by Frankie Bow
“Hey, Dr. B.”
“Sherry!”
Her hand rested on the club’s koa wood canoe. She gazed at it, not at me.
I had feared the worst, and now here she was, alive and unharmed, and standing in front of me. I was bursting with questions, but I didn’t want to risk saying anything that might send her running off again.
“Did you ever paddle in this one?” I asked, carefully.
“Nah. Just our fiberglass one. This is for special competitions. It’s traditional. They built it the exact same way they’ve been building them for hundreds of years.”
I knew that wasn’t quite right. One hundred years ago, a canoe would have been carved out of a single log. There aren’t a lot of 45-foot koa logs lying around these days, and if your canoe club wants one, they have to put in a special request to the island’s Department of Land and Natural Resources. If the agency approves your request, it’s your responsibility to retrieve the nine-ton log from the forest. Once you’ve done that, it can take years to carve the canoe. This canoe, the one belonging to Emma’s club, was a strip-plank canoe—easier, cheaper, and quicker to build. Still, it was beautiful. The copper and gold of the polished grain glimmered in the shade.
“Look,” Sherry said, “I appreciate you getting the school to try to track me down. But you can call ‘em off now. I’m okay.”
“Sherry, what happened to you? We were so worried. Emma and I both were.”
Finally, she turned to look at me. She had deep shadows under her eyes as if she hadn’t slept since the last time I had seen her.
“What happened to me? What happened to me is I gotta leave town.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to. I have to.”
Sherry stared at the sandy floor of the halau.
“Do people think Kathy Banks died of natural causes? She didn’t.”
CHAPTER FORTY
I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE been frightened. Any sensible person would have been. I should have run out into the hot sunshine, hopped into my car, and lurched away as fast as I could. But I was more curious than afraid.
I remembered what Glenn had said to Emma and me in the gym, as he was struggling to explain Sherry’s extreme diet to us. It would be really bad if she took two doses of insulin by mistake.
The insulin needles and the dieters’ HCG needles looked identical. Sherry knew that very well. She’d used them both. All Sherry had to do was go into Kathy’s purse, or wherever Kathy kept her prefilled diet syringes, and make the switch.
“You used your insulin!” I blurted out. “That’s what happened, right?”
She let out a sharp laugh. “Whoa! You’re smart. Course you are, what am I saying? You’re a freakin' college professor.”
“I don’t know anything,” I hastened to assure her. “I’m only guessing.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, Dr. B. Insulin shock. I’ve been there. Your blood sugar goes way down, like when you forget to eat.”
I couldn’t grasp that at all. How could someone forget to eat?
“You just feel a little lightheaded,” she continued. “You get confused, and then you pass out. And if you don’t get medical attention right away, you’re done. You don’t wake up.”
“I don’t understand. Why? It’s so irreversible!”
Had it been that important for Sherry to secure a seat in the canoe? I knew things could get competitive among the crew members, and everyone wanted to paddle in the Labor Day race. But murder?
“Look, Dr. B., I know you don’t understand. You’re freakin' Snow White, no disrespect. You could shoot someone in the head, and walk into the police station, and say ‘Oh gosh, sorry officer, it was self-defense’ and they’d sit you down and make you a nice cuppa tea and call you a cab.”
I thought that was kind of uncalled for. She was making me sound like some insipid goody-two-shoes. Hey, I was an actual punk rocker once upon a time.
“Sherry, I don’t understand. Things were going so well. You finally got your financial aid straightened out. Thanks to Kathy, from what you told me. You’re doing well in school. And you have the paddling.”
“The paddling, yeah. I’m not happy about walking away. I think paddling’s what kept me sane.”
“Yes, well. So why—”
“What’s done is done. I can’t stay here now, can I? Look how you figured everything out. Lucky for me you’re cool about it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly—”
“Pretty soon other people are gonna start catching on,” Sherry said. “I gotta look out for myself. No one else is gonna look out for me.”
Her face looked hard now.
“That’s how it’s always been for me. I gotta watch out for myself. I can’t count on things going my way. You know, me and Mad Dog could never get married officially. And we sure couldn’t do it in a real church. You know why? Cause Donnie made sure to take his sweet time filling out the paperwork.”
Donnie.
“Maybe he wasn’t trying to mess up your life,” I said. “Maybe he wanted to make sure you could stay on his health insurance. Or, you know, something like that.”
That was the story Donnie had told me. When we were first starting to spend time together, and I’d found out, whoops, he was still married. He did finish filing the paperwork eventually, but by then he’d spent over a decade in marital limbo. And, of course, so had his ex-wife.
“It would’ve been hard for you to get medical coverage on your own, with type 1 diabetes, right?” I asked. “Pre-existing condition? Maybe he was trying to look out for you.”
“Yeah, nice to think he could spare a thought for me. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Anyway, I gotta go.”
“Emma and the crew should be back in a few minutes,” I said.
“I wasn’t planning to see anyone. I just wanted to take one last look. I’m kinda glad I ran into you, though, Dr. B. I should thank you. Cause if it wasn’t for you...anyhow, yeah, thanks.”
“Sherry, wait! There’s something I don’t understand. Why couldn’t you get an escort boat? That way three more people could have paddled in the race. And no one would have had to—”
“A what boat? Look. I found pictures of Kathy. In Glenn’s stuff.”
She turned her palms up. “Photographs. You need any more evidence than that?”
She paused as if she were expecting me to supply an answer to her question.
“Glenn? Had photographs of Kathy Banks?”
“I know I don’t need to spell it out for you,” she said. “Like I said, I did what I hadda do.”
Sherry slipped out into the bright afternoon, and she was gone.
“Wait!” I called after her, uselessly. “What did you mean, if it wasn’t for me?”
What just happened here? For a moment, I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing.
Did Sherry confess to killing Kathy Banks? Kathy, her teammate and friend? And over Glenn? If recent events were any indication, Sherry clearly wasn’t that attached to him.
But she had stood there, next to the koa canoe, and said it.
Do people think Kathy Banks died of natural causes? Insulin shock. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go.
And had she called her ex by name? Donnie? I had already suspected that Sherry was Donnie’s ex-wife and Davison’s mother. In fact, I’d defended the idea when Emma and Pat discounted it. But hearing Sherry say it was surreal.
The headache came on suddenly, with no advance warning. The inside of my head felt like a fifty-car pileup. My eyeballs throbbed with pain so intense I could barely see. I groped in my bag until my fingers closed around what I was looking for.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I STARED AT THE PHONE in my hand. Pat. I would call Pat.
I considered calling the police first. But what would I tell them? That an “accidental” death, one that hadn’t even come to their attention, was actually a murder, and I knew this for a fact because the person who was probably the m
urderer sort of confessed to me? And too bad the person ran off because otherwise she could back up my story? They probably would have sat me down with a nice cup of tea, exactly as Sherry had said. And then quietly sent someone out to fetch the big butterfly net.
Unfortunately, Pat wasn’t answering his phone. I left a message, put my phone back in my bag, and waited in the shade of the canoe halau.
Pat’s tan Mercedes pulled up and parked just as Emma came in with what was left of her crew, now down to five paddlers. Pat waited with me as Emma and her crew hosed the canoe down and put it away in the halau, and the three of us made the short walk down the beach to Andrade’s Snack Shack.
“What are you guys doing here?” Emma asked.
“Something about Sherry. Molly, your message didn’t really make sense.”
“Technically we’re all having a meeting,” I said. “That’s my cover. I’m hiding out from the Student Retention Office.”
“Oh, right,” Pat said. “The pick-your-own-grade initiative they want you to do?”
“Exactly. Like anyone would give themselves less than an A. But now I do have something to tell you. Let me sit down first.”
The Snack Shack’s single picnic table happened to be empty. Over hot, salty French fries and huge cups of watery soda, I related the details of my encounter with Sherry.
“Where is she now?” Emma demanded.
“I don’t know. It sounded like she was planning to go off-island.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
“Stop her how?” Pat laughed. “Was Molly supposed to run out and tackle her?”
“So listen,” I said, “remember when Donnie and I first started spending time together? And I found out he was still technically married?”
“Technically married,” Pat said. “Is that different from regular married?”
“You know what I mean, Pat. Sherry had left years ago, but Donnie never filed the paperwork until last year. He told me it was because he didn’t want to get her kicked off his health insurance. Anyway, I had never looked at it from the perspective of the ex—”
“Right,” Pat interrupted. “He was only worried about her health. Completely motivated by altruism. A modern-day Albert Schweitzer.”
“What I never realized,” I interrupted back, “was all those years he left the divorce unfinished, he made it impossible for Sherry to get remarried.”
“Funny,” Pat said, “almost like he did that on purpose—”
“Pat, let her talk!” Emma flicked her straw at him, spraying diet cola droplets everywhere. “Molly, do you think this whole time he’s been hoping Sherry would come back?”
“I don’t know.”
“On the one hand, I would say no,” Emma continued. “He’s not the romantic type. I don’t see him getting all gaga over someone. I mean, look at how he is with you. Sure, he likes you, but it’s not like he’s all head over heels or anything.”
“Thanks, Emma. That’s exactly the reassurance I need right now.”
“But on the other hand,” Emma continued, “maybe you remind him of Sherry, and he likes that about you.”
“I can’t imagine I would remind anyone of Sherry.”
“There’s a resemblance,” Emma said. “You have to admit.”
“Maybe physically,” Pat said.
“If he was hoping for Sherry to come back, it explains how come he took so long to finalize the divorce. And when Sherry didn’t come back, Donnie settled for someone who looked kind of like her, except not as skinny. No offense, Molly.”
I stared out at the ocean and took a gulp from the soggy paper cup, wishing it were filled with something more comforting than diet cola.
“Do you think Donnie wants Sherry back, specifically?” Pat asked. “Maybe he likes a particular physical type, with the hair and everything, and doesn’t care about any of the personality stuff.”
“You guys think Donnie is actually that shallow? He just likes a certain kind of look, and the person doesn’t matter?”
“Yes,” Pat said.
“Come on. Who does that? I mean, I don’t have a specific physical type someone has to fit before I can be interested.”
“No,” Pat agreed. “You’re pretty indiscriminate.”
“That’s cause Molly looks at the inner person,” Emma said. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, Pat, since men are all shallow idiots.”
“Men are more visual,” Pat said.
“Visual. Whatta bunch of bull. Yeah, men are ‘visual’ when it comes to oogling the other ladies in your canoe club, but when it’s time to clean anything, he’s suddenly incapable of seeing dirt. It’s like he’s been struck blind! ‘Visual’ my—”
“You’re still talking about men in general, right?” Pat said. “Not anyone in particular?”
“I think it’s ‘ogling,’ not ‘oogling’,” I suggested.
“Shut up. Anyway, Molly, you shouldn’t feel bad.”
“Oh. Don’t feel bad. Okay.”
“No, really. You and Donnie are a good match. Better than Donnie and Sherry woulda been. You’re both professionals, you’re both well-established in the community, you’re both super fussy—”
“Yeah, Emma’s right,” Pat said. “Donnie needs someone he can bring along to a fancy dinner, without worrying about whether she’s gonna put out her cigarette in the foie gras. Anyway, Donnie would never take Sherry back after she walked out on him.”
“No way,” Emma agreed. “Could you imagine him forgiving her? I can’t.”
“Uh-uh. Donnie’s one of those guys that’ll hold a grudge for the rest of his life.”
At the other end of the sparkling blue bay, a stand-up paddleboarder was making slow, steady progress. I almost wished I could trade places with him. Why did I think talking with Emma and Pat was going to make me feel better?
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
EMMA WENT OVER TO THE Snack Shack to get her soda cup refilled. Pat watched her go and turned to me.
“So Molly, I realize your relationship woes are the most important thing here, but there’s also the minor matter of a confessed homicidal maniac running loose. I don’t think you realize what a close call you had. An enclosed canoe shed, on a deserted beach, no witnesses? We’re lucky you were alive when I showed up.”
“I probably would’ve done the same thing as Molly.” Emma reseated herself at the splintery picnic table. “We know Sherry. I wouldn’t have run away from her. I would have wanted to hear what she had to say”
“I was hoping what happened to Kathy was natural causes or some sort of accident,” I said. “Maybe she mixed up her insulin needles with those diet drug needles. But thinking Sherry did that to her on purpose is so disturbing.”
“No,” Emma corrected me. “Kathy wouldn’t have mixed up any needles by accident, because she didn’t use insulin needles. She had a pump.”
“What? I’ve never heard of that. Is it like a pacemaker?”
“Nah. It looks like a music player almost. You clip it on your waistband and the little tube goes right into your stomach. I remember Kathy always had to double check it before we went out. She wasn’t technically supposed to go in the water with it, but she did.”
“So Sherry must’ve taken Kathy’s HCG needles and left the insulin ones in their place,” Pat said. “So that Kathy would unknowingly administer a fatal dose of insulin to herself, and throw the needles away. Those prefilled needles are disposable, right?”
Emma nodded.
“That’s so coldblooded. And it wasn’t about who got a seat in the canoe at all. It was a plain old love triangle.”
“I know,” Pat sighed. “What a bore.”
“Wait, what love triangle?” Emma demanded.
“Glenn got involved with Kathy,” I explained, “so Sherry got rid of Kathy.”
“But how did Sherry know Glenn was fooling around with Kathy?”
“Glenn had photographs of Kathy, and Sherry found them,” Pat said. “Weren’t
you paying attention?”
“What photographs? I couldn’t find any photographs of Kathy. Remember, Molly? I mean, where would Glenn—oh. Never mind. I guess we’re not talking about her high school yearbook pictures.”
“It is a lot to process,” I said.
“But why would Sherry care so much if Glenn messed around with Kathy?” Pat asked. “She got together with Davison as soon as Glenn was out of town. If polyamory was okay for Sherry, it should’ve been okay for Glenn too. Fair’s fair.”
“Yeah, it seemed strange to me too. But I’m not Sherry. I don’t know what her reasoning was. And it’s not polyamory, Pat.”
“Here come the word police.”
“That’s right, Pat. Lights flashing and sirens blaring. Polyamory is a consensual arrangement, not a synonym for cheating. What Sherry was doing was more like overlapping serial monogamy.”
“You’re not gonna complain about mixing Greek and Latin roots?”
“No. That etymological horse is already out of the barn. Automobile, television, and neurotransmitter are here to stay, so we can’t really complain about polyamory, can we?”
Emma rattled the ice in her cup to get our attention.
“Hey word nerds, let’s stay on topic. We were talking about Sherry. Here’s my take. Sure, Sherry wasn’t being rational. But that’s normal human behavior. Who’s rational all the time? Come on, Molly, haven’t you ever done anything you’ve regretted later? Like majoring in English?”
“Something I’ve regretted? Oh, let’s see. You mean like walking into the wrong hotel room—”
“No, I didn’t mean—”
“Imperiling my honor,” I continued, “and permanently scarring my visual cortex, all because I listened to someone’s lame brained—”
“We’re talking about murder here, Molly,” Emma interrupted. “Stay focused. You’re letting yourself get distracted.”
“What are you two talking about?” Pat asked.
“Nothing,” we replied in unison.
“We should probably get back to campus,” I said. “I think the coast is clear now.”
