The Black Thumb

by Frankie Bow

  “I don’t know. Melanie was impulsive, but... Listen, I better not talk about it. My lawyer told me to zip it.”

  “I understand. Hey, coffee sounds great, thanks for the offer, but you know what? Let me get it. I’ve come in here and interrupted your day, scared your friends away and everything. I want to make it up to you. I think the café’s still open. You have a few minutes?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ACCEPTING ATTICUS’ invitation to coffee seemed safe enough. The café was a short walk from my office, in the center of campus. It wasn’t like he had asked me to get into his car or anything. And he really did work for IT: I could read his name on the ID hanging from the lanyard around his neck.

  I locked up my office and we walked up together to our campus café, a franchise of a popular coffee chain set among the cluster of concessions bordering our central quad.

  As we walked, Atticus continued to beam as if he had just won the lottery. Odd, but also strangely flattering. He seemed to be enjoying my company. After my breakup with Donnie, it felt nice to get a little friendly male attention.

  I hadn’t had a whole lot of positive reinforcement in my life lately. The Student Retention Office was constantly on my case about the faculty in my department not passing enough students (except for Rodge Cowper, who gave everyone A’s). Anonymous journal article reviewers could be downright venomous, especially if I hadn’t managed to figure out who they were so I could cite their work. Every time I turned on the news some politician or ed-tech entrepreneur was scoring points by denouncing college professors as lazy, overpaid, and obsolete. Even Mother Nature had been giving me a hard time. The new tomato plants in my backyard were perishing, while torpedo grass and Madagascar ragwort ran rampant.

  “This is a nice food court,” Atticus said. “Everything here looks new.”

  “It is pretty new. After the Student Retention Office convinced our administration to ‘streamline’ our general education requirements, some of the smaller departments had their enrollment dry up, and they ended up folding. History, philosophy, political science, and classics are the ones I remember; there may have been others.”

  “You don’t have a philosophy department?” he asked. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. So we had all this newly-vacant space. We consolidated it and leased it out.”

  “Wow. Capitalism in action.”

  He pushed open the café’s glass door and held it for me.

  “Exactly. So our students no longer have the opportunity to learn about Plato or Voltaire or Yalta, but you can get a slice of stuffed pizza and a caffè macchiato. This whole thing was one of the Student Retention Office’s proudest achievements. Some of the faculty are a little more ambivalent about it.”

  “Well, I’m always hearing people say universities should be run more like a business. I guess this is what a campus looks like when it’s run like a business. A mini-mall with a registrar’s office.”

  We took our coffees to a sticky little round table near the door.

  “So, Mr. Marx. What kind of fancy computer forensics brought you to my office?”

  “Call me Atticus, please.”

  “OK. Atticus. And please call me Molly.”

  “No fancy forensics necessary. You called, gave your name, and asked for the updated directory. Five minutes later there’s activity in an account that had been flagged for deletion. I searched on the user, Melanie Polewski, and the story about the haunted house death popped up, with your name in it. Pretty easy to connect the dots.”

  “So you don’t have to report me or anything?”

  He shrugged. “Not to my knowledge. My training here was pretty much, there’s the bathroom, here’s your desk, here’s your passwords. Anyhow, it’s not my job to turn you in. I wasn’t hired to do computer security, and for what they’re paying me—well, I didn’t come here for the great job prospects.”

  “So why did you come here?”

  Atticus took a sip from his paper cup and grinned at me. He really did have a nice smile.

  “Why did I come here? To Mahina?” Atticus shook his head. “Pigheadedness. Delusion. Refusal to accept the inevitable.”

  “Care to share specifics?” I was happy to divert the conversation away from myself.

  “A woman. I dropped everything and followed her here.”

  “From the mainland?”

  He nodded, no longer smiling.

  “I was infatuated.”

  “Sounds like it.” Had I ever been that infatuated with anyone? I didn’t think so.

  “But it’s over. It’s finally over. Years, Molly. It’s been years.”

  “One of those situations where you’re on and off, but you never really get over them?”

  “Exactly. So you know what I’m talking about?”

  “In theory.” For some reason I thought of Stephen Park and his cape. “So what happened?”

  “Funny story. She moves here.”

  “For a job?”

  “No. For, I don’t know, reasons. So I quit my job, I move here, I find this job, I actually find her, and guess what. Turns out she’s already hooked up with some other guy. The body wasn’t even cold yet. Oh, sorry, not the best metaphor under the circumstances.”

  “It’s okay. Now that feeling, I’m familiar with. When the other person moves on so fast it makes you wonder whether they ever even...anyway. Are you going to try to win her back now, or what?”

  He shook his head. “Win her back? No. She’s not a prize. She makes her own choices. I can’t tell her what to do. Bad enough I moved here. She probably thinks I’m a stalker already.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” I was not sorry to see Atticus Marx appeared to be momentarily free of romantic entanglements. “So do I need to do anything about this, uh, email thing?”

  “Want my advice?”

  “Of course.”

  “I think you should keep snooping. Read through everything before the account gets deleted. Learning management system, plagiarism checker, all of the faculty tools. Download everything you can. Take screenshots.”

  “So you’re telling me I should keep poking around? I thought you’d come by to warn me off.”

  “I was going to. But now I’ve talked to you I know your heart’s in the right place. I trust you.”

  “You do? Great. Where do we find eleven more of you for the jury?”

  He laughed. “Oh, and as long as you’re snooping. Melanie Polewski was staying with you, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes. Wait, I don’t remember seeing that detail wasn’t in the newspaper. Where did you read about this again?”

  “Did you let her use your computer?”

  “She brought her own. It was way nicer than mine.”

  “If there’s any chance you can get to her computer before they take it, check out her search history.”

  “I can’t. The police already have it.”

  “Oh. Okay, then have your lawyer ask for the search history. They’re supposed to share everything with the defense, but sometimes they forget, know what I mean? You should ask for it specifically, just to be on the safe side.”

  “You sound just like my lawyer. Atticus, how do you know so much about the criminal justice system?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “I DON’T HAVE ANY SPECIAL knowledge of the criminal justice system.” Atticus shrugged. “Just what I’ve seen on TV.”

  “Really? You strike me as someone who doesn’t own a television.”

  He grinned, as if I’d caught him in an embarrassing but inconsequential lie.

  “I actually don’t own a TV. You’re right. But I watch stuff online.”

  “So what convinced you that I was trustworthy? Whatever magic I worked on you, I need to take that over to the prosecutor’s office.”

  “I dunno.” His grin vanished. “It’s stupid.”

  “No. Me being innocent? Not stupid. A brilliant insight, if you ask me.”

  “Just something about you.
So what is your story, Amalia?”

  “My story?”

  “I don’t see a ring or anything.”

  “No,” I agreed. “Definitely no ring. And really, call me Molly.”

  “But there was someone. Right?”

  “What, have you been reading my personal email?”

  “No. I mean, I could read everyone’s email if I wanted to. It isn’t worth it. Most people’s email is really boring.”

  “So how do you know I was in a relationship? I don’t have a wedding-ring tan line or anything like that.”

  “Someone like you wouldn’t be alone for long. That’s all. So if you’re single now, it must be a recent breakup.”

  “Flattery noted and appreciated. I was engaged to be married. But we called it off. And he’s moved on. So.”

  My phone rang. I ignored it; I didn’t want to be rude.

  “Go ahead and take your call. I’ll refill our coffees.”

  “Hiya, Sweetie.” It was my father’s voice. “We just wanted to let you know we’re here at the Kakahiakalani Resort, and so far it’s great. We really wish you could be here with us. They upgraded us to an ocean view room.”

  “Oh good. Sounds like you’re having fun. I had so much work to do on the conference paper, though. You remembered the sunscreen?”

  “Yes. Your mother packed more than enough. And I have my hat. Any news in the romance department?”

  “Well, right now, as we speak, I think I’m out on a coffee date. Kind of.”

  “So the wedding’s back on?” my father asked. “Should we come back?”

  “Not now,” I heard my mother shout. “Stall her!”

  I heard a muffled sound, my father covering the receiver with his hand.

  “I was just asking if we should—”

  “There’s nothing over there, Ed. Just that sad little cluster of jungle huts they call a university.”

  “But Sara, we flew all the way over here...”

  I watched Atticus refill our coffee cups as my parents bickered. He was taking great care to make sure each cup had the exact same amount of liquid. First he poured a little bit of coffee into one cup, then into the other.

  He seemed sweet. Odd, but sweet.

  “Take your time,” I finally said into the phone, not sure if my father was still listening. “There’s no wedding. Donnie and I are definitely not getting back together. Oh wait, I have another call coming through. I think I have to get this. It’s my lawy—uh, it’s an important call.”

  I switched to Honey Akiona’s incoming call.

  “Did Melanie ever tell you she was trying to buy the Brewster House?” Honey Akiona asked.

  “No, what? Did you say the Brewster House? She joked around about buying it. I thought she was trying to needle me. I didn’t think she was serious.”

  “Have you read her computer files?” Honey asked.

  “Most of them.”

  “It’s not too hard to figure out who ‘Melody’ is supposed to be. It’s obviously her, Melanie. Right? I’m not missing anything there, am I?”

  “No. It’s all as literal and on-the-nose as it seems, I’m afraid.”

  “Okay, that’s what I thought. You’re okay with me reading through all this stuff, yeah?”

  “No, I appreciate it. I know you’ll keep it confidential.”

  “It’s billable,” Honey said.

  “Oh. I see what you’re saying. Yeah, don’t do any more. I’ll read through it myself.”

  “You see the part where ‘Dolly’ pretends to be interested in a gardening club?”

  “Uh, no, I missed that one,” I said.

  “I think ‘Dolly’ is supposed to be you. It rhymes with ‘Molly’.”

  “Yeah. I figured.”

  “Anyway, ‘Dolly’ goes to this Garden Society meeting to get her greedy claws, sorry, ‘greedy claws’ was how Melanie said it, into this very nice old house. But ‘Melody’ sees the house really should belong to someone with a rare and refined soul, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

  “Leilani Zelenko was the one real estate agent who had an in with Fontanne Masterman. So if Melanie was really serious about the Brewster House, wouldn’t she have talked to Leilani about it?”

  “Likely,” Honey said. “Can you ask Leilani? You know her. Better than if I do it.”

  “Sure.”

  “Try contact her as soon as you can.”

  I shot a wary glance toward Atticus, but he was still busy with the coffees. In fact, he seemed to be taking a long time on purpose, probably to give me some privacy.

  “If Melanie was trying to buy the Brewster House, Honey, how would that help us?”

  “Dunno yet. Just keeping my eyes open. So all the time you an’ Melanie spent together, you had no idea Melanie liked old houses?”

  “Melanie didn’t like old houses. She thought mine was a dump. I’ll ask Leilani what was going on. Oh, there’s something else I wanted to ask you. What about a cell phone? Melanie’s cell phone?”

  “They didn’t recover a cell phone. Are you sure Melanie had one?”

  “Yes, she did. She had it with her the day of her death.”

  “Do you have the number?”

  “No. I don’t—wait, yes I do. Hang on.” I scrolled down my list of outgoing calls until I found one to Melanie’s cell phone. I recognized it because she still had her 415 area code. I read the number to Honey.

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do about getting the call records. Meantime, you talk to Leilani. See what you can find out.”

  “And Melanie’s browser search history, if you can get it.”

  “Oh yeah, good idea. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Atticus returned with our coffees as I hung up.

  “Sorry about that, Atticus. I hate it when you’re trying to have a conversation and the other person’s phone keeps ringing.”

  My phone rang again. It was Donnie.

  I pressed the button to send him to voice mail. Then I shut the ringer off and dropped my phone into my bag.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I SWITCHED MY CELL phone back on when I returned to my office, and saw I had missed two calls from Donnie, and several from my real estate agent. I called Leilani Zelenko back. She picked up right away.

  “Hi Leilani. I’m glad you called. Listen, did Melanie ever express interest in buying the Brewster House?”

  There was a brief pause.

  “I am sorry Maw-ly. This information I do not share. What you tell me, it is sealed. What another tells me, it is sealed. This is my reputation, why I am top agent. I keep your secret. I blabber to you, you think I blabber about you.”

  “Yeah. I see your point.”

  Leilani’s reaction told me all I needed to know. She wouldn’t have been so defensive unless Melanie really had been in contact with her. Maybe Melanie had left the Garden Society meeting to poke around inside, and had blundered into something she wasn’t supposed to. I imagined an ancient wooden box, covered with mysterious, intricate carvings. Perhaps it had lain unopened for a hundred years. But that afternoon Melanie found it, irreverently pried it open, and suddenly—

  “Maw-ly, you are listen?”

  “Oh. Sorry. The signal’s kind of uneven in my office.”

  “There is another house, I think you like. Beautiful view.”

  “It’s an older house?” I asked.

  “No, new. Brand new.”

  “Do you have the address?”

  “I take you there,” she said. “When we drive around.”

  “Oh, right. Okay.” I had forgotten I’d agreed to let Leilani give me a tour of some of the other available properties around Mahina. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to look at some alternatives. My passion for the Brewster House wasn’t burning quite as brightly as it had been.

  I plugged my phone in to charge, sank down onto my yoga ball, and started up my computer. I saw Betty Jackson had already replied to my email with her own revisions to our conference pa
per. Before I could finish reading her message, my phone started to hum on my desk. Donnie was calling again.

  Might as well answer it, although I couldn’t imagine what he and I could possibly have to talk about now. Not after seeing Sherry Di Napoli strolling around his house in her bathrobe. Oh no, even better. It couldn’t have been Sherry’s bathrobe. It must have Donnie’s. It had been so big on her she practically had it wrapped around her twice. I would never have guessed Donnie owned a tacky black satin bathrobe. You think you know someone.

  “I found the key,” Donnie said. “On the side table.”

  “You found it. Good.”

  “So, you and I signed up for the Business Boosters volunteer dinner. Um. Are we still going?”

  “I don’t know, Donnie. Maybe Sherry wants to go with you.”

  “Who?”

  “Sherrine Di Napoli? Your ex-wife?”

  “Sherrine—Molly, what are you talking about?”

  Did he think I was stupid or something?

  “When I went to your house to drop off the key, Donnie? I happened to run into your ex-wife. In your house. She really seemed to know her way around, by the way.”

  “Molly, what you’re saying is impossible. I haven’t seen Sherry in years. I don’t even think she’s in the state. She definitely was not in my house.”

  “Donnie, I saw her. In the hallway leading from the master bedroom. Medium height, pretty face, big cloud of kinky dark brown hair.”

  I didn’t mention Sherry’s skinniness; I didn’t want to remind Donnie how much fatter I was by comparison.

  Donnie neither admitted nor denied his indiscretion. He simply laughed.

  “Molly, you just described yourself.”

  “What?”

  “You must have seen your reflection in the hallway mirror.”

  Oh, boy. He really did think I was stupid.

  “Oh sure, Donnie, that must have been it. And then my reflection, which unlike me was wearing a shiny black bathrobe, invited me into your kitchen and made me a cup of tea. Yeah, nice try.”