The Case of the Defunct Adjunct: In Which Molly Takes On the Student Retention Office and Loses Her Office Chair (Professor Molly Mysteries Book 0)

by Frankie Bow

  I didn’t know the new sidekick’s name, and hadn’t noticed a name tag.

  “Have a great afternoon, ladies,” Linda said. “Enjoy the retreat.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The round tables of the Lehua Inn’s banquet room were filling up with Mahina State faculty. The men wore subdued aloha shirts and khaki trousers. The women dressed by discipline. Colorful Guatemalan bags, gauze skirts, and flowing gray hair marked the social sciences. Humanities favored bold eyeglasses and hair colors not found in nature. My few female colleagues in the College of Commerce sported a nonthreatening business-y look that might be described as “Beverly Hills real estate agent.” T-shirts and shapeless jeans indicated the natural sciences.

  Emma Nakamura was an accomplished biologist, and looked it. Her wavy black hair was pulled back into an indifferent ponytail. Her face, browned and lightly freckled from hours of canoe paddling, was bare. Her idea of dressing up for our offsite retreat was to wear a seed company t-shirt she’d picked up for free at a conference.

  I didn’t fit in anywhere.

  Not surprising, I suppose, for a literature Ph.D. teaching in a business school. At some point I’d have to modify my vintage wardrobe if I was going to survive in humid Mahina. I imagined my heatstroke-reddened corpse, stylish in a vermillion wool Lilli-Ann coatdress and opaque tights.

  “Friggin’ Student Retention Office.” Emma pressed on her paper name tag as she beelined to the refreshment table. “They’re about as useful as a MRSA infection.”

  “You know Emma, Clown College is actually very hard to get into.”

  “What?”

  “You told Linda you didn’t want us to change into Clown College.”

  “Why does anyone listen to those Student Retention Office idiots? You see Linda was wearing her flower on the right? But she’s married, ah?”

  “She is married. To Bob Wilson, in the History Department. The way you wear the flower in your hair signals your relationship status?”

  “Yeah. Left side means you’re taken, like wearing a wedding ring on your left hand. Moron. Her, not you.”

  Emma glared back toward the banquet room entrance, where Linda and her assistant were still signing in attendees.

  “Well I didn’t know that about the flower placement, Emma.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry about it. You’re not the one trying so hard to go native.”

  “And Emma, you shouldn’t antagonize the Student Retention Office.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you get on their bad side, they’ll wish you into the cornfield. Like they did with the Philosophy Department.”

  “They’ll what with the cornfield now? What are you talking about?”

  “You know that Twilight Zone episode? Didn’t you ever watch Twilight Zone reruns when you were a kid?”

  “We only got one channel where I grew up,” Emma said. “And that wasn’t on it. Are you telling me something happened to the Philosophy Department? I never heard any—whoa.”

  “What are you—oh my goodness.”

  Through a side doorway, in our line of sight, we could see music instructor and teaching award nominee Kent Lovely. Standing next to him, hip to hip, was our elegant and intimidating vice president, Marshall Dixon. We watched Kent take Marshall’s hand and raise it to his lips.

  “Classy,” Emma said. “He didn’t even put down his energy drink.”

  “A kiss on the hand? Well, that’s sort of charming.”

  Kent turned Marshall’s hand over and nuzzled her open palm.

  “Aaah. I take it back. Not charming at all.”

  “Zero to creepy in three-point-two seconds,” Emma agreed. “I thought Marshall Dixon had better taste. Well, that’s one way to get yourself nominated for a teaching award. I never would’ve guessed those two were—”

  “I’m changing the subject now.” I nudged Emma toward the refreshment table. “Look, food.”

  “Haupia cheesecake. Right on.”

  She rolled up the program, tucked it into her back pocket, and headed for the food line. The Lehua Inn is famous for its haupia cheesecake. Haupia is a stiff coconut jelly. Combined with creamy cheesecake and nutty graham cracker crust, it’s heavenly.

  “Eh Molly, don’t look now. Here comes our one-man hostile work environment.”

  Kent Lovely materialized next to us, beaming, and still holding his energy drink. Kent was well into middle age, and dressed in defiance of the plain fact. His midnight-black hair was gelled to a crisp. His aloha shirt was unbuttoned low enough to show off his wiry physique and his cinnabar tan. A tiny zircon stud sparkled in one leathery earlobe.

  “Ciao, Molly.” Kent caught Emma and me in a hug, one in each arm. “Emma, Ai watashi kon’nichiwa.”

  His culturally-sensitive salutations out of the way, Kent released us from his cologne-drenched embrace and pushed ahead of us. He pulled two plates off the stack, and started loading them up. Emma and I took one plate apiece, and followed Kent as he mowed his way through the salads, to the hot dishes, and finally over to the dessert table. He was William Tecumseh Sherman, and the buffet table was Atlanta.

  Kent paused his historical re-enactment to turn back and address us. “So, ladies.” (Here he paused to lick his fingers.) “Who do you think is gonna get the teaching award today?”

  “Who else was nominated?” I asked. “Besides you?”

  Kent helped himself to the last two slices of haupia cheesecake, balancing them atop the mounds of pastry, roast pork, rice, waffles, and fruit piled on his plates.

  “Let’s see.” One of the slices of haupia cake started to slide off its summit. Kent pushed it back up into place and licked his finger again. “It was me, Bob Wilson from history, and that minority chick from the Psychology Department.”

  Emma stared at him in disbelief.

  “Sorry Emma-chan, minority lady. Wish me luck, girls. Oh look, brownies.”

  He set his plates down, grabbed a brownie, stuck it in his mouth, picked the two teetering plates back up, and sauntered off.

  “Ucch,” Emma said. “I hope he chokes on a waffle. Oh, gross. He left his old soda can right next to the food.”

  “Well, he only has two hands,” I said. “Priorities.”

  Emma looked around, not finding what she wanted. “So where’s the alcohol?”

  “The papaya slices smelled kind of fermented,” I said.

  “How am I supposed to get through Student Retention Office re-education camp without alcohol?”

  “I brought Buzzword Bingo.”

  “Not the same thing.”

  “No,” I agreed. “It’s not.”

  Emma and I scanned the packed ballroom for empty seats.

  “Good turnout,” I said.

  “Well, it was mandatory. Eh, speaking of that, where’s Stephen?”

  “He’s probably busy with rehearsals. Those seem to be taking a lot of his time lately. Anyway, he never comes to these things.”

  “He’s gonna get in trouble for skipping this.”

  “That’s my Stephen. He doesn’t think the rules apply to him.”

  I spotted my colleague Iker Legazpi at a table near the raised stage at the front, and waved to get his attention. Iker is a professor of accounting and one of my favorite people, despite his positive attitude. He must get the same underachievers, plagiarists, and grade-grubbers the rest of us have, but he gives each student his full attention and the benefit of the doubt.

  As Emma and I made our way toward the front of the ballroom, we noticed people staring at us. Entire tables fell silent and watched us walk by.

  “What time was this supposed to begin?” I whispered to Emma. “Are we late?”

  “Nah. It’s barely started. How come we couldn’t just have this thing on campus, like in the cafeteria or something? I’m sure the taxpayers of Hawaii are thrilled to be paying for a banquet room with an ocean view.”

  “Speaking of views, I feel like everyone’s staring at us. Maybe we look really
good today or something.”

  “Nobody here cares how we look, Molly. Don’t be a putz.”

  Iker Legazpi stood up to greet us. His side-parted brown hair was lacquered perfectly into place as usual, but the heat and humidity had made his plump face pink and shiny. Dark sweat stains spread under his arms of his long sleeved oxford shirt.

  Iker’s round face wore a troubled expression. This was unusual.

  “Molly, Emma,” he sputtered. “This is terrible. Emma, such an injustice for your brother, to lose his job. This thing makes me madder than a wet blanket.” English wasn’t Iker’s first language, and probably not even his second or third.

  I had never seen Iker so agitated. In fact, this was the first time I’d ever heard him complain about anything.

  “How did you know about Jonah getting his classes taken away?” Emma demanded. “Molly, I just told you about that this morning. You told Iker about it, didn’t you?”

  “No,” I shot back, “and I don’t know why you always assume I’m the blabbermouth. Anyone who bothered to check online can see Jonah’s guitar classes aren’t on the fall schedule anymore.”

  “Molly told me nothing,” Iker said. “She is as quiet as a clam.”

  “See?”

  “It is in the newspapers,” Iker gently removed the copy of Island Confidential from my hand and opened it for us to read:

  Whistleblower Loses Job: Accused Keeps His.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Emma snatched the Island Confidential back from Iker and flipped to the center pages of the tabloid. Whistleblower Loses was the headline on the left page, and Job: Accused Keeps His finished the thought on the right. Featured in the article were photos of Jonah Nakamura, the “Whistleblower,” and Kent Lovely, the “Accused.” Iker hovered as Emma read, unwilling to take his own seat before Emma and I sat down.

  “Hey, look at this picture.” Emma pulled the paper closer, making it difficult for me to read over her shoulder. “Kent Lovely had a moustache. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look any creepier.”

  “He looks villainous,” I said. “He shouldn’t have tried to smile.”

  “Yeah, he probably thinks he looks real handsome. Ucch, look at Jonah, he looks high.”

  In the photo, Emma’s brother, Jonah, looked dazed and a little sleepy, which is exactly the way he always looks.

  “Emma, what is this? Jonah is a whistleblower? What’s Kent ‘accused’ of? What’s going on?”

  I was hoping she would sit down, and then Iker and I could, too. She didn’t, though.

  “It was so stupid of him. Jonah, I mean. Well, Kent’s stupid too, but I’m not talking about him.”

  Kent was sitting several tables away, next to his buddy Rodge Cowper and well out of earshot. I wondered whether he had seen today’s Island Confidential. Possibly not. Kent didn’t strike me as much of a reader.

  “No, Emma,” Iker said. “Your brother was not stupid. He did what was right”

  “Okay, my brother was right and stupid. But look where it got him. It’s so unfair.”

  “Can I see it?” I was fairly hopping with impatience.

  “I’m not done yet,” Emma snapped.

  Iker quietly cleared his throat.

  “The article describes allegations of unauthorized purchases by Kent Lovely, using university accounts. Emma’s brother Jonah reported it. I wonder whether this might be related to the investigation you and I have been doing, Molly.”

  “What investigation?” Emma demanded.

  “Oh, right. That. The administration asked Iker to do some kind of audit. Sorry Iker, I know we can’t technically call it an audit, an investigation of purchases done over the last fiscal year. I volunteered to help Iker out with the write-up.”

  “Why you?” Emma challenged me. “You don’t know anything about accounting. You almost called it an audit.”

  “Oh, like you know all about it? Do you know why I’m not supposed to call it an audit? Ha, didn’t think so.”

  “Molly was so kind as to offer her help with my English.” Iker fidgeted, uncomfortable with interrupting. “It is a struggle for me to express the right words. Often I do a poor job.”

  “Your English is fine,” Emma said. “You didn’t hafta let Molly butt in and take over.”

  “I do not say this to indulge in self-flatulation. I simply acknowledge my limitations.”

  “So then, what’d you guys find? With your not-an-audit? Was there anything about my brother? And how come you never told me about it, Molly?”

  “I did tell you about it, Emma, remember? When I was complaining about getting stuck on this project, sorry Iker, and you and I swore after we get tenure, we wouldn’t sign up for any more unpaid—”

  The penny dropped.

  “Emma. You sent this story in to Island Confidential. You’re the one who tipped them off.”

  “I never.”

  “Yes you did. I know it was you. Just this morning you were telling me how everyone’s going to know the real story soon enough about why Jonah lost his classes. Remember? And you were just accusing me of being a blabbermouth.”

  Emma and I glared at each other. Iker averted his eyes and shifted from foot to foot.

  “Okay fine,” she huffed, finally. “Maybe I sent in a tip. But how was I supposed to know Island Confidential was gonna run with it like this?”

  “What did you think they were going to do? If even half of this is true, what newspaper would pass up such a juicy—”

  “You know what? I’m glad they published it. It’s disgraceful, and shame on the university for firing Jonah. And now he’s lost his job, he’s never gonna move out.”

  “Does your brother know you did this?” I asked. “Or is he going to find out about it from the paper the way Iker and I just did?”

  “He’ll figure it out.”

  “And this Kent Lovely, accused with strong evidence of misappropriating university funds, is nominated for the teaching award.” Iker was indignant. “It is a scandal that stinks to Betsy’s Heaven.”

  By this time, most of the attendees had taken their seats. Iker, Emma and I were still standing, and people were really staring at us now.

  “These seats are awfully close to the front. I brought Buzzword Bingo.” I patted my laptop bag. “Why don’t we take our food and sit in the back?”

  Iker nodded gravely. “That is an excellent suggestion. This Bingo game that you bring is very helpful for me. There are each time so many new words that I do not understand.”

  “You and me both, Iker.” Emma clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

  We found a small four-top in the back, with three empty seats. I assumed that the man occupying one of the chairs was kitchen staff, waiting for his shift to begin. He didn’t look particularly approachable, but there was no other table with room for all three of us. The man’s head was shaved down to stubble, and he wore a flannel shirt open with a Dead Kennedys t-shirt underneath. He was going through a stack of papers, which he quickly put away to make room for us.

  “Oh, hey. Pat Flanagan.” He extended his hand.

  “I hope we’re not intruding,” I said, returning his handshake.

  “We’re gonna play Buzzword Bingo,” Emma added. “You wanna make it a foursome?”

  I handed out four Buzzword Bingo cards, and then poured a heap of pennies onto the table.

  “This is my first in-service,” Pat said.

  “You work at the university?” I exclaimed.

  “In which department are you?” Iker asked.

  “English. I teach intro comp. I’m just a part-timer though.”

  “I thought adjuncts didn’t have to do the professional development,” Emma said.

  “Didn’t have anything better to do,” Pat examined his Bingo card. “I thought I might even learn something. Oh look. Out of the Box, Silos, Student Centered. Looks like you got all the classics here.”

  “Shh.” Emma waved her hand to quiet us. “They’re star
ting. Oh, Pat, that’s Linda, from the Student Retention Office. She always wears that long muumuu. To cover up the tentacles, that’s why.”

  “Emma has some history with the Student Retention Office,” I explained.

  “Aw right, like you don’t, Molly. Hey, did she just say we finished last year with an ‘explanation’ point? Stop talking you guys, I’m gonna miss my buzzwords.”

  Linda was succeeded on stage by a woman with short, spiky copper hair and gigantic earrings that looked like mobiles. Pat, Iker, Emma, and I filled our Buzzword Bingo cards rapidly as she talked. I was one space away from completing a row when she said, “…outstanding customer service.” I scrambled to find the phrase on my card, but was distracted by an eruption of applause.

  “Kent Lovely?” the presenter called out. “Is Kent Lovely here to accept the award?”

  Emma rolled her eyes and made a rude noise. Iker sat mournfully silent. Pat watched, his expression neutral.

  “Do you know Kent Lovely?” I asked Pat.

  “Not well,” he said.

  I braced for the sight of Kent Lovely swaggering up to the front of the room and claiming the campus-wide teaching award.

  Kent Lovely, however, was in no position to swagger anywhere. Kent Lovely was face-down in his haupia cheesecake

  CHAPTER SIX

  The paramedics showed up within minutes. After they’d rolled Kent out on a gurney, the program resumed as if nothing had happened. We finished up right on schedule. Pat Flanagan said his nice-to-meet yous and was gone. I gathered up the Buzzword Bingo supplies. Emma, Iker, and I joined the somber exodus from the Lehua Inn’s main ballroom.

  “I can’t believe they just kept the retreat going,” I said. “I mean I know they already paid for the room and the speaker fees, but still.”

  “Right?” Emma agreed. “That had to be the most uncomfortable icebreaker activity ever.”

  The crowd shuffled out to the main exit. I’m sure everyone was as eager to get out of there as I was, but it would have been unseemly to sprint. As we inched past one of the ballroom’s broad pillars, I heard a woman’s voice: