by Frankie Bow
“You don’t? You’re the dean. Sorry, I mean—”
“You can try, but you have to get it approved by the Student Retention Office.”
“I have to ask the Student Retention Office to remove a student from class?”
“Talk to Linda Wilson.” Vogel picked up his magazine by way of dismissing me. “You know Linda, don’t you?”
CHAPTER NINE
So my dean had just fobbed me off on the Student Retention Office. Not that I’d expected him to be helpful. Bill Vogel hates to turn away paying customers. As I left his office I glimpsed Vogel through the glass divider, picking up his phone. Probably calling the Student Retention Office to warn them I was on my way. No, that was silly. The dean certainly had more important things to do than spend his time trying to thwart me.
Serena looked up from her work. “All done already? That was quick.”
I nodded. “I’m going up to the Student Retention Office. In case anyone’s looking for me. Thank you for setting up the appointment for me.”
“Okay. Well, good luck, Molly.”
I trudged uphill to the gleaming new glass-and-metal building that houses the Student Retention Office. The glass doors parted with a whoosh and a blast of refrigerated air. On the far side of the vast lobby, behind a curved stainless steel counter, sat a receptionist in a fluffy white sweater. I approached her cautiously. With her slight frame and owlish glasses, she looked like a nervous bird, which might start pecking at me if cornered.
She ushered me into a small meeting room (the kind of “closing” room you’d see at a car dealership or an art gallery) and left me to wait. I got comfortable at the little round table and took in my surroundings. The polished wood floor reflected recessed lights. A saltwater aquarium was embedded in the wall, affording a glimpse of the room on the opposite side. Fluffy strands of seaweed swayed in the clear water. Colorful fish darted in and out of sight: watery azure, vibrant magenta and yellow, velvety black tipped with orange. I watched them for a while, and then turned my attention to the inspirational posters on the walls: Shoot for the moon. Even if you fail, you’ll land among the stars.
That doesn’t make any sense, I thought. Stars are much farther away than the moon. But maybe “if you fail, someone will die in a horrible fiery crash” wasn’t inspiring enough.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, there is a leader in us all.
I wondered if anyone in the Student Retention Office had considered what it would be like if everyone really tried to be a leader. It would probably be like the summer internship I did in college at a marketing company. The employees, all MBAs, each thought that he or she should be running the place. Everyone “planned.” No one, except for the lowly summer intern (me), actually did anything. “That’s implementing,” the MBAs would sneer. “I don’t implement.”
The last I heard, the company had been bought by a competitor, who took over their accounts and fired all the MBAs.
There are no wrong answers. There are only different ways of knowing.
That one would make Emma’s head explode. I’d have to make sure to tell her about it.
Linda finally appeared, accompanied by a fellow blonde who introduced herself as Kathy. Like Linda, Kathy wore a muumuu. While Linda’s was a high-necked, fussy floral that looked like a Victorian nightgown, Kathy’s was knee-length, with a simple yellow on red hibiscus pattern and a square neckline.
“You put on such a lovely event today,” I said, hoping to ingratiate myself. “I got so much out of it. I’m really glad I went.”
It was true. I’d had a nice plate of the Lehua Inn’s famous desserts, and I’d met someone new. I wondered if I’d have a chance to see Pat Flanagan again.
“I mean, what happened to Kent wasn’t lovely, of course. Oh, I didn’t mean that to be a play on his name. I know his last name is Lovely. Kent Lovely. Sorry. That was terrible. I hope he’s okay. Do you know if he’s okay?”
“They airlifted him over to Oahu,” Linda said. “He’s getting the best available care. We just have to wait.”
This is one of the drawbacks of living on a sparsely-populated island. A serious medical situation means taking an air ambulance over to one of the big hospitals in Honolulu. A medical emergency plus bad weather? You just have to hope it never happens to you.
Linda actually sounded worried about Kent. Her show of compassion was encouraging. Maybe she was part-human after all. “Anyway, why am I here. I talked to my dean, and he said I should speak with you. This morning, a student—”
“Yes, we know,” Linda interrupted me. “Bill called to tell us you were coming.”
“Oh. He did? Well, that was thoughtful.”
“Molly,” Kathy said. “Our mission at Mahina State is to serve every student.”
“Even the ones you disagree with,” Linda added.
“I don’t think I’d characterize it as a disagreement, although sure, I don’t agree I should sawed into little bits by an insane student.”
“We shouldn’t judge the students by our standards,” Kathy said. “We have to meet them where they are.”
“You teachers can’t just come here and impose your mainland values,” Linda added. “You have to respect our local culture.”
I stared disbelievingly at the two muumuu-clad Midwesterners.
“Our local culture? You know Bret’s from Marin County, right?”
“We can’t approve your request to remove Bret from class,” Linda said.
“Bret has been identified by our office as at-risk,” Kathy explained.
“We don’t say at-risk, Kathy,” Linda said. “We say at-opportunity.”
“Maybe I should just report this to the police,” I said.
“Now, Molly.” Linda’s tone was one you’d use to calm a tantruming toddler. “We have something to help you improve your classroom presence. Kathy?”
“This complimentary copy of Be a Rock Star in the Classroom! was made possible by our Foundation grant,” Kathy chirped, handing me a copy of the glossy SRO publication.
“Be a Rock Star in the Classroom!,” I read from the cover. “Ten Tips for Generating Excitement and Peak Customer Satisfaction. Thanks. I’m sure this will be very helpful. But I’d also like to file a Student of Concern form. I know that I have the right to do that.”
Linda and Kathy exchanged a look.
“Well,” Linda sniffed. “It looks like someone was paying attention at the campus safety workshop.”
CHAPTER TEN
The strains of Khachaturian’s “Masquerade Waltz” jolted me awake. I groped at my night table until my hand landed on my phone. It was Emma calling.
“Molly, are you still asleep? Get up.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear.
“Eh. Molly.” the phone squawked. “You awake or what?”
“This better be important. You interrupted a very pleasant dream.”
“Ah, keep that stuff to yourself, Molly. I don’t need to hear about it.”
“No, I was dreaming we were back at the retreat. I was just about to bite into a big slice of haupia cake, and then this orchestra started playing and we all had to leave. What’s so urgent anyway?”
“Kent Lovely is dead.”
I sat up, instantly awake. “No. When?”
“He died in the hospital overnight.” Emma’s voice was tight with panic.
“That’s awful. Poor Kent.”
“Oh, forget about Kent.”
“What do you mean forget about Kent? Didn’t you just tell me he died?”
“I mean, don’t waste your time feeling sorry for Kent. It’s too late for him.”
“Well that’s not very—”
“They think my brother did it!” I moved the phone even farther away. “They think Jonah killed Kent Lovely.”
“Jonah? Why? Jonah wasn’t even at the retreat. Why on earth would they think your brother had anything to do with Kent’s—”
My eye fell on the copy of Island Confidential lyi
ng on my night stand. Whistleblower loses job. Accused keeps his.
“Never mind. I can guess. So why are you up so early?”
“Nine in the morning is not early.”
“It’s nine?”
I climbed out of bed and pulled aside the light-blocking curtain. A blaze of sunlight hit me in the face.
“It’s already in the paper,” Emma said.
“It’s in the County Courier?”
“Nah, Island Confidential. It’s on their website.”
“I guess they know when they’ve got a good story. So what does Island Confidential say?”
I heard clacking noises as Emma navigated to the relevant part of the article.
“Kent was a popular teacher of computer music…cause of death unknown pending further…blah blah, oh, they got a quote from our chancellor. ‘A great loss for our ohana. He’ll truly be missed.’ Like the chancellor could even pick Kent Lovely out of a lineup.”
“Well, to be fair, neither of us could pick the chancellor out of a lineup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in person. Have you?”
“I can’t remember now. Maybe I’ve only ever seen pictures. Some people are saying that the chancellor died years ago, and Marshall Dixon’s keeping his frozen body in a storage closet and running the whole university herself.”
“I heard that one, too. But it wasn’t his whole body. It was just his severed hand for when she needs his fingerprints.”
“I can’t believe they’re hassling my brother. Kent probably killed himself with his dumb energy drinks.”
As Emma ranted, I made my way into the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine.
“Sorry Emma, I have to put the phone down. I’m going to make coffee now.”
I ground the beans, and started the pot brewing. Then I picked the phone back up.
“...and anyway I don’t know why they’re making such a big deal about Kent,” Emma was saying. “We had part-timers die before, you know.”
“We have?”
“Sure. Don’t you remember that Spanish professor? I forget her name. The one who plotzed right in the middle of class? She was like a hundred years old, but she couldn’t retire ’cause she didn’t have any savings. There wasn’t any big deal in the paper about her. The administration just let her students have the rest of the semester off and gave them all As.”
“Oh I think I did hear something about that poor woman. Anyway, Emma, they have to make a big deal about regretting Kent’s tragic death. After that ‘whistleblower loses job’ story, Kent had such a high profile they had to say something. Otherwise it would look like the university doesn’t care about people who die.”
“They don’t care. Everyone knows it. Ooh, look at this. They tracked down Kent’s ex-wife on the mainland.”
“What did she say?”
“It says they couldn’t print her comment.”
The coffee started to trickle into the carafe. I breathed in the aroma and savored it. Sin is like coffee, Iker Legazpi had said to me once. It always smells better than it tastes, and the second cup is never as good as the first. It was hard to imagine my saintly colleague having that much first-hand knowledge of sin, but he’s right about coffee.
“…and they wouldn’t even tell me what Kent died from,” Emma was saying.
“You talked to the police?”
“Yeah. They came over to the house and asked us all these questions.”
“What? They can’t do that. Can they?”
“They did.”
“Couldn’t Jonah say he wouldn’t talk to them without a lawyer?”
“That’s exactly what I told them,” Emma said, “but then they were like, this is just a friendly chat and would I rather they take both of us to the station, so I was real cooperative after that. I do not want the police poking around in Jonah’s business.”
“Why not in Jonah’s business, particularly?”
“I mean, he’s not a criminal or anything, but come on. I mean, him and his friends don’t exactly end their day with a glass of warm milk and bed by nine.”
“Well, maybe whoever called in that story to Island Confidential in the first place should have thought of that before they pushed their brother into the spotlight.”
“How was I supposed to know Kent was gonna get himself murdered? Can’t you come up with something constructive, instead of sitting there being a nudnik?”
“Me? What can I do? I’m not a lawyer.”
“Fine then, don’t help.”
“Besides, I just learned at the Student Retention Office that there are no bad ideas, only different ways of learning. Wait, that wasn’t it.”
“Look, maybe by your standards Jonah’s just some slacker pothead loser, but he’s my baby brother. And I know he’s innocent.”
“Emma, I don’t think Jonah’s a—I like Jonah. And of course I want to help, but what do you want me to do?”
“You gotta use that big fat brain of yours and find out who really killed Kent Lovely.”
I held the phone to my ear and poured my coffee one-handed.
“Emma, I’m supposed to find out who killed Kent Lovely? How is that supposed to happen?”
“Aw, come on! You’re smart…”
I opened my mouth to thank Emma for the compliment.
“…and really nosy, and once you start on something you never let it go. You’re like a tick.”
I left the thanks unsaid. “Emma, there are people whose whole job it is to deal with crimes. They’re called police. And if you’re trying to flatter me into doing a favor for you, you’re not doing a very good job.”
I poured the cream and accidentally tipped in too much, forcing me to restore the balance by topping up with more coffee.
“You have good instincts, is what I mean,” Emma said. “An’ you don’t give up.”
“That’s better.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“So you think I have good instincts?” I asked Emma. “Since when?”
“Remember that job candidate? For Associate Vice Dean of Handholding and Nose wiping, whatever that stupid thing was called?”
“Oh, our search committee. How could I forget?”
Emma’s voice was making my ear hurt. I set the phone down on the kitchen counter and switched on the speaker.
“Everyone else on the committee thought he was a great guy,” squawked my phone in Emma’s voice. “No one expected him to fail the background check.”
“Except me.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying.”
“I have a finely tuned creep detector, Emma. That doesn’t make me a murder expert.”
“Just keep your eyes open. Watch an’ listen. That’s all I’m asking.”
I sipped my coffee and stared out the back window at the broad-leafed ti bushes and spiky birds of paradise in my backyard. The grass was looking a little shaggy. I wondered if I could afford to have the lawn guy come by more than once a month.
“Eh, Molly. You there?”
“How about this? When I go in to campus today, I’ll stop by the Accounting Department and see Iker. He might come up with something you and I wouldn’t have thought of.”
“Yeah, okay,” Emma said grumpily. “And happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks for remembering.” I pressed the hang-up button and rubbed my temples.
My office looked shabby, even in the dim flicker of the ancient fluorescent tubes. The particle-board desk hadn’t stood up well in Mahina’s humidity. My bookshelves bowed under the weight of my books. These included several textbooks on basic business writing, a stack of copies of Be a Rock Star in the Classroom!, and a bound copy of my doctoral dissertation, Reproducing and Resisting: Hegemonic Masculinities and Transgressive Alterity in the— actually, it’s kind of a long title. You can look it up if you’re really interested.
I cranked my desk fan up to top speed, plumped down in my chair, and got to work. I had to select a new textbook for my introductory business c
ommunications class. Easy, right? That’s what I’d thought at first. But once the publisher’s reps figured out I had some decision-making power, the complementary desk copies started flooding in. My desk was now heaped with textbooks. They ranged from weighty tomes, certain to strain both backs and bank accounts, to a slim picture book, apparently a top-seller at universities with Division I football.
I pulled up my evaluation spreadsheet. As I reached for the top book on the stack, my chair made a loud crack. I bounced on the seat a few times, but I couldn’t replicate the noise, so I ignored it.
After an hour and a half of reading through Business Communication: A Contemporary Approach and Communicating In The Workplace and BUSINESS COMMUNICATION TODAY!, I was ready for a break. I had read somewhere that sitting for too long was deadly, and if you wanted a chance at a healthy old age you had to get out of your chair now and then. I stood up and twisted my upper body back and forth to loosen up my spine, and went down the hall for a bathroom break.
I returned to my office to find my office phone ringing. Stephen better not be calling to cancel dinner, I thought, but it wasn’t Stephen on the phone. It was my parents calling to wish me a happy birthday.
The first thing they asked—the first thing they always asked—was whether I was okay.
My parents have mixed feelings about my living in Hawaii. They remain convinced that at any moment I might be swept away by a tsunami, blown out to sea in a tropical storm, or engulfed in a river of boiling lava from an active volcano. I don’t know if it has anything to do with my being an only child, but my parents can be a little overprotective.
“Everything’s fine,” I assured them. “Stephen’s taking me out tonight for my birthday. He’s—yes, of course he’s going to show up this time. No, I really can’t. I’m still working. No, it’s true, I’m not getting paid over the summer. Why don’t you two fly out here? Doesn’t everyone want to visit Hawaii? Mom, it’s not true. I mean, I know it’s not Waikiki—Okay, we might be a little off the beaten path, but—oh, they do not look like jungle huts.”