility pole to the next.
“I am glad for this rain,” Iker said.
“Really? Good.” I wasn’t feeling that glad myself. The trip to Natural High had been disappointing. This whole day had been a disappointment, starting with losing Skip Kojima as a donor. I wasn’t looking forward to going back to my empty house to listen to rain drumming on my metal roof all night.
“My orchids were becoming melancholy,” Iker said. “Now they will be more cheerful.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You know, I really don’t mind the rain as much as I thought I would. Everyone told me I’d get tired of it. But it keeps this side of the island cool and green. I think the other side of the island is actually too hot.”
“It is said, all sunshine makes a desert.”
“Excellent point.”
I pulled into the narrow lot and parked beside the low cinderblock building. The worn red script on the street side of the building read Fujioka’s Music and Party Supply since 1949.
It was painfully cold inside Fujioka’s. This is how air conditioners seem to work in Mahina—rattling away ineffectually when it’s hot and humid, then kicking into blast freezer mode when it cools down outside.
Margaret Adams stood behind the glass counter, setting out packets of guitar strings for a gray-haired Hawaiian man, whom I recognized as a local recording artist. A selection of guitars and ukuleles were arrayed on the walls, and at the far end of the store was a glass-front jewelry display. A security guard in an ill-fitting uniform stood next to it, hands clasped behind his back. Iker followed me over. On the top shelf, under the streaked glass, was a display of semiprecious jewelry: garnets, opals, pearls, and aquamarines. The shelf below it featured a selection of pricey timepieces. One watch, a gaudy diamond-encrusted model, looked familiar.
“Hey Professor Barda. Professor Legazpi. What are you doing here?”
Margaret Adams approached us, tucking her mousy hair behind her ear, only to have it fall in front of her face again.
“Darn it. I should just get bangs again. So are you looking for anything special?”
“I’ve started guitar lessons,” I said.
“Oh no way, Professor, good for you.”
“My guitar teacher was the one who told me about Fujioka’s. I haven’t been in here before.”
Margaret clasped her slim white hands. “Oh, speaking of music teachers, wasn’t it terrible news? About our computer music instructor? Professor Lovely?”
“Dr. Legazpi and I were both at the retreat when Kent Lovely collapsed,” I said.
Margaret wrapped her thin arms around herself in a defensive gesture. “I heard the other music teacher was the one who did it,” she whispered.
“Margaret,” Iker asked gently, “where did you hear this rumor?”
“Everyone here’s been talking about it.”
“Jonah Nakamura is actually the one I’m taking lessons from,” I said. “He’s my guitar teacher.”
“Oh.” Margaret’s large eyes widened.
“Well, contrary to what you might have heard, I don’t think the police suspect him. Margaret, did you know Kent Lovely?”
“Sort of. He used to come in here a lot, and I know he bought a lot of stuff, but I never rang him up. Wendell, the owner, is the one who did his purchases. Professor Lovely always used university purchase orders, and Wendell said I should let him handle it, ’cause it had to be done a certain way.”
Iker pulled a thick blue binder out of his satchel and set it on the glass display case. He paged through until he found what he was looking for and then turned the binder to face Margaret.
“Margaret, can you tell me please, does Fujioka’s sell this item?”
Margaret frowned and traced her finger down the page. “I don’t think we have these in stock.”
“Iker, you brought all your notes. That’s terrific.”
“Yes. I find it is always best to be prepared with information.”
“Okay, just a minute, Professor Legazpi. Let me check for you.”
“What’s she looking for?” I asked Iker as Margaret left us.
“It is the synthesizer,” Iker said.
I watched Margaret disappear through an unmarked door, then turned my attention back to the glittering timepiece in the jewelry case.
“Iker, where have you seen that silver watch before?”
“I have not seen it before.”
“Are you sure? It’s this one. Look at it again. What do you think?”
“It is very dazzling in this light,” he said.
“There’s a rose gold version too. Ooh, it one’s even more hid—I mean, goodness, this style is quite eye-catching.”
The security guard paid us no attention. He stared solemnly into the middle distance, as if he were a member of the Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace.
“Molly? You are looking very much at this watch. You wish to purchase it for yourself?”
“What? No. But Iker, Marshall Dixon’s been wearing a watch exactly like this one. And I haven’t seen anything like it anywhere else in town. Have you?”
Iker’s brow crinkled. “But this watch, it is so gaudy. And Marshall Dixon, she is an elegant woman. No, I do not believe Doctor Dixon wears such a watch.”
“Yes she does. I know I’ve seen her wearing it. And I agree, it isn’t her style. I think it was a gift. You know how someone buys you something, and you feel obligated to wear it? I remember one Christmas my mother got me—”
Margaret returned, cutting our conversation short.
“We sell it,” Margaret said, “but it’s a special order item. At that price we can’t affor
d to carry it in inventory.”
“This is the price for a single unit?” Iker was examining a slip of pink carbon paper Margaret had handed him. I peered at the bottom line. Fujioka’s markup was a good twenty percent above the retail price.
“We don’t have any transaction matching the number in your records, do we?” I asked Iker.
“No. Such a transaction would require many signatures and approvals, including those of the chancellor. Perhaps Kent Lovely purchased it with his own money.”
“On his part-timer’s salary? I doubt it.”
“Professor Legazpi,” Margaret said, “I know this is kind of out there, but what about parceling?”
“What’s that?” I asked. Iker nodded to Margaret.
“Please,” he said.
“Oh, me? Okay, it’s when you break up a large purchase into smaller installments, so each transaction is under the amount which requires another signature. So if the approval limit is five-hundred dollars, and the buyer wants to purchase a fifteen-thousand dollar item, they can structure it as thirty purchases of four-hundred ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents at a time. Um, did I explain it right?”
“You are correct, Margaret. I did not believe someone in our university would do such a trick. But perhaps I was wrong. In the event, I will search for a series of small purchases totaling to the amount of the large purchase.”
“Margaret, you’ve been so helpful. I wonder if you could tell us just one more thing. These watches. This one. Have you sold any of them over the last year?”
I felt sure Kent Lovely had bought the watch for Marshall Dixon. The question was, why would she accept such an expensive gift from him without questioning where it came from?
I could think of three explanations. (1) Marshall Dixon had no idea what Kent earned as a part-timer (highly unlikely, considering her position in the university); (2) Marshall realized Kent couldn’t afford it but didn’t care (completely out of character since she would wonder where Kent got the money), or (3) she truly did not realize how expensive that cheap-looking watch really was (the most likely option, in my opinion). There was a fourth possibility: Marshall Dixon had purchased the watch for herself, but that seemed so unlikely it didn’t even deserve consideration.
