The Musubi Murder

by Frankie Bow

  “Oh yes. A very good salary. But considering the performance of the Cloudforest, she has certainly earned it.”

  I involuntarily rolled my chair back when Iker told me the number, as if I were making room for a dump truck load of cash.

  “So Mercedes doesn’t need—the Cloudforest is doing really well, is what I mean.”

  “Yes. Margaret is having a wonderful experience there. Molly, if you don’t mind, please hold this up just like this?”

  I helped Iker move the topcase back into position over his computer. I felt immensely relieved. Mercedes didn’t need Jimmy Tanaka’s money.

  “I will see you later at the meeting?” Iker asked.

  “Sorry, what? Meeting?”

  “The Student Retention Office retreat. Do you remember? They are doing one especially for the College of Commerce.”

  “Marvelous.” I sighed. I had had kind of a lurking feeling that something unpleasant was awaiting me today, and Iker had just reminded me what it was.

  “When was that again?” I asked.

  Iker glanced at his watch. “It begins thirty minutes from now.”

  “Oh, great. Thanks, Iker. I need to get back to my office. I’ll see you up there.”

  In the short time that I was visiting Iker Legazpi over in the accounting department, Emma and Pat had materialized in my office. Had I forgotten to lock the door? I decided that it wasn’t even worth bringing it up. I would say that I had locked my door and they would just insist that I hadn’t.

  “I can’t believe this thing is still here!” I rubbed my ankle and glowered at Jimmy Tanaka’s suitcase. “Why aren’t the police sending anyone over to get it? It’s evidence!”

  “Evidence of what?” asked Pat, “Besides Jimmy Tanaka’s massive ego?”

  “Pat,” Emma said, “why don’t you take it the next time you go down to the station?”

  “Yeah, I keep calling them,” I said. “They keep saying they’ll get back to me.”

  “They probably don’t have space in the evidence room,” he said.

  “Come on, Pat,” Emma said, “it’s your civic duty. Besides, aren’t you tired of having to step over that thing when you get your coffee?”

  “Oh, all right. So much for the chain of custody. So Molly, Emma caught me up. What did you find out about Mercedes?”

  “It turns out that Mercedes is doing just fine,” I said. “Jimmy Tanaka’s bequest is chump change for her.”

  “Okay,” Pat said, “so Mercedes doesn’t have a financial motive anyway. By the way, they’ve tracked down Stephen Park.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I felt a rush of panic. “Who found Stephen Park?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s at a rehab facility in Malibu,” Pat said. “I think the police had to get a court order to get the information from our human resources department. Stephen’s out on medical leave.”

  “Are they going to do anything to him?” I asked. “He didn’t do anything wrong. What’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t think they have enough to charge him with anything yet,” Pat said. “But he doesn’t have an alibi.”

  “Stephen can’t be the only suspect,” I said. “Is he?”

  “He’s not even officially a suspect,” Pat said. “Just a person of interest. They don’t have an actual suspect yet.”

  “What about Molly’s dean?” Emma asked.

  “Oh yeah, BillVogel. Yeah, they’re keeping an eye on him too. Vogel says he dropped Tanaka off at the Cloudforest after dinner. Tanaka got out of the car, and that was the end of it. The thing that makes Vogel interesting is that he was the last one to see Tanaka alive, as far as we know.”

  “I wonder how that fits in with Nate hearing the voice,” I said. “The one calling Jimmy Tanaka’s name.”

  “Oh yeah, we’ve got a kid hearing voices too,” Pat said. “At least, according to your student.”

  “Maybe Margaret’s trying to make Nate seem crazy for some reason,” Emma said.

  “Good point,” Pat said. “Maybe he really saw something and Margaret Adams is trying to discredit him.”

  “Maybe she’s the one who did it,” Emma said, “and he’s the only witness!”

  “What possible motive would Margaret Adams have?” I asked. I remembered what Mercedes had told me about Margaret’s goat-slaughtering prowess.

  “Or maybe Nate did it,” Pat said, “because his voices told him to.”

  “Wow, Pat,” I said, “I can see why Nate didn’t want to report anything.”

  “If Bill Vogel was still the last one to see Jimmy Tanaka,” Emma said, “maybe he’s lying about bringing him back to the Cloudforest. Maybe Tanaka never got back to his room.”

  “Right!” I said. “Maybe the voice that Nate heard was someone who was trying to warn him about Bill Vogel, but by then it was too late. Maybe Jimmy Tanaka was planning to meet someone back at the Cloudforest. That person waited for him, then knocked on his door and called his name. And that’s what Nate heard.”

  “Oh!” Emma interrupted. “But Tanaka wasn’t there. Because instead of driving him back to the Cloudforest after dinner, Vogel drove him somewhere else.”

  “Like where?” Pat asked.

  “Over to the lava flow!” I said.

  “And then what?”

  Emma and I started speaking at the same time.

  “You go ahead,” I said.

  “No, you go.”

  “Okay, how about this?” I said. “They’re at the lava flow, and then Bill Vogel casually asks Jimmy Tanaka to get something from the trunk, and when Tanaka leans into the trunk, Vogel slams it down and decapitates him.”

  Pat started laughing.

  “What?” I said. “Vogel is tall and he has long arms. That gives him a lot of leverage. And Jimmy Tanaka was kind of tiny and brittle, right? So now the head is in the trunk, all Vogel has to do is dump the body into the lava flow. It would vaporize instantly.”

  “No it wouldn’t,” Emma said. “That’s a myth.”

  “Fine,” I said. “One of you come up with something then. I can’t do all the heavy lifting around here.”

  “Okay,” Emma said. “They’d probably had a few drinks at dinner! So Vogel took Tanaka for a walk in the jungle. And Tanaka got disoriented and fell into a lava tube. Have they ID’d that lava tube body yet?”

  “Not yet,” Pat said. “I have someone who’s gonna let me know when they do.”

  “What about Tanaka’s head?” I asked. “How did his head come off his body and then travel up to campus?”

  “I don’t know,” Emma said. “Maybe Vogel decapitated him with a samurai sword.”

  “You think Bill Vogel carries around a samurai sword? My idea is better.”

  “Your idea sucks,” she said.

  An email alert popped up on my computer screen. I had a message from Bill Vogel.

  “Oh, look,” I said, “we shouldn’t have spoken Bill Vogel’s name. Now we’ve summoned him.”

  “Read his message!” Emma said. “Maybe it’s about the murder!”

  “I doubt that. The title is Syllabus Policy.”

  I clicked it open and read aloud:

  Dear Molly,

  I received the attached email from a student of yours. I think he has a point, and I would encourage you to reconsider your policy on late work, which appears to be overly strict. Please provide an alternate assignment for Joshua so that he can make up the points for the quizzes that he has missed. I suggest that you check the website of the Student Retention Office for ideas for Joshua’s makeup assignment. They have some excellent suggestions on increasing classroom engagement.

  Bill Vogel, Ed. D.

  “Joshua,” I said. “Why does that sound familiar?” I read the next message in the email chain.

  Dear Dr. Vogel,

  I am a student in Miss Barda’s class.

  “He’s Dr. Vogel and you’re Miss Barda?” Emma said.

  I shook my head an
d continued reading.

  For reasons which are not my fault, I missed some assignments she says late work is not excepted unless I have a doctors not. I am a good student and believe this is to harsh. Thank you for your help.

  Sincerely Joshua Benson.

  “Vogel never even talked to me about this,” I said. “And look at this. He copied the student on his reply to me. Wow, thanks for the support, sir.”

  Emma shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Molly. You have the worst dean ever. And that little brat needs a kick in the okole.”

  “I guess you have to let him do a makeup assignment,” Pat said.

  “I guess I do,” I said.

  I pulled up the Student Retention Office website and searched until I found what I thought was a suitable alternate assignment. Then I hit “reply-all” on the email and outlined in detail the makeup assignment that Joshua would have to complete in order to replace the points for his missed work. I pressed “send” just as Dan knocked on my office door.

  “Hey, Molly, are you going up to the Student Retention Office meeting?”

  “Do I have a choice?” I asked.

  “Not really.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  It took a while for Dan and me to find Auxiliary Lounge B. The Student Retention Office has expanded so quickly that their room numbers don’t follow any discernible pattern. We found the double door propped open, wantonly spilling chilled air into the humid afternoon.

  Dan and I each picked up a copy of the Playbill-style program from the stack on the front table. “Look at this, Dan. Four-color printing on glossy paper, for a one-time event. What do you think it cost to print this?”

  ADVANCE, shouted yellow block letters on the cover, vibrating against a teal background.

  Dan shrugged. “I know what you’re thinking, Molly. Probably enough to fix our building’s air conditioning and keep the library open for the whole semester. But the SRO’s grant can’t pay for operating costs.”

  “I know,” I said. “Still. It seems like a waste.”

  “Either we spend the money on things like this, or we lose it. The money.”

  I saw Iker Legazpi sitting in the front row, near the other accounting professors.

  “Up there?” I said to Dan.

  We took our seats next to Iker. Iker smiled at us as we sat down, and then went back to reading his program. The front of the room was so cold that I wished I had brought a jacket. Breathing the chilled air was making my head hurt. The chemically smell of new chairs and fresh drywall didn’t help.

  “Your conference is coming up soon, isn’t it?” Dan asked. “What are you presenting? I’m sorry, I should remember that.”

  “That’s okay. I’m working with Betty Jackson, from psychology. We’re doing a paper on rapport and relationship building in the classroom.”

  “Sure. I know Betty. I’ve been on some committees with her. She’s sharp. That’s right. I remember thinking that rapport building sounded like something you’d do in a police interrogation.”

  “Don’t laugh,” I said. “We have a whole section on that in our lit review. Students and suspects have a lot in common, apparently.”

  Dan’s phone pinged. “Sorry, Molly, I have to deal with this.”

  I turned to Iker. “So what are we in for this afternoon? Anything good?”

  “The program says we are going to meet someone new today!” He turned the page and his face fell. I leaned over to see what he was looking at.

  “STASI?” Iker read, incredulous.

  “Iker, I’m sure it’s just one of their silly acronyms.”

  “It would be a very poor joke,” he said quietly.

  I glanced over at Dan, who was busy on his phone.

  “Iker,” I said. “Our friends at the Student Retention Office have been accused of a lot of things, but historical literacy isn’t one of them. I’m sure if you asked Linda over there what the Berlin Airlift was, she’d tell you it was some kind of foundation garment.”

  My last sentence rang out in the suddenly quiet room. The program was about to begin. Today’s presenter wore her copper hair about an inch long and spiked. Her tunic had a generically ethnic print in an indigo shade that set off her blue eyes. The moving parts on her dangling bronze earrings twisted and flashed as she scanned the room. The effect was hypnotic. Between that and the fumes from the new construction, I struggled to keep my eyes open.

  I jolted awake to hear the presenter say, “. . . but today we won’t call it a retreat. We’re calling it an advance (here she held up the program with ADVANCE in screaming yellow) because we’re moving forward! So I’d like to welcome the Business College . . .”

  “Are we the Business College now?” I whispered to Dan. “When did we change our name from College of Commerce?”

  Dan shook his head despairingly.

  As the slides transitioned, a sound effect that sounded like squealing brakes yanked everyone’s attention up to the screen.

  Students andTeachers Analyze Strategize and Implement (STASI)

  “Today we’re proud to introduce . . . Stacy!” enthused the presenter.

  I couldn’t tell you exactly what she said next. It sounded like someone had fed business jargon and edu-speak into a salad shooter, and we were being served the unpalatable result.

  I glanced over at Iker, busy on his laptop. Probably taking notes, like the good student he was. He usually participated in these events with such eagerness that he made me feel guilty about my unreceptive attitude. Today, though, the glum expression on his round face made him look like a sad baby. I wanted to hug him.

  Finally, the retreat—sorry, ADVANCE—drew to a close. Dan stood up and went straight to the refreshment table. I stayed seated. I didn’t want to leave Iker sitting there by himself, breathing in the fumes from the new furniture and carpeting. I imagined the brain cells of each person in the room bursting like popcorn with each fresh lungful of volatile organic compounds. I wished Emma hadn’t explained to me in such detail why she refuses to teach in the new science classroom. Finally, I asked, “Iker, are you okay?”

  Iker’s eyebrows angled up in the middle as he clutched the sides of his laptop. “Molly, it is a very bad news.”

  “Bad news? What, the part where if a student is failing the class, it’s really our fault? Don’t worry, Iker, they always say things like that.”

  He shook his head.

  “I did not understand the young lady. I try very much to listen. I know that the Student Retention Office makes these kind events for us.” He gestured toward the refreshment table, where our College of Commerce colleagues were stuffing themselves with fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies and Kona coffee. “But for me it is so difficult. They speak a dialect of English that I do not understand.”

  “Oh. I thought this whole time you were taking notes.”

  “He was only a boy,” Iker whispered. “I told him I was very busy. I would have time for his questions later.”

  “Iker, what are you talking about? What happened?”

  Iker showed me his laptop screen. It was Island Confidential’s home page. Pat had been busy in the last hour. I felt my insides turn cold.

  REMAINS FOUND IN LAVA TUBE IDENTIFIED

  Isaiah Pung, 20, missing since September 3.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I hurried back to my office. It was a relief to find Emma and Pat still there. I didn’t want to be alone.

  “Molly,” Emma asked, “Were you crying?”

  I ignored her and yanked open my desk drawer. The ibuprofen was a few months past its expiration date, so I gulped down four at once.

  “Molly, you’re not going to believe this,” Pat said as I sank down onto my yoga ball and placed my hands over my eyes.

  “She already knows, babooz. Look at her. How did you find out?”

  “Iker had his laptop with him,” I said. “Coffee smells good.”

  I removed my hands from my eyes and opened my coffee drawer. “At the risk
of burning a hole in my stomach, maybe I’ll—hey!”

  “That poor boy,” Emma said. “Oh, Molly, you’re out of coffee.”

  “I see that,” I said. “How did it happen?”

  “We drank it all,” Pat said.

  “I mean with Isaiah,” I said. “What happened with Isaiah Pung?”

  “At this point it’s hard to say,” Pat said. “They don’t know much. No obvious signs of foul play. No one knows what he was doing up there.”

  “I thought Isaiah had finally stood up for himself,” I said. “When Davison told me that Isaiah wasn’t returning his calls, I was kind of proud of him. I was rooting for him. For Isaiah, I mean, not for Davison.”

  I looked up at the ceiling and blinked. Pat came to my rescue.

  “Hey, how was Student Retention Office reeducation camp?” he asked. “Can you give us a summary?”

  “Let’s see if I can remember anything.” I shifted on the yoga ball to get less uncomfortable. “Oh, one thing was, there’s no such thing as a wrong answer, just a different perspective.”

  “No such thing as a wrong answer!”

  “Careful, Emma,” Pat said. “You roll your eyes any harder, you’re gonna give yourself conjunctivitis.”

  “You guys remember my genius lab tech? The one who couldn’t read labels? We were celebrating his unique perspective on mixing different cleaning solutions all the way to the emergency room. What are they smoking up there in the Student Retention Office, anyway?”

  “Grant money,” Pat said.

  Emma pulled a tissue from the box I keep on my desk, and handed it to me. “Here, Molly. Maybe you should go home and rest. It’s almost time to go home anyways.”

  “Thanks.” I tipped my head back and dabbed around my eyes. “That’s a good idea. Before I go, though, I told my BP class I was going to post some information on CNCs, and I haven’t done it yet. Either of you ever log on to the Lexis-Nexis database?”

  “BP class?” Emma asked. “Which one was that?”

  “Sorry, Business Planning.”

  “I use Lexis-Nexis,” Pat said. “It’s kind of fiddly. What are CNCs?”

  “Covenants not to Compete. Sometimes they’re called non-compete clauses.”