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

  “He did get some nice goodies for himself.” Tatsuya twisted a chunk of my hair and pinned it out of the way. “A top-of-the-line massage chair. I was pricing those, thinking maybe I’d get one for my shop. They’re quite expensive.”

  “You know about the massage chair?”

  “I read about it in Island Confidential,” Tatsuya said.

  “I’m all for a healthy, adversarial press,” I said. “But this ‘whistleblower loses job’ piece in Island Confidential makes the whole university look bad. What if someone like Emma’s grouchy neighbor reads it and writes an angry letter to his state senator? They’ll use it as an excuse to cut our budget again. And then we’ll ask permission to raise tuition to make up for our reduced budget, and everyone will scream about the rising cost of tuition, and then we’ll probably get cut again, just to punish us for asking.”

  “You know, Molly, I’m frankly surprised that Jonah Nakamura is a suspect at all. Whistleblower or no. I’d be looking for a jealous husband.”

  “You heard that Jonah Nakamura is a suspect?”

  “That’s what everyone is saying.”

  This was all Emma’s fault. If she hadn’t called in that tip to Island Confidential, that article wouldn’t have been published the day of Kent’s death, and no one would even be looking at Jonah. Of course Emma would never blame herself for this. Or anything.

  “You don’t think Jonah is guilty, though?”

  “I don’t believe Jonah did it.” Tatsuya shook his head. “I know the family, you see. Jonah’s always been a nice boy.”

  “I can’t see Jonah as a murderer either. He’s too easygoing. And blackmail? If someone ever tried to blackmail Jonah, he’d just say, ‘Whatever, dude.’”

  “Perhaps Kent was about to blow the whistle on someone himself. Trudy thinks Kent must have had a co-conspirator. Kent was a brash man, and large-scale embezzlement takes careful planning.”

  “Very true. Especially with our university’s byzantine procurement system.”

  “Trudy is very sensitive to the whole whistleblower situation,” Tatsuya said.

  “Really? Has she ever had to report something?”

  “Oh, yes. She had a situation last year with the Mahina Arts Alliance. She’s on the board, you know.” Tatsuya snipped, pulled a strand of hair straight, frowned, and snipped a bit more. It looked like he wasn’t doing much, but I knew I’d be happy with the result. All I’d have to do was shake my head, and the curls would bounce right into place. “Someone in one of the dance groups received a portion of a grant the Arts Alliance had obtained, and it turned out they were misusing the money. I can’t tell you the details, but it was quite inappropriate. And it was a children’s performance troupe, no less. It put Trudy in an extremely awkward position.”

  “So she reported it?”

  “Yes, she did. After much agonizing, I must say. But it was so unpleasant. You’d think they would be grateful, but it was just the opposite. They felt she was making them do a lot of extra work and calling their judgment into question. Nobody appreciated it. At all.”

  “That sounds exactly like what happened to Jonah when he tried to report Kent Lovely. The administration was required to follow up on Jonah’s complaint, and they did, but it was bare minimum. It seems like Marshall—I mean the administration—wanted to wrap up the investigation as quickly as possible, without actually finding anything.”

  “Well,” Tatsuya said, “enough about that depressing subject. What are your birthday plans?”

  “Stephen’s coming over at six. I left the planning up to him, but I think we’re going to Sprezzatura. I’m not sure. It’s going to be a surprise.”

  “Well,” Tatsuya looked dubious. “Let’s hope it’s a good surprise.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Surprise!

  Stephen Park didn’t show. Six o’clock came and went, followed by seven, and then eight.

  By nine o’clock, I decided I had waited long enough for Stephen. I found my rice-bag tote and filled it with the wine bottles from Galimba’s Bargain Boyz. Then I hopped into the Thunderbird and started up the hill to Emma’s house.

  Emma opened the door and stared at me. Then she stepped back to get a better look.

  “Nah. You got a beehive? I haven’t seen one of those since I was a kid, when Mrs. Saito used to come over and babysit us. People still know how to do beehives?”

  “Tatsuya did it. Emma, this bag is heavy.”

  “Oh yah, come in. What’d you get?”

  “The wine I bought today at Galimba’s Bargain Boyz. All of it.”

  I slipped off my platform shoes and followed Emma into her darkened house.

  “So Stephen flake out on you again?”

  “I assume that’s a rhetorical question. Why are all your lights out?”

  “Termite night, that’s why.”

  “What night?”

  “Termites are swarming. They’re attracted to the light. Just give ’em another few minutes. They’re gonna be gone soon.”

  The glow from the digital clocks on the microwave, coffee maker and stove let me see where I was going, sort of. I set my bag on the kitchen table and pulled out a bottle. Emma disappeared into the darkness.

  “Just a minute.” I heard Emma’s disembodied voice. “Gonna round up some wine glasses and a corkscrew.”

  “This one’s a screw top.” I twisted it open with a pop. “So why do you go through all this turning off the lights for termites? Can’t you just get an exterminator?”

  “Termites don’t call ahead when they decide to swarm.” Emma’s voice floated in the dark. “They just do it on warm nights like this one. There’s probably some down at your house too right now.”

  “I didn’t notice anything swarming at my house. But I was a little preoccupied.”

  “Cannot let ’em start a new colony near your house. They’ll start eating it from the inside out, an’ you won’t even know it until your cabinets start falling off the wall.”

  Emma returned to the kitchen table with two coffee mugs. I was able to see well enough to pour wine into them. We sat and drank quietly in the dark. I didn’t want to talk about it, and Emma wisely refrained from I-told-you-so’s.

  “Where’s Yoshi?” I asked, finally.

  “I dunno. Maybe taking a nap. He just got back from Honolulu a couple hours ago.”

  “Oh, the MBA networking thing? Why didn’t you go? Cornell’s your alma mater, too.”

  “I got a PhD,” Emma said. “Not an MBA. Different worlds. PhDs think, MBAs drink.”

  “Some of us can do both.”

  Emma lifted her mug and tapped it against mine.

  “I can’t stand how Yoshi gets around those guys. Bad enough when he complains to me about living here. But when he’s with his MBA buddies, he goes on and on as if he’s stuck living in a third-world country. Like it’s the worst tragedy in the world that he can’t wear his nice wool suits ’cause it’s too hot and humid.”

  “He didn’t grow up in Hawaii?”

  “Him? Nah. Yoshi is the biggest katonk that ever katonked. Oh good. I think the termites are gone now.”

  Emma got up and switched on the lights.

  “The biggest what that ever what? What was that word?”

  “Katonk. Mainland Japanese. Cause they’re so ‘square,’ when they roll along they make a sound like katonk, katonk.”

  Emma took the next bottle of wine out of my shopping bag. We’d already emptied the first one.

  “Well that’s it,” I said. “I’m done.”

  “Really?” Emma applied the corkscrew and yanked the cork out with a loud pop. “What a lightweight. I’m just getting started.”

  “I mean with Stephen. I’m done with Stephen.”

  “Yeah, I heard that one before. You’re gonna be all strong until Stephen calls with some story about how he was so busy and he lost track of time, and you’re gonna drop everything to go be with him.”

  Emma tipped the wine bottle into
my mug. It was bright yellow, decorated with some kind of green cartoon microbe. It looked like something she got for free at one of her conferences.

  “Then he’s going to say oh, he’s so sorry and can he please make it up to you, and before you know it, you’ll be making excuses for him.”

  “That’s horrible, Emma.” I blinked back tears. “You make me sound so pathetic.”

  “Well, sorry about that.” She was as pitiless as a nurse who had just administered a painful, but necessary, injection.

  “And the worst part is, you’re right.”

  “Listen, Molly, I know what I’m talking about—Wait, did you just say I’m right?”

  “Yes. You’re right. Stephen will call, and he’ll be all, you don’t understand, Molly, there are so many people who want things from me. The creative mind doesn’t work on a schedule. Ordinary peoples’ rules shouldn’t apply to me, because Art. Like I’m not creative, and no one ever wants anything from me. Urghh. Why do I tolerate it? I am so, what’s the word?”

  “Your glass is almost empty.” Emma filled it right back up. “Listen, Molly. You didn’t do anything wrong. This is Stephen’s fault, not yours.”

  “Naïve. That’s the word I was looking for. I’m so naïve.”

  “You do give people the benefit of the doubt.”

  “You really think so? I mean, I do try to—”

  “Yeah, that’s your big mistake.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Alone on my birthday.” I sighed. “For someone who’s supposedly smart, I’m feeling pretty dumb right now.”

  “Alone? Thanks a lot. So what am I, chopped liver?”

  “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. Boyfriend-less. I’m boyfriend-less on my birthday. That’s what I was trying to say.”

  “Anyway, you are smart. In some ways. Look at what happened with the job candidate. You tried to convince the committee to do the background check before we made the offer.”

  “But no one on the search committee believed me until it actually happened.”

  “Betty and me believed you.” Emma said. “But HR wouldn’t let us do it. And now we gotta reconvene the committee and meet over the summer. ’Cause it’s soooo important to have another associate vice-dean of student enabling and appeasement.”

  “Well, thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

  “Oh, and what about the cheaters you busted?”

  “The cheaters?”

  I ran my finger over the top of the row of wine bottles in front of me, left to right. Empty, empty, on its way to being empty, still sealed. I was starting to forget why I’d been upset in the first place. Which I suppose was the point.

  “Remember, Molly? The exit exam in your college? You were the one who figured out who was cheating, and how they were doing it.”

  “Oh, yeah. I do remember.”

  “See?” Emma gave me an encouraging shove. “Smart, you.”

  “But no one appreciated it.” I watched Emma refill my mug, again. How many glasses was this? “We had to go back and fail all the cheaters. Destroyed our pass rates for the semester.”

  “Oh yah. Remember how fast Linda hopped on her broom and flew down from the Student Retention Office to complain to your dean? Anyway, who cares about them? They’re all idiots. Especially Stephen Park. Eh, Happy Birthday Molly.”

  “Happy birthday to me,” I repeated, and reached for my glass. A bell tone sounded from inside my purse. I pulled out my phone.

  “Stephen sent a text. Rehearsal running late. Call later. See? I knew there was a perfectly good explanation. I’ll just text him back—”

  Emma snatched the phone out of my hand.

  “Do not text him back right away like you’ve been waiting by the phone for the last three hours. You gotta stop being such a schnook.”

  I attempted to grab the phone back, but my heart wasn’t in it. Neither, by that point, was my hand-eye coordination.

  “Nah, nah, nah. Don’t even. We need reinforcements. Gotta keep you distracted. Yoshi,” Emma bellowed. “Jonah. Wanna come say hi to Molly?”

  As the echoes died away, I heard a door open, and Jonah came into the kitchen. Emma’s baby brother is tall, skinny, and quiet. In other words, pretty much the opposite of Emma.

  “Hi Jonah,” I chirped, not wanting to inflict my grouchiness on an innocent bystander. He nodded greeting, opened the fridge, got himself a bottle of beer, and sat down at the table with us.

  I wondered what to say next. What’s the tactful way to open a conversation with someone who’s suspected of murder? The best I could come up with was, “So. How are guitar lessons going?”

  Jonah quietly considered my question for what seemed like a long time.

  “Okay,” he finally said to his beer.

  I used to hear people described as “painfully shy,” and had always assumed the pain was experienced by the shy person. Not necessarily so, I realize every time I try to make conversation with Jonah.

  “Molly brought some wine,” Emma said. “You should try some.”

  She turned the bottle to show Jonah the label.

  “Aw man, nah.” Jonah scooted his chair back, his eyes wide with fear. “Those half man-half horse things creep me out. Good thing they’re extinct.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Emma chided him. “This? It’s just a little picture of a scimitar.”

  “That’s a centaur,” I said. “Not a scimitar. A scimitar is a curved sword.”

  “No it’s not.” Emma lifted the bottle to show me. “Does this look like a curved sword to you?”

  “You’re right. That looks nothing like a curved sword. Is there any more left in that bottle?”

  “Just a little. Hey, Molly, speaking of guitar lessons, didn’t you used to play guitar?”

  “A long time ago. In grad school.”

  “What was the name of your band again? It was something kinda dirty, yah?”

  “I forget. Hey, I’ll take the last of that ‘scimitar’ wine.” I pushed my cup in Emma’s direction.

  “Molly, you should take guitar lessons from Jonah. He’s got extra space in his schedule now after the murder, and your social life isn’t gonna be taking up too much time now, right? Not after tonight.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out.” Emma hadn’t done anything about my empty glass, so I reached over, picked up the wine bottle and tipped the last few drops into my cup.

  “If you wanna start lessons, it’s cool,” Jonah said to his beer. “I got some times available.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe someday. I’m sure you’re a really good teacher, Jonah, but it would be a lot for me to take on right now.”

  “No worries,” Jonah said, clearly not going for the hard sell.

  Emma opened the next bottle. Jonah helped himself to another beer. I should take up guitar again, I thought. Someday.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I did manage to get myself to campus on time the next morning, although I wasn’t exactly feeling in A-plus condition. At first, I wondered where my chair was. Then I remembered buying the yoga ball.

  I pulled the uninflated ball out of its box, along with the cheap plastic foot pump. It took a while to pump the ball up, and I got a pretty good quadricep workout while I was at it. When I thought I had done enough inflating, I positioned myself over the ball and then carefully lowered myself onto it. The ball was still too soft. By the time I stopped sinking into it, I was completely hidden behind the pile of textbooks on my desk.

  I hooked up the foot pump again, stomped air into the ball until it seemed on the verge of popping, then sat down again. Better. I bounced on it a few times, which was kind of fun until I started to feel seasick. Sitting on a yoga ball wasn’t so bad. And I’d be getting a workout just by sitting at my desk.

  I still had a few minutes before class started. I decided to skip my usual walk up to the cafeteria. My stomach was not up to confronting our cafeteria coffee.

  Stephen hadn’t made any attempt to cont
act me after last night’s text. I wondered if he was okay. I had just enough time to give him a quick call, to make sure he was safe and not lying in a hospital bed or something. I picked up my office phone and dialed his number, but just as it started to ring, I heard a knock on my door. I replaced the receiver quickly.

  “Come in.”

  The twins pushed into my office. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt. She sported a black tank top under denim overalls. They made me think of human salt-and-pepper shakers.

  “Eh, Miss,” the girl said, “we was wondering if we get class today?”

  “Of course. Are you asking because of Monday’s incident? I can make a request for counselors to come in—”

  “Nah, nah, nah, not that,” the boy shook his head. “’Cause you and Park.”

  I glanced guiltily at my office phone.

  “I’m sorry. Who?”

  “Stephen Park,” the girl explained. “Professor Park from the Theater Department. Stood you up last night. Terrible, that thing.”

  “How on earth did you—”

  “If you gotta take some personal time off from teaching, it’s okay,” the boy assured me. “We understand.”

  The girl nodded solemnly. “Rejection literally hurts, that’s how come they call it heartbreak. We learned that in our Psych class.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but class is not cancelled.”

  “You get our papers graded yet?” the girl asked.

  “They’re not quite finished.” This was technically true. Also true: I hadn’t even started. Most people don’t realize how mentally taxing grading is. Not only do you have to be painstakingly consistent, but going through student papers can be a dispiriting reality check on how effective you’ve been as a teacher.

  “That classroom’s kinda stink, you know,” said the boy. “Probably get some kinda bad stuff in the air or something. Maybe we should cancel class for health reasons.”

  “Well, that’s the room they gave us. Maybe we can try leaving the windows open today. If it starts raining we’ll just move away from the windows. Oh, and if you haven’t finished today’s assignment, now might be a good time to put the finishing touches on it. We still have a few minutes before class starts.”