The Blessed Event

by Frankie Bow

  “Professor, you cannot tell anyone what you saw today. I mean, about the identity of the victim. Not till after we confirm, and then notify next of kin.”

  “Of course.”

  “Really. Not even your husband.”

  “I understand.” I tried not to sound as disappointed as I felt. I hadn’t planned to tell Donnie what I’d seen, but I did want to mention it to Skye. At least he could stop worrying about his wife’s safety.

  “Glad you understand. ’Cause it’s not just to spare the family’s feelings, you know Professor. If this is not Gloria’s ex, then she might still be in danger.”

  “Oh. Good point.”

  “And we don’t know if this was an accidental death or homicide. If it’s homicide, it means someone out there killed him, yeah? And when you got a murderer at large, it’s usually safer to stay quiet, know what I mean?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I trudged back up the street to the library parking lot. I didn’t want to go back to the house, where I might have to make conversation with my houseguests. Or worse, sit alone with my thoughts.

  I drove across town in the direction of the university, my eyes blurring. Malufau was a bad guy, I reminded myself, and the world was safer without him. It wasn’t merely his death that bothered me. It was the thought of his remains lying in the rain, decomposing alone and unmourned.

  I drove past the university. Soon I was all the way on the far side of town. And now, finally, I was hungry. Probably something about my adrenaline subsiding. I pulled into the Pōmaika’i Arcade, the little shopping center on the edge of Mahina. If I drove any further, I wouldn’t see any more grocery stores or gas stations. Just dense jungle smothering tin-roofed houses, and the occasional hand-painted sign advertising homemade pasteles or fresh-caught ahi.

  Donnie and I didn’t have any rule against eating at restaurants other than Donnie’s Drive-Inn. In fact, I thought it might be helpful for me to try one of his competitors. Conduct some culinary reconnaissance. Chang’s Pizza Pagoda was in a bad location, tucked away behind the beauty supply store and hidden from the main parking lot. It wasn’t much to look at either, just a few fake woodgrain tables on a tile floor, and glaring fluorescent strip lights overhead. The menu was on an illuminated board behind the counter with movable letters (mostly black, a few blue or red) stuck into the grooves.

  Despite the charmless atmosphere, Chang’s was packed. After waiting in a long but fast-moving line, I ordered the chow fun focaccia. It was one of the featured items from their new, expanded menu. The server plopped four generous bread squares into a Styrofoam clamshell container and handed it to me. I paid and waited for a seat to open up. Finally, a man in shorts and a baseball cap stood up from the counter against the wall, and I zoomed over to claim the space. I popped open the clamshell and took a deep breath. I got scents of garlic and frying oil mingled with faint acrylic nail fumes drifting in from the beauty shop next door.

  From the first bite of spongy focaccia square, I felt rejuvenated. Maybe I’d just needed something on my stomach and a place to rest. I ate happily until a wadded up napkin appeared on my lap. I turned to see a grinning, flailing toddler being restrained by a mortified young couple. I clicked my Styrofoam container closed and assured the apologetic parents I was about to leave anyway. As an aspiring parent myself, I was sympathetic.

  The minute I vacated the seat, someone who had been hovering behind me slid into the chair.

  On the way out, I almost collided with Mrs. Andrade from church. She and her husband ran The Snack Shack, a tiny beachfront hut popular with surfers and canoe paddlers.

  “Oh, Mrs. Donnie.” She examined my Styrofoam clamshell as if concentrating hard enough would give her x-ray vision. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just checking out the competition.”

  “Oh yeah. Me, too.” She balanced a stack of Styrofoam containers, braced with her chin.

  “How are things at the Snack Shack?”

  “Little bit slow. You try the Kung Pao Pizza Rolls?”

  “Not this time. Chow fun focaccia.”

  “Oh, I heard it’s good but I cannot. Noodles on top of bread, ah? Would send my blood sugar through the roof.”

  On the way back out to the parking lot, I stopped in at the beauty supply store. I didn’t need anything from there, but it was air-conditioned, and the detour allowed me to put off going home for just a few minutes more. I wandered up and down the narrow aisles still holding my lunch leftovers. Judging from the display of curling irons and hair straighteners, hair-flattening technology hadn’t progressed much since I’d moved to Mahina. In the tropical humidity of the island’s windward side, ironing my hair straight was a Sisyphean endeavor. My curls would spring back within seconds. Worse, the heat damage would raise a nimbus of damaged strands that framed my head like an aura. I moved from the implements to the hair dye, perusing the swatches on display and wondering how I’d look as a platinum blonde. With my hair texture, probably like a sheep.

  I perused the floor-to-ceiling nail polish display. From deep forest green to pale leaf, from black violet to lavender, every nail color one could possibly want was arranged in an orderly grid. After I’d spent a good half hour hanging around and soaking up the air conditioning, I knew I should buy something. It was only good manners. I settled on a bottle of nail lacquer in a shade of true red, reminiscent of Golden Age Hollywood.

  On the way back home, I drove past Donnie’s Drive-Inn. Most of the red picnic tables were empty. I considered stopping in to say hi, but the contrast between crowded Chang’s and the deserted Drive-Inn was too uncomfortable to deal with at the moment. I kept driving, all the way back to the house.

  I pulled into the carport and shifted into neutral. A sudden roar of rain on the carport’s tin roof drowned out the Thunderbird’s 300 horsepower engine. I rolled down the window, switched off the ignition, and sat. I hadn’t wanted to stop at the Drive-Inn, but neither did I feel ready to go back into the house.

  Andy De Silva had told me not to tell anyone what I’d seen. We weren’t even sure the victim was Iulani Malufau. Of course, I would do as he said. Even if I had correctly identified the dead man, it wasn’t my place to break the news. I certainly wouldn’t say anything to Donnie, Gloria, Skye, or Davison.

  Emma Nakamura, though, would be a perfect confidante.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I pulled out my phone and waited for the rain on the metal roof of the carport to ease up. As soon as it did, I dialed Emma’s number.

  She listened to my whole story, expressing surprise, disgust, or delight as appropriate.

  “Sounds like things took care of themselves then,” she said when I had finished. “Scary, but, the guy following you.”

  “I’m not sure things took care of themselves, exactly, Emma. Look. Gloria’s ex escapes from prison. Then Gloria mysteriously disappears. Somehow, during her unexplained absence, the ex who has been such a blight on her life, and who now might be a threat to Davison, accidentally suffers a fatal fall.”

  “She real big, this Gloria?”

  “No. She’s almost as short as you, Emma. What I mean to say is she’s petite.”

  “Oh, so what’re you thinking now is Donnie’s sister, this ‘petite’ wahine, tracks down her hard case ex who just escaped from prison. And then this lady, who from what you’re saying keeps herself in fighting condition by giving aromatherapy pedicures to Silicon Valley yoga moms, throws the guy off a balcony.”

  “There was no balcony. It was a window looking out onto an abandoned lot.”

  “Okay, throws the guy out the window then. Is that what you’re thinking, Molly?”

  “Well yes, but you’re making it sound ridiculous.”

  “It is ridiculous.”

  “And I don’t think there’s any such thing as an aromatherapy pedicure.”

  “Molly, you should just stay out of it and be glad nothing bad happened to you. Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be work
ing on your book chapter?”

  “I am. I’m just trying to get my head clear.” I switched off the ignition, let myself out of the car, and took the steps up onto my shady lanai. Instead of going into the house, I took the phone around to the back.

  From the back lanai, I had a clear view of the graveyard. It was pretty, as graveyards go, a well-watered lawn studded with stone markers.

  “Emma, do you think it’s bad luck to live next to a graveyard?”

  “Kinda late to worry about it now, Molly. How come you’re asking?”

  “The landscapers just cut the trees back. I can see it clearly from the back lanai. I wasn’t ever able to see it before.”

  “So what, you superstitious now?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Quit thinking up new things to worry about. Remember you’re supposed to stay calm and serene so you can get your ‘elderly’ eggs fertilized.”

  “Thanks for the tactful reminder. I wasn’t supposed to say anything about the murder to anyone, by the way. So don’t tell anyone.”

  “I’m not gonna say nothing. Anyway, what’s to tell? And you don’t know for sure if it was murder.”

  “Speaking of murder. Emma, I really am not enjoying having houseguests. Ever since Gloria’s husband got here, we’ve been eating nothing but—”

  “Ho, calm down, Molly. This is in-laws you’re talking about. You always gotta suck up to the in-laws.”

  “I know. And they’re nice enough people, but—”

  “Nah, nah, no ‘but.’ Anyways, aren’t you the one who invited the sister?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, it’s not forever. You just gotta suffer through it. Same thing I gotta do when Yoshi’s parents come visit. Oh, an’ seriously, Molly. De Silva’s right. Don’t say nothing about the dead guy. He might not be Gloria’s ex, an’ you don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up.”

  I was a model of discretion at dinner. I said nothing about my ride-along adventure and little about anything else. Skye held forth on the topic of food additives for a good long time. Then Davison managed to steer the conversation around to pig hunting. Gloria reminisced about when she used to eat bacon. Skye seemed not to hear her. He lectured Davison on the topic of animals and their feelings, pointing out pigs don’t like to get shot with arrows any more than people do. Donnie tried to change the subject back to food additives. I ate quietly, glancing now and then at Gloria’s biceps and trying to estimate her upper-body strength.

  After dinner, I spent some time working on my book chapter, trying to make up for the hours I’d missed during the day. By the time I showered and made it to bed, Donnie had fallen asleep. He had left the light on with a recent economics bestseller open on his night table.

  Donnie was always looking for ways to become better informed. He’d tried taking night classes, but they didn’t fit his schedule, so instead he would check out edifying books from the library. My night table had books on it too, but mine were mostly lightweight murder mysteries.

  I switched off the light and tried to slip into bed quietly. Donnie stirred and dropped his arm over me.

  “You okay?” he murmured.

  “Sure.”

  He propped his head on his hand, fully awake now. “You seemed quiet at dinner.”

  “There was plenty of conversation. I didn’t have much to add.”

  “You just felt like not saying anything tonight?”

  “The conversation seemed to be humming along perfectly well without me.”

  “Anything happen today?”

  I momentarily forgot about my chance encounter with Uncle Brian; I had a much more interesting news item to share. And really, was it reasonable to expect me to conceal what I’d seen from my own husband? I decided it was not.

  “I went out on a ride-along with Andy De Silva.”

  “A ride-along?” Donnie turned his head toward me. I couldn’t see his expression in the dark. “I thought you were just doing diversity training for them. How did it turn into you going on a ride-along?”

  “Donnie, have you ever seen a dead body?”

  “Why, what happened today?”

  “You know the guy that I thought was following me?”

  Donnie sat up. “Someone was following you?”

  “Maybe I forgot to mention it. Well anyway, you don’t have to worry about it because I saw the guy today. No, it’s okay, because he’s dead. It was the same guy. Don’t tell anyone, though, because Officer De Silva said I wasn’t supposed to say anything. They have to notify next of kin first.”

  Donnie pulled me into a tight hug. “Molly, please, please keep yourself safe. Please. You have a family now.”

  “I am safe,” I murmured into his chest. “Really, Donnie. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  He sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The next morning, I got up early, fixed myself a cup of coffee, and started working on my book chapter. Today was going to be productive. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. I would make up for all the time I’d lost the day before plying Uncle Brian with double vodkas and looking at dead bodies and driving across town to eat at Chang’s Pizza Pagoda.

  “Molly, you got a internet connection we can use?” Gloria was at my elbow, hands on her hips. “Me and Skye gotta book our return tickets.”

  “This computer is the only one. . .” I started, but then I remembered my conversation with Emma. She was right. I was the hostess, and it was my job to be patient and gracious with my in-laws. Besides, I had invited Gloria here in the first place, so I had only myself to blame. “How disappointing your visit is ending so soon. Of course you can use my computer. It’ll just take me a minute to finish this one thing, and then it’s all yours.”

  “Okay. You finish up.” Gloria walked to the kitchen. “Donnie said you guys got some bacon.”

  I was looking over the email from Andy De Silva, a draft of his letter of thanks to my administration.

  “In the pantry. You can have whatever you like. Help yourself. Wait. Aren’t you guys vegetarians?”

  Gloria muttered something I couldn’t quite hear.

  To whom it may concern,

  Began Andy De Silva’s letter to my administration.

  Thank you for sending Professor Barda to conduct the Diversity Seminar. She was very friendly and nice and not like a real Professor. We would use her again if we have to.

  With Warmest Regards,

  Andrew De Silva, Mahina Police Department

  This was not at all what I’d hoped for. I sent De Silva a reply.

  Dear Officer De Silva,

  Thank you so much for your kind letter, and for allowing me the opportunity to comment. If I might make a few suggestions:

  I rewrote the letter from top to bottom and sent it back to him. Then I logged out of my email account.

  “Gloria?” I stood up. “Here you go. The computer’s all yours. Gosh, I hope you and Skye don’t have to leave right away.”

  “Not right away.” She came over and plopped down in my chair. “Sometime in the next few days, though. We gotta time it for whenever we can get a good price on the airfare.”

  I left her to tap away at my workstation. I went back into my bedroom, pulled a book from the stack on my night table, and went back to the living room to read on the couch.

  “Skye, baby,” Gloria called out. “My credit card’s maxed. Can you come here and finish this up?”

  Skye emerged from the guest room and took Gloria’s place at my workstation. Gloria stood and disappeared back into the guest room.

  Skye addressed me over his shoulder as he typed. “Should I shut it down when I’m done?”

  “No, leave it on,” I said. “I’m going to use it when you guys are done.”

  “That’s not bacon I smell, is it?” Skye asked me.

  “We got the Wednesday flights, yeah?” Gloria came back into the living room.

  “You’re leaving We
dnesday?” I exclaimed. “So soon.”

  I hoped I sounded suitably disappointed. In fact, I was eagerly anticipating getting my living space back and being able to eat what I wanted.

  Gloria and Skye decided to make the most of their remaining time. They rousted Davison from his room, and the three of them went out to the Saturday Farmer’s Market. As soon as they were gone, I retrieved the leftover chow fun focaccia from its hiding place in the vegetable drawer. I heated it in the microwave and sat down at the kitchen counter to enjoy a solitary breakfast and think over recent events.

  I was certain the dead man was Iulani Malufau, Gloria’s ex and Davison’s biological father. But what if he wasn’t? Suppose the corpse in the vacant lot was a random individual. Who coincidentally bore a physical resemblance to Davison. And had been following him.

  Sure, that was likely.

  So then what if the dead man was Davison’s biological father? He escaped from prison, evaded capture, and made it back to Mahina—where he accidentally toppled out of a second-story window.

  I supposed an accidental death was possible. More likely than little Gloria overpowering him and shoving him out of the window, anyway.

  Why was I worried about this? No one else was, as far as I could tell. Skye and Gloria seemed to be on good terms now. Who knew what story Gloria had come up with to explain her temporary disappearance, but whatever it was, it seemed to be good enough for her husband.

  I wondered if I should have a look inside the second guest room, where Skye and Gloria were staying. I immediately pushed the temptation away. Snooping hadn’t worked out too well for me the last time I’d tried it in Davison’s room. Leave it alone. They’ll be leaving soon, then everything will be back to normal, and none of this is your problem anyway.

  In the meantime, the visit had had its good points. I’d learned a little more about Donnie’s family. I’d met Donnie’s sister and her husband in person, and I now knew the story behind Davison’s adoption. Gloria had been young and in a bad situation, and Donnie had stepped in. Donnie had his faults, but piecing together this story reminded me of what I loved about him. Sure, he could be a little bit inflexible at times, but when it came down to it, he was a decent, unselfish human being. He had uncomplainingly taken in a toddler when he was struggling to build his new business.