by Frankie Bow
“So they followed you,” Emma said.
“Oh.” Jonah hadn’t thought of that.
“Jonah,” Emma’s voice broke, “When are you ever gonna learn to pay attention—”
A shadow fell across our table.
The police officer was about Jonah’s age, stocky and clean-cut. He pressed his mouth into a line, an expression that said I don’t like this any more than you do.
“Emma Nakamura,” said the officer, “you are under arrest for the murder of Jeffrey Kenston Lovely.”
“Emma?” I said.
“Emma?” Jonah repeated.
“Jeffrey?” Emma exclaimed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Emma’s husband Yoshi made some calls to his MBA friends and quickly got a referral to a top-notch criminal lawyer. Emma and Yoshi had enough equity in their house to make bail, and Emma’s new attorney worked fast. It was close, but they made the five o’clock cutoff, and Emma didn’t have to spend the night in jail. While Yoshi was signing the house over to the bail bondsman, I went to pick Emma up from the police station. Neither of us said much until we were both buckled in to the Thunderbird and on our way back up the hill to Emma’s house.
“It’s great to see the outdoors again,” Emma said.
“Oh yeah, you were on the inside for what, two hours?”
Emma settled back in my turquoise and white vinyl bucket seat and gazed out at the drizzle-soaked street. We were rolling through a neighborhood of rusty metal roofs and gone-to-seed lawns decorated with rusty cars in various states of dismemberment.
“So what happened?” I asked. “I guess it was you they were watching this whole time. Not Jonah. What did they think you had against Kent?”
“Some blabbermouth told the police Kent left his can of energy drink on the buffet table, where you and me were getting our food. So supposably I had the opportunity to poison him.”
“Who would say that?”
Emma shrugged.
“Nice to know how eagerly your coworkers will throw you under the bus the minute they get a chance. So then did anyone analyze the can? Did they find any poison?”
“I dunno.”
I slowed and signaled a right turn, squinting into the dusk. The streetlights weren’t on yet. My headlights lit up the raindrops right in front of them but didn’t do much to illuminate the road.
“So Kent left the can there, and you somehow inserted poison into it on the spot? Do they think you showed up at our faculty retreat wearing your Cesare Borgia poison ring?”
“Yeah. Prosecutor’s an idiot.”
“Probably not the kind of thing you should be saying out loud, Emma.”
“Hey, I’m just repeating what Feinman told me.”
“Did you say Feinman? Alika Feinman? He’s your lawyer?”
“Yeah, nothing but the best, Ah? Yoshi’s pals don’t cut corners.”
“Even I’ve heard of him. Wow. So now what? Is there a court date? Do you have to not leave town? Do you need to report to anyone?”
“I gotta stick around. I’m not supposed to leave the island. I’m just gonna let Feinman handle everything. Man. This sucks so bad.”
“No one has to know about your arrest, right? It’s summer. Most of our students are out of town. And I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“You don’t know Mahina,” Emma said. “The cop that arrested me? Little Matty Ferreira? He’s one of Jonah’s high school buddies.”
“Really?”
“Really. They used to get high together in our dad’s smoking shed back of the house.”
“Well, what do you expect? If you have something called a smoking shed?”
“It’s for smoking meat, Molly.”
I could tell Emma was deeply shaken. She didn’t even bother to punch me in the arm.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Iker Legazpi and I were strolling up the narrow walkway toward the College of Commerce building. I had my eyes on the ground, watching for places where the asphalt had buckled. Already, I’d almost broken my heel off in one of the cracks.
“Boy, fate can really surprise you sometimes.”
“In what way?” Iker turned to me expectantly. I had been considering Emma’s predicament and hadn’t realized I had been talking out loud.
“Oh just, you know, life in general, how things can turn out. Like, uh, I never thought I’d end up working in a business school. Or living in a house right next to a graveyard. Stuff like that.”
I had promised Emma that I would keep quiet about her legal difficulties. Emma’s attorney had arranged for her arrest not to be public. Amazingly, whatever tactics the celebrated Alika Feinman was using were working. The news was absent not only from the papers but from the coconut wireless as well. It didn’t hurt that public interest in Kent Lovely’s death had died down, overtaken by the usual stories of drowning tourists, toddler-gobbling pit bulls, and the new marijuana bill.
“Life did not turn out as expected for Kent Lovely,” Iker said.
“Kent Lovely? Did I say something about Kent Lovely?”
“James four, thirteen. You know this one?”
“Of course. Although off the top of my head, I don’t exactly, um, what does it say again?”
“You may make many plans for yourself, but you do not even know what tomorrow may bring.”
“Right. Yes. I know that one. But you do have to make some plans, right? You can’t just float around in life.”
I moved to the center of the walkway to avoid snagging my blouse on an aggressive growth of strawberry guava.
“We make our plans to do this or that, yes, the Lord willing. However, we are not the masters of our own destiny. As you say, it was not at first your plan to teach here, at Mahina State University, in the College of Commerce.”
“No. I always imagined myself teaching bright English majors, on some stately, leafy campus—”
“And you see.” Iker pushed an encroaching monstera leaf out of the way, and held it to make sure it didn’t spring back and smack me. “Sometimes our prayers are answered in a way we did not expect.”
“Good point,” I said. “This is a leafy campus, no question. Speaking of answered prayers, thank you again for coming to talk to Rodge Cowper with me. I appreciate it.”
“I do this thing for you, Molly,” Iker said. “Although I do not know if it will be a fruitful conversation. And as I have said, I think it is unwise to intrude upon a murder investigation.”
“Oh no, I would never intrude. I’m just wondering if Rodge might have some insights. Which we could then pass along to the police.”
The strains of a hula chant floated out from a building as we passed, the voices clear and strong. Iker and I walked until the voices faded behind us.
“Why is this sudden urgency?” Iker asked. “This is not your kuleana, as they say.”
“It’s not sudden. This terrible thing happened to someone in our campus community. The person who did it is still out there, and no one knows who’s next.” And my best friend was just arrested for this murder, I didn’t add.
The air conditioning in the College of Commerce building was laboring under the load of Mahina’s summer humidity. It was eking out the bare minimum of cold air, and at the same time releasing a sour stench, which permeated the building. I waited until Iker wasn’t looking, and then pulled my blouse away from my chest and shook the fabric to get air circulating next to my skin.
“Molly,” Serena called out as we passed by the main office. “Iker. Spring semester evals, ah? In your mailboxes.”
I stopped and laid a hand on Iker’s arm.
“Iker, that’s it. We can use our student evaluations. They’re a perfect conversation starter.”
I hurried in to the office and retrieved the manila envelopes from my cubby, leaving the rest of my mail for another time. As Iker calmly collected his own envelopes, I tried to ignore the familiar dread welling up in my stomach. Student evaluation season was nerve-racking for me.
Our students used the anonymous end-of-semester evaluations to comment on their professors’ physical appearance, suitability for continued employment, and personal appeal. Thanks to our student evaluation process, I knew some of my students hated my hairstyle, others deemed me a “PILF,” and a surprising number seemed to have me confused with someone who teaches in the Chemistry Department. I was never able to work out how this information was supposed to help me improve my teaching.
As we made our way down the hall, Iker worked open one of his envelopes without tearing the flap. He began leafing placidly through his evaluations as we neared Rodge’s office.
“How’s it look?” I asked him.
“It is a curious thing. This practice of the student evaluation. The student who works hard, this student is satisfied and gives high marks on this form. The one who has not been to class, who has never visited me in my office, this is the one who now has many things to say on this little paper. There is a proverb. I cannot recall it at the moment.”
“Oh, I know which one you mean. The lunatics have taken over the asylum.”
“No, it is not that one. Ah, yes. I recall it. Beware of women with beards and men without beards.”
“I think you’ll have to explain that one to me later.” We had arrived at Rodge’s office. The door was propped open, indicating Rodge was present and taking visitors.
“Please explain to me this plan again,” Iker whispered. “What are we doing with these evaluations?”
“They’re an icebreaker, to get the conversation going. This gives us a plausible excuse to drop in on Rodge, and you can snoop around his office for ill-gotten loot.”
Iker stared at me, a horrified expression on his baby face.
“I do not think it is right that I snoop.”
“Not snoop,” I corrected myself. “That was the wrong word. Forget I said it. We’ll just talk to Rodge. Get an idea of what kind of person Kent Lovely was, and what he might have been up to. Of course if you happen to see anything out of place in Rodge’s office, you can make a mental note of it.”
“Will Roger permit this?”
“All you have to do is observe,” I said. “Just what you’d normally do. Rodge may not have gotten the teaching award, but he’s still a very popular teacher. So it would be perfectly natural for you and me to stop by his office for some helpful advice. I’ll ask him for tips on how to improve my performance in the classroom, and that’ll give you some time to—”
“But Roger Cowper is not a good teacher,” Iker exclaimed. I made frantic shushing gestures, and Iker lowered his voice.
“He gives an A to every student,” Iker whispered. “Even the very stupid ones.”
“We’re not supposed to say the S-word, Iker. It’s ‘kinesthetic learner.’ Come on, let’s get this over with.”
I knocked on Rodge’s door frame.
“Come,” commanded Rodge’s booze-roughened voice. I pushed the door open, and we entered the dark office.
“Hey. Molly Wolly Doodle.” Rodge leaned back in his chair. “Iker the Biker. Ya here to count some beans? Come on in.”
The name “Iker” rhymes with “beaker,” not “biker.” Rodge should know better. Also, if there’s one thing I know about accountants (and one thing is about all I do know) it’s that they hate to be called bean-counters. Iker seemed much less worried about invading Rodge’s privacy now. He was looking around the office and mentally cataloging everything.
Rodge’s office was so dim it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Like everyone else in our building, Rodge had had two of the four fluorescent tubes removed from his light fixture. Then, to provide “atmosphere,” Rodge had tacked a red and orange paisley cloth over the whole thing.
Rodge already had his student evaluations out of their envelopes and spread all over his desk. Now with Kent gone, I wondered whether these little paper affirmations were Rodge’s only friends. Wow, how maudlin. And probably not even true. No doubt Rodge had plenty of friends. Focus, Molly.
“I see you got your evals,” I said. “I just got mine too.”
“And I as well,” Iker added.
“It’s the best part of the semester.” Rodge said. “This is when you know it’s all worthwhile.”
“Sure,” I said. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, too.”
“Come on, guys. Siddown. Enjoy the weather.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Rodge’s futon couch was a bottom-of-the-line model, a faded red mattress folded over a black powder-coated frame. As soon as I sat down, I could feel the metal rail through the thin cushion. Iker, wisely, remained standing.
“You have a paper shredder in your office?” I asked.
“It’s a portable air conditioner. Came in last week, just in time for the heat wave.”
“Oh. That’s why it’s so nice and cool in here.”
“But Roger,” Iker said, “we have been asked to save money on our energy costs. Such a machine must be very expensive to run.”
“I don’t think the administration is too worried about the A/C costs, Iker. Have you been up to the Student Retention Office?”
“No kidding,” Rodge chimed in. “Feels like a morgue up there.”
“So Rodge, where are you draining the water?”
“No need. This bad boy has dripless condensation removal.”
“I didn’t know that was an option. You know, I’ve been looking at portable air conditioners, but I thought I’d have to hang the drip hose in the trash can and empty it out in the bathroom every night.”
“Nah. This is real low maintenance. Just evaporates.”
Iker stood quietly, a faintly disapproving expression on his round face. I’d have to keep this conversation going by myself.
“Something’s different about your cabinet,” I said.
The top of Rodge’s wooden cabinet was crowded with wooden bowls, figurines, and glass jars, as always, but something had changed.
“Nah. It’s the same old same old. Guess it’s about time for me to go traveling again soon, add a few things to my collection.”
“Well that’s new, right? The little statue. It’s cute.” I stood, went over to the cabinet, and picked the figurine up without thinking. “Are these acrobats?”
I took a closer look and set it down quickly. Now what? Right, stick to the original plan. Ask about student evaluations.
“So, those are your student evaluations? You don’t mind if I take a look, do you?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
I took another look at Rodge’s curio cabinet. It wasn’t just the new figurine. Something else was different. Rodge gathered his evaluations into a stack and handed them to me, and I sat back down on the uncomfortable sofa.
“Cool prof,” I read. “Fun and easy. Best class. Wow, this looks great, Rodge.”
“Well, it’s all about the students. Hey Iker, you’re making me nervous standing there. Ya wanna sit down?”
“I am comfortable in the standing position,” Iker said evenly.
“Actually, speaking of teaching evals, I was wondering if you had any tips for me. As far as teaching?”
“I haven’t even had time to get through all of my own evals yet. There are so many of them. You know they had to move my class into the big classroom, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “I heard.”
“And even after raising the course cap to the room capacity, my Human Potential class still has the longest waiting list on campus.”
“That’s great, Rodge.” My gaze wandered back to the top of Rodge’s curio cabinet. The wooden bowls were there, along with the collection of voluptuous Shiva statues, and some other items I would rather not examine too closely.
Then I realized what wasn’t there. The bottle of pills, with the cheongsam-clad temptress on the label, was gone.
“Your turn, Molly,” Rodge said.” I showed you mine, now you show me yours!”
“What?”
“Your student eval
s.”
“Oh. Right. I don’t usually like reading these on an empty liver, but sure. Here we go.”
Iker was pacing behind me. I wondered if he was making note of important details in Rodge’s office, or just waiting for me to finish. I tore open the envelope and pulled out the evaluation forms. The first one was filled in with an angry black scrawl.
“Let’s see—nope, can’t read that one out loud. How about this one? ‘Way to hard she should chill this isn’t harverd.’ Why do they talk about me in the third person? They know I read these. I tell them that every time. Here’s another one. ‘Doesnt she know we got stuff to do she expects us to do work at home.’”
“Sounds like you’re giving ’em homework,” Rodge said.
“How much homework do you give them? Say, in an average week?”
“Oh, I don’t really give graded assignments, per se.”
“So the whole grade is the midterm and the final?”
“I don’t really do midterms or finals either.”
“You can do that? So what do you tell them your grading policy is?”
“I just tell them that if they make a decent effort, they’ll get an A. That way they don’t get fixated on grades. It’s really improved the mood in the classroom.”
“I can imagine.”
“It makes teaching fun again when you don’t have to worry about the bureaucratic stuff, like tests, and writing assignments, and textbooks.”
The “bureaucratic stuff” was what the rest of us spent our time and effort on so our students could get some kind of real education. While we were doing the heavy lifting, Rodge conducted supervised play time.
I couldn’t let my annoyance show, though. I had to keep up the facade of collegiality.
“Aw Molly, don’t give me that look. Today’s student is different from you and I. Linda told me that. You know Linda from the Student Retention Office? Sharp lady.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know Linda.”
I heard Iker sigh heavily.
“Anyhoo.” Rodge seemed eager to direct the conversation away from his shortcomings and back to mine. “What’s the next one say?”