by Frankie Bow
The door jingled as another customer came in, a rangy fiftyish man with shoulder-length magenta hair, black jeans, and a tight black t-shirt. He shook out his wet umbrella onto Fujioka’s grimy linoleum floor and looked around impatiently.
“Oh, sorry,” Margaret said. “I have to go help this customer. I’m here by myself right now.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “If you have a chance, though, could you let me or Iker, I mean Professor Legazpi know? Here’s my number.” I handed her one of my university business cards. She pocketed it and rushed off to tend to her customer. With his skinny, hairy arms, he reminded me of a tarantula. Only later did I realize who he was: a famous guitarist—you’d recognize his name—who had bought a house and settled into semi-retirement nearby.
“Iker,” I said, “I think we might be onto something here. This place is full of opportunities to spend money. Look at this.”
I led Iker along the wall display of acoustic guitars, electric guitars, and ukuleles.
Iker nodded glumly.
“And what about that last phone call from Kent and Jonah’s office. Remember? To Linda Wilson? In the Student Retention Office? Except it wasn’t her office phone?”
We reached the door and paused. It was raining hard outside.
“I didn’t bring an umbrella,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Nor I. We will wait.”
“The College of Arts and Sciences records don’t have the whole story. We need to see the Student Retention Office purchase records too.”
“I believe it would be unwise to annoy Marshall Dixon,” Iker said. “Even more so after the incident with Mister Kojima. Perhaps there is an innocent explanation for the phone call. Perhaps Kent was telephoning Linda about the teaching award.”
“Okay, but if it was work related, why was he calling her personal number?”
“Molly, a telephone call may be very innocent. I must point out you have just given your telephone number to Margaret Adams.”
“But it was my work number.”
“Does your work number not forward to your personal telephone when you are away from your office? Perhaps Linda has also set her telephone in this way, as you have.”
“Fine. I still wonder why Kent was doing calling Linda at all. Iker, it was the last phone call from his office. It must mean something. And did you hear what Margaret said about how the owner of the store always had to handle Kent’s purchase orders?”
Iker didn’t answer. We watched through the glass door as sheets of rain swept across the parking lot.
“I have an idea, Iker. You know, the event tomorrow we’re all supposed to attend, where they’re going to unveil the remodeled classroom? Marshall Dixon should be there. Maybe I’ll just ask her about it there, if you don’t want to.”
Iker gave me a long, considering look.
“Molly, you say Marshall Dixon wears a watch like this one.”
“Correct.”
“What answer do you think we will find to this puzzle? Do you propose to accuse Doctor Dixon of participating in a misappropriation of funds?”
“Well, I don’t think she deliberately misappropriated anything.”
“I have learned if one asks the question, one must be prepared to hear the answer. Perhaps there are answers you do not wish to know.”
“No, Iker. There’s nothing I do not wish to know. I do want to know the truth.”
“There are discrepancies in the purchases of laboratory supplies for the Biology Department,” Iker said. “Do you wish for us to investigate those as well?”
“Well I don’t know if we need to go that far—”
“You see, sometimes we do not wish to have every question answered.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Emma knocked on my office door the next morning, ten minutes before the start of the search committee meeting. I quickly shut down my computer. I had been doing an online search for Rodge’s missing potency pills. I knew our campus IT guy could see all the traffic on our network, but I wasn’t worried. The great thing about being a business communication professor was that I could justify just about any online shopping expedition by explaining that I was researching internet marketing tactics for my class. What I had found was that far from being deadly, most of the products were merely ineffective.
“Are you coming to the grand opening later?” I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder.
“Of what?”
“Our new classroom.”
“You mean the construction mess downstairs? They’re done already?”
“Today is the big reveal. Oh, I hope they put in working air conditioning.”
“Dream on,” Emma said. “Your whole building’s AC is totally bus’ up. They’re not gonna fix it for just one classroom.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Well, maybe they replaced those rotted out ceiling tiles.”
Emma gave me a “yeah, right” look.
“Or at least cleaned the betel nut spit stains off the floor,” I said.
I pulled my office door shut to make sure it was locked. Emma and I started down the dim hallway.
“Molly, how come your college got a remodeled classroom anyway? You know my teaching lab’s falling apart. I got less working microscopes every year and no replacements.”
We exited the College of Commerce building and headed up the overgrown walkway. I shielded my eyes against the sudden sunshine.
“Be careful what you wish for, Emma. I’m not sure you want the Student Retention Office messing with your lab. Especially not while Linda’s in charge. The woman can hold a grudge.”
“Yah, I know I probably shouldn’t have cc-d everyone on that email. But seriously, how could Linda not know the difference between Gregor Mendel and Josef Mengele?”
Emma pushed open the door of the classroom. Down in the front, Candidate Number Two was already making his presentation.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“The presentation started already,” Emma stage-whispered to me. “Shh.”
Pat Flanagan was sitting alone in the back row. I pushed ahead of Emma and sat right next to him. Instead of sitting next to me, Emma squeezed by me, then by Pat, and sat down on his other side.
For his job talk, the second finalist for the position of Associate Dean of Learning Process Improvement was conducting a question and answer session. This was not the usual Q&A. The candidate both posed the questions and answered them.
“I interpret the question differently,” the candidate was saying, apparently in rebuttal to himself. “It seems to me essential to reframe the question to problematize the inherent assumption therein that there is such a thing as a ‘correct’ answer, when the construct of the job interview, an institutionally sanctioned act, carries with it an implicit system of legitimation or exclusion…”
Emma nudged me. “I don’t think Linda’s gonna go for this one. He’s using way too many big words.”
“Don’t be too sure. This guy has a lot of common ground with the Student Retention Office. Notice how he’s making quote marks with his fingers every time he says the word knowledge. Doesn’t it sound a lot like, ‘There’s no such thing as a wrong answer, only different ways of knowing?’”
“Molly’s right about the common ground,” Pat said. “It’s at the corner of Grading is Inherently Hegemonic and Trophies for Everyone.”
“Ladies? Patrick?”
Linda was twisted around in her seat, glaring at us from the front row.
“Did you have a question for Dr. Barnes?”
We all shook our heads. Pat kept his head down and typed on his laptop.
“No class participation points for you two,” Pat muttered.
When the presentation was over, the candidate was whisked away to his next appointment. Betty Jackson rushed off to her stats class, and Pat, Emma and I headed to the cafeteria.
“So are you two gonna vote for him?” Emma asked.
“Why would we?” I asked.
“Cause you’re al
l English majors?”
“You think we have some kind of disciplinary loyalty or something?” Pat said.
“Seriously Emma, where did you get that idea?”
“Why is there so much infighting in the English Department?” Pat asked. “I’m kind of out of it ’cause I’m a part-timer, thankfully. It doesn’t sound like you guys over in College of Commerce are constantly at each other’s throats.”
“Our mutual hostility is pretty well repressed,” I agreed.
“Biology’s pretty stable,” Emma said. “Know why? ’Cause we’re scientists. We’re not ruled by emotion.”
“Nice try, Emma,” I said. “Two words: Physics Department.”
We had reached the cafeteria’s double glass doors. Pat reached out a long arm and pulled the door open for us.
“You can’t count the Physics Department.” Emma tapped her temple as she walked into the cafeteria. “They’re meshuggah.”
We purchased our lunches and reassembled at a table in the corner. I had the pasta special. Emma had decided to roll the dice on a bento box, and Pat had selected the daily vegetarian option.
“So Emma.” Pat dipped a plastic spoon into a bilious-looking carrot soup. “Heard you got arrested.”
“Molly, you blabbermouth.” Emma glared at me.
“Me? I didn’t say anything.”
“Don’t blame Molly,” Pat said. “Someone I know saw you getting processed down at the station. Anyway, it’s out on the coconut wireless now. So. Did you do it?”
I was stunned, both by Pat’s directness and by the revelation that Emma’s big secret was out. Emma, too, seemed taken aback at first, but she recovered quickly. She fired off a litany of unflattering (and unprintable) assessments of Pat’s loyalty, friendship, character, ancestry, and general value as a human being.
“And no,” she concluded, “I did not ‘do it’.”
Pat, thick-skinned crime reporter, remained unfazed.
“I still can’t figure out what they think they have on you,” he said mildly. “What would Kent’s toxicology tests have turned up to point to you?”
“How should I know? My lawyer’s already asked them to hand over—why am I even answering this? Molly, do you believe he’s asking me this?”
Thankfully, my phone rang at that moment, saving me from having to choose sides.
“You gonna get it?” Pat asked.
“Oh, nah, she’s gotta make ’em wait,” Emma said maliciously. “It might be Stephen calling.”
It was not Stephen. It was someone calling from the Student Retention Office, summoning me to a meeting with Linda. The central scheduling program showed I was not currently in a class or a meeting, so I was expected to report to the SRO immediately.
“What did you do now?” Emma asked when I’d hung up.
“I don’t know. They want to see me right away. We were just in the search committee meeting together. I don’t know why she couldn’t have just told me then.”
“Whoa,” Pat said. “Summoned by the Student Retention Office? What leprechaun did you kick to have such bad luck?”
“I bet it’s about your online reviews,” Emma said. “You been getting some really weird ones.”
“Oh, yeah, about those—” Pat began.
Emma pulled my plate of spaghetti toward her. “You’re not gonna need this if you’re going up to the Student Retention Office. They probably don’t let you have food in there, yah?”
I gazed sadly at the plate. It was only cafeteria spaghetti, overcooked, under-sauced, and so soggy that it sat in a pool of pink water. But I was hungry, and had been looking forward to eating it.
“Anyways,” Emma said, “you know the entrance to their lair is paved with the bones of disobedient faculty members, right? So watch your step, Molly.”
“Good luck,” Pat added.
They started digging into my waterlogged spaghetti.
“Hurry,” Emma said. “You don’t wanna be late. Eh, you’re not missing much. Spaghetti’s not so good.”
The receptionist pulled her white sweater tight against the cold and led me through a maze of hallways, depositing me in a quiet room near the back of the Student Retention Office complex. It was both cozy and luxurious, with a gleaming maple floor and vintage-style koa furniture. I sat down on a carved koa loveseat. Its floral cushions were upholstered in a red, green, and tan retro floral print. Across from me, on the other side of the coffee table, was a matching couch. One of these days I’d buy something as nice as this for my house, to replace my cheap leather living room set from Balusteros World of Furniture.
On the koa coffee table lay a stack of about a dozen copies of Be a Rock Star in the Classroom! There were no bookshelves, just a low putty-colored file cabinet against the wall. I wondered what was inside it. Probably thousands more copies of Be a Rock Star in the Classroom!
Ten minutes went by, and then twenty. Just as I decided they had forgotten about me, Linda swept into the room, followed by her protégé/henchperson Kathy. They seated themselves on the couch opposite me.
I still had no idea why I had been summoned, or what I had done wrong. I braced myself, expecting the worst.
To my amazement, Linda and Kathy had good news. It was about Bret Lampson, my troubled student. He would not be returning to Mahina State University. He and his shark-tooth club would be withdrawing from summer session to focus on his “personal issues.”
“I’m relieved,” I said. “And happy for him. It’s the best solution for everyone. Thank you so much for letting me know. So what happens when he comes back in the fall?”
Linda and Kathy exchanged a look.
“Bret won’t be coming back,” Linda said. “He’ll be off-island for the foreseeable future.”
“He’s in California,” Kathy added. “He’s enrolling in a long-term residential program there.”
“Well, I’m delighted to hear he’ll be getting the help he needs.”
“Yes, this program sounds perfect for him,” Linda said. “It’s in a little town near the coast. I believe it was a Spanish-sounding name. What was it, Kathy?”
“It was a hospital of some kind,” Kathy said. “I think it began with the letter A.”
“Not Atascadero State Hospital?”
“Yes,” Kathy’s tone was encouraging. “That sounds right.”
“Atascadero State Hospital for the Criminally Insane?”
Linda picked up a copy of Be a Rock Star in the Classroom from the top of the stack and offered it to me.
“You’ll find this tremendously helpful in improving your teaching,” Linda said.
“You gave me a copy a few days ago,” I said.
“I know, but we have to distribute all of them by—” Kathy started.
“Perhaps you can share this with a colleague,” Linda interrupted.
“Sure.” I took the booklet from Linda. “My pleasure. Thank you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
When I got back to my office, I found Emma sitting in the good visitor chair, reading a journal.
“Emma, how did you get into my office?”
Emma didn’t look up. “Pat and me found your door unlocked.”
“I left my door unlocked? Where’s Pat then?”
“He hadda leave. I thought I’d hang out for a while. My students would never think of looking for me here.”
“Perfect. I have a present for you.”
I handed her the copy of Be a Rock Star in the Classroom! and settled onto my yoga ball chair.
“Aw, another copy of Be a Rock Star in the Classroom!? Molly, you shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t mention it. Hey, do you think I look any thinner since I’ve been sitting on this ball?”
“What?”
“Yeah, I haven’t noticed any difference either.”
“Eh, so what did the Student Retention Office want?”
“It was good news, for a change.” I related my conversation with Kathy and Linda.
“H
ow’d they let someone like that on a college campus to begin with? Are we so desperate for tuition money? It was a rhetorical question, so no need answer.”
I noticed a white spot on the faux walnut grain of my desk. I pulled the vodka bottle out of my bottom drawer, sprayed the spot, and wiped away the remains.
“Eh, what, Molly? Wasting vodka like that?”
“I’m not wasting anything. I was just keeping my desk clea—”
Emma grabbed the bottle from me and aimed a few squirts of vodka into her mouth. I grabbed the bottle back and dropped it into the drawer.
“I can’t let you ingest this stuff, Emma. It’s basically cleaning fluid. Listen, I have to ask you something. And I want you to be honest with me.”
Emma closed her journal. “What is it?”
“You know Iker and I were looking through all of last fiscal year’s purchases in Arts and Sciences. Every department. Including Biology.”
“So?”
“Iker said some transactions in the Biology Department don’t look right. They don’t reconcile or something, I don’t remember his exact wording. Anyway, they’re in your lab. What’s going on?”
“What, first you take away my vodka, now you’re grilling me about my lab budget?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Molly, I know you’re an English major and you never had to worry about getting external funding, but do you know what a grant is?”
“Of course I know what a grant is. I know the entire Student Retention Office is funded by the Foundation grant. And I wish you’d stop calling me an English major. I have a PhD. in literature and creative writing from one of the top ten—”
“But you never got a grant before, right?”
“Well, not personally, no.”
“Yah, that’s what I thought. They got all these rules about how you can spend the money, and what you gotta spend the money on, and when you gotta spend it. Government agencies especially.”
“It makes sense. They don’t want to hand money out and have it disappear.”