by Frankie Bow
“So Marshall was the one who authorized Kent to approve the purchases for the Music Department,” I said. “And Linda is the one who helped Kent figure out how to game the system to get goodies for himself. And her.”
“Purchasing authority should not have been delegated to a temporary contract worker,” Iker said. “It is not sound practice.”
“But remember, the Music Department doesn’t have any full time professors left. They only had Kent and Jonah. Two temporary contract workers. And now I suppose Mahina State doesn’t have any Music Department at all.”
“That is a very sad news,” Iker said. “It is inconceivable to me, how our university has let the Music Department perish.”
“Know what’s sad?” Rodge looked from Iker to me. “Kent was out before they even announced the award. He never got a chance to hear his name called. So how did you two figure it out?”
“I examined the financial records,” Iker said. “But Molly was the one who unraveled the rest of the puzzle.”
“Once you think about it, it’s obvious. Kent was greedy, selfish, reckless, and stubborn, and not really good at thinking about the consequences of his actions.”
“Whoa, easy there, Molly.”
“Sorry, Rodge. I know he was your friend, but let’s be honest. It’s completely in character for Kent to do something risky and greedy and dumb, like taking those pills.”
“Yes,” Iker agreed. “For Kent Lovely, it was a sport to take more than his share. It is so with the pills. If an ordinary man takes two pills, Kent Lovely takes four pills. It is like that.”
“An ordinary man’s actually only supposed to take one pill,” Rodge said. “Why are you so sure it’s the pills, though? Why not his sports drink? Maybe it was that.”
“Iker and I did some research,” I said. “At Natural High, you know the health food store?”
“I was at first reluctant,” Iker said, “but Molly was right to insist. It was an informative visit. I asked the young saleslady this thing: a man who is in middle age, who wishes to recapture the vigor of his youth, what are the herbs he might take to achieve this? And these herbs, what is their effect in the body? Can they also carry some dangers? Indeed, yes. They can raise the blood pressure, and cause the kidney to fail.”
“Kent’s hair color should have been the first clue,” I said.
“His hair color?” Rodge looked confused.
“His hairstylist warned him not to go too dark,” I explained. “But Kent ignored the expert’s advice, and insisted on the black tint.”
“I know Kent had high blood pressure. I shoulda—”
“Rodge, you couldn’t have stopped him. Kent wouldn’t listen to anyone. Not even you. For crying out loud, I don’t know how many times I tried to tell him I don’t speak Italian.”
Rodge looked miserable. “I can’t do anything about it now.”
“Yes you can. You can call Detective Silva. Why didn’t you say something right away?”
“I thought he was gonna make it. And then when he didn’t…You guys knew him. Do you think he’d want everyone to know he died of an overdose of…he died like that?”
“Rodge, if you don’t tell the truth, someone innocent is going to be blamed for this.”
“They’ll never arrest Jonah,” Rodge said. “He’s just a kid. I don’t think even they think he did it. They’re just keeping an eye on him for show. Give it a couple weeks. It’ll die down.”
“You’re right. They’re not going to arrest Jonah. Remember, Emma is the one with knowledge of human biology, and access to chemicals.”
Rodge’s ragged features tensed. “You think Emma could be in trouble?”
Emma would kill me if she ever found out I told Rodge about her arrest, but I couldn’t think of any other way out.
“Do I think? Rodge, Emma was arrested for the murder.”
“What? That’s impossible.”
“Believe it. How would you like it if Emma went to prison for ten years because you wouldn’t tell the truth?”
Rodge stared at me as if he’d been pithed, like one of the unfortunate frogs in Emma’s first-year biology lab. I picked up Rodge’s office phone, dialed a number, and asked to be connected to Detective Silva. Then I handed him the receiver. Rodge hesitated, and then took it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Emma and I were having lunch in the cafeteria, sharing a copy of the latest issue of Island Confidential. The cover story was a full feature on the Kent Lovely case. It was probably going to be a collector’s item. By midmorning, the newsstands around campus had been cleaned out, and the Island Confidential website had crashed, overwhelmed with page hits.
I had finished reading to the bottom of the front page, and stopped to wait for Emma to catch up.
“So Rodge never really threw the pills away?” Emma asked.
“He did throw them away. But the police were able to get another sample for the toxicology tests. You know where it turns out he got them? Right here in town.”
“So you mean he didn’t buy them from some exotic far-off land? I knew it.” Emma snorted. “What a phony.”
“Yeah, not unless you count the strip mall next to Galimba’s Bargain Boyz as an exotic far-off land.”
“Oh, that place. Lucky Golden Fortune? I bought a wok there. Friggin’ thing rusted through before I ever got a chance to use it. You already done with your breakfast?”
“Yeah, I should’ve gotten more than just a little bag of nuts.”
“Want a bite of my Spam musubi?”
Emma picked up the musubi and waved it in front of my face. I was still hungry, and it smelled good.
“Sure. I think I will have some.” I took it out of her hand.
“You’re gonna eat Spam? No way. I’ll believe it when I see it. Go ahead.”
I closed my eyes, wrinkled my nose, and took a bite.
“Oh, that’s not bad.” I managed another bite before Emma grabbed it back.
“It was actually edible.”
“Yeah, that’s how come I was eating it. Buy your own.”
“Maybe I will. Okay, I’m going to turn the page. Ready?”
“Oh, now we’re getting to the good part.” Emma traced her finger down the column as she read. “The popular herb is toxic at high doses, but easily purchased in any health food store. The analysis found additional stimulants and vasodilators as well as a chemical compound derived from the blister beetle. This substance can cause severe damage to the—”
“Stop. I read ahead. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Fine.” Emma pulled the paper away and read silently for a few seconds. “I wish they wouldn’t give this much detail. People might get ideas. Ooh, this looks like a bad way to go. So Molly, do you know every cell in your body—”
“No. Seriously. Please don’t read any more. It’s too horrible.”
“Really? Not as horrible as Kent Lovely going around nailing our married administrators. I still can’t get my head around it.”
“I don’t want to think about it either,” I said. “I’ll just sit here and think nice, G-rated thoughts about sunshine and flowers.”
“G-rated? You know flowers are the genitals of plants, right?”
“You have to ruin everything, don’t you? Have you ever considered maybe genitals are the flowers of people?”
“What?”
“Never mind. I just made it worse. Emma, there’s one thing I still can’t figure out. The code in Kent’s notebook in the office. Remember, the hearts with 12 and 13 written on them? Did that have to do with the pills, or his purchases, or his busy social calendar, or something else?”
Emma pondered a moment.
“Oh, I know. thirteenth letter of the alphabet is M. So that must stand for Marshall. Then the twelfth letter of the alphabet is L, for Linda. It musta been Kent’s super-secret code for him having dates with Linda and Marshall that day.”
“That must be it. How did you come up with it so fast?”
<
br /> “I dunno. That thirteen equals M thing just popped into my head. I must be a natural, what’s it called? Crypt keeper.”
“Cryptologist.”
“Whatever. Eh, so Jonah. Since everything’s cleared up, his guitar students are coming back. So thanks, ah?”
“He’s a good teacher,” I said. “I think I’m already making some progress.”
“Too bad he’s still not making enough to be able to afford his own place yet. Hey, Molly, weren’t you saying you missed having a roommate?”
“I did say something about having a roommate. I believe my exact words were, ‘The best thing about getting a real job after grad school was never having to have a roommate.’”
“Come on, Molly, you and Jonah get along, right? And think about it, he could pay rent with guitar lessons. You wouldn’t have to pay money anymore. Barter. It’s super sustainable. No, seriously. And know what? He totally likes you. And I know you like him too, right?”
“Don’t you need the rental income to pay off your lawyer?”
“Nah, we already paid Feinman. Cleaned out our savings. Know what though? If I had a sister-in-law with a nice, steady job in the College of Commerce, it’d be a load off my mind.”
Emma continued to badger me as I watched a familiar figure come through the doors of the cafeteria.
“Oh, look.” I waved. “He doesn’t have anyone to have lunch with. He should come sit with us.”
“Who are you talking about, Iker? Pat? Who?”
“Rodge,” I yelled across the mostly empty lunch tables. “Over here. Come sit with us.”
Emma shot me a hard stinkeye. But she let the Jonah thing drop.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Jonah Nakamura is no longer staying with Emma and her grouchy husband, Yoshi. Jonah has moved to the Pacific Northwest, where he’s helping a friend operate some kind of medical dispensary. I had no idea Jonah had any interest or training in medicine, but Emma tells me he’s helping out people with conditions like glaucoma and loss of appetite, and he’s making bank besides.
I don’t have time for guitar lessons anyway. Fall classes have started, and it’s all I can do to stay one chapter ahead of my students in my newly assigned courses, Intro to Business Management (IBM) and Business Planning (BP).
I haven’t met the lecturer who took over my Business Communication classes, nor am I likely to. He took the job on the condition he be allowed to teach exclusively online. And instead of choosing the course textbook from my painstakingly assembled short list, he assigned his own self-published book to the class, a tactic that falls somewhere between “deplorable” and “I wish I’d thought of it.”
With budget cuts in the air and Skip Kojima of Kojima Surfwear no longer interested in making a donation to the university, the administration has decided not to replace either of our music instructors. This has effectively killed our music program. The dilapidated Music portables are being rented out to a commercial test-prep center that caters to local parents who hope their children will end up somewhere better than Mahina State.
About Pat Flanagan: He is Island Confidential. It’s not common knowledge, so I probably shouldn’t say anything, but you, discerning reader, would have figured it out already. Pat also owned up to being the one behind the mysterious evaluations on the online ratings site. Upon learning of the scheme to tie our personnel decisions to our online ratings, he decided to do all of us a favor. I don’t know why we never thought of it before, but we’ve started uploading five-star reviews for one another. Pat Flanagan, Emma Nakamura, and I are now the three highest rated instructors at Mahina State.
My attempt at whistleblowing did reach the upper echelons of the Foundation, although the result was not exactly what I had hoped for. The chancellor’s secretary sent out an urgent email to the entire faculty, warning us that faculty members are not under any circumstances permitted to make direct contact with the Foundation. All communication must go through the designated liaison in the Student Retention Office.
The chancellor’s secretary may not have realized the original message from the foundation chair to our chancellor was attached to that email: Bud: Looks like someone in your shop isn’t a team player. We don’t need your people going off the reservation. Let’s keep an eye on this.
Having failed in reforming the university, I set my aspirations a little lower, and set about improving my workspace by installing a new coffee machine in my office. Sure, it’s pushed back my student loan repayments by a month, but it’s improved my quality of life (and energy level) immensely. Emma now spends more time than ever in my office, as does our new friend Patrick Flanagan, whose coffee addiction puts ours to shame.
So I’m teaching two new preps, I don’t really have any romantic prospects, and I don’t even have a real office chair. But I do have two good friends now, and a rewarding job. I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth, and I have excellent coffee whenever I want it.
The Kent Lovely situation was stressful, of course, but I’ve put it behind me. I mean, this is quiet little Mahina. What are the chances I’m going to be involved with something like that again?
An excerpt from… The Musubi Murder
CHAPTER ONE
Our guest of honor, Jimmy Tanaka, may have been “The Most Hated Man in Hawaii,” but he was also the biggest donor in the history of the College of Commerce. We were in no position to be picky about the moral character of our benefactors. Not after the latest round of budget cuts.
I had never seen the cafeteria this dressed up: white tablecloths, a wall-length refreshment table laden with stainless chafing dishes and platters, and extra security. I felt out of place, a drab little sparrow (and a sweaty one) in my dark wool suit. Everyone else sported Aloha Friday wear, cool cotton prints with colorful hibiscus or monstera designs. Something was making my neck itch. It was either the humidity or the plumeria-spiked floral centerpiece.
I was the only professor at the table. We had been evenly dispersed around the cafeteria to encourage (force) us to mingle with our Friends in the Business Community. The arrangement had the added benefit of keeping Hanson Harrison and Larry Schneider separated. Our two most senior professors are like fighting fish, flaring their gills at each other when they get too close.
I’m constantly telling my students how important it is to network. What I don’t tell them is that I, personally, hate doing it, and, furthermore, I’m not very good at it. Mercedes Yamashiro, the only person at the table I knew, was deep in conversation with the woman next to her.
Bill Vogel appeared at our table, looking even more sour-faced than usual. Put him in a lace mantilla, and my dean could do a passable impression of Queen Victoria. “Mercedes,” he barked. “Do you have any idea why Mr. Tanaka would be delayed this morning?”
“Oh, hello, Bill. No, I haven’t seen Jimmy since he checked in last night.”
He gave Mercedes a curt nod and stalked off without so much as a glance in my direction. I was the only person at the table who actually worked for him, but I was of no immediate use. Vogel would remember my name well enough when it was time to delegate some unpleasant task.
The good-looking man on my right was studying the contents of a manila folder. Even if I had the nerve to interrupt him, I couldn’t imagine what I would say. I certainly couldn’t open a conversation by telling him how much I liked the way he smelled, although that would have been the truth. He had a pleasant aroma of soap and cedar. Maybe I could comment on the weather. Hey, have you noticed it’s raining outside, ha ha, what are the chances? It only does that like three hundred days a year in Mahina. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him, and I certainly didn’t want to volunteer the fact that I had forgotten his name. I wished that whoever had planned this breakfast had thought of providing name tags. I stared at the exit sign over a side door.
Exit. I dearly wished I could.
A flicker of motion under the sign caught my eye. I thought I saw a flash of baseball ca
ps and sunglasses. I blinked at the empty doorway, and wondered if I had seen anything at all.
A shriek, followed by a metallic crash, startled the entire cafeteria into silence. At the refreshment table, two black-aproned servers stood wide-eyed, staring down at the wreckage of the dropped fruit platter. One held his hands over his mouth; the other clutched a round, stainless steel cover. Something round and white rolled to a halt on the floor, where it rocked gently among the translucent pineapple wedges and flabby melon chunks. Security guards converged on the object, conferred briefly, and sent the skinniest one sprinting out.
“It’s okay, Molly.” Mercedes Yamashiro patted my arm. “This kine stuff follows Jimmy around. I cannot even remember how many times he’s had blood thrown at him, or people make one human chain to keep him out of somewhere. Not your guys’ fault that people can be so rude. What was that thing? Not a bomb, I hope.”
“Look over there,” I said. “Our dean seems really upset. This is very unfortunate.”
I had been secretly hoping for a minor disruption like this—something that would let me get out of there and back to work as quickly as possible. I could see Vogel now across the room, shouting into his cell phone, his jowly face wobbling like an enraged blancmange.
“Eh, this is late, even for Mr. Big Shot Jimmy Tanaka.” Mercedes glanced around, then lowered her voice to a whisper that only a few tables around us could hear. “I wen’ knock on his door this morning to see if he wanted to drive up with me but no answer. I left him alone ’cause I thought he got a ride with someone else, but now I think he was probably hungover in his room.”
I glanced over at the refreshment table. The spilled food was being swept up, and a replacement fruit platter had already been set out.
“Do you want to call Mr. Tanaka and check on him?” I asked.
