by Frankie Bow
“No need to talk shop at church. We’ll have plenty of time tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“The eighteenth. The letter had your starting date, yeah?”
Was tomorrow already the eighteenth? It was so easy to lose track during the summer.
“Yes, of course. So, where were we meeting again, exactly? At the police station?”
“No, we’ll be next door. At the motor vehicle office, in their break room.”
I wondered what kind of top-secret project would call for such cloak-and-dagger maneuvers. Maybe Pat was right about their revisiting a cold case. He had reported on the Karaoke Murders back when he was still a crime reporter at the County Courier, and to this day, they remained unsolved. Was I going to see the Karaoke Murder files?
This was getting exciting.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sunday brunch at the Pair-O-Dice Bar was a tradition for Emma and me. Pat normally joined us too, when he was in town, and not off hiking in the wilds of Northern California.
Donnie was not part of this happy ritual. Sundays were busy at the Drive-Inn. And Donnie wasn’t fond of the Pair-O-Dice anyway.
Objectively, the Pair-O-Dice was a dump. Its one point of pride was its window-spanning neon sign. Swaying neon palm trees flanked the flourishing pink script spelling out “Pair-O-Dice.” Underneath, animated neon dice tumbled from left to right.
Inside, the Pair-O-Dice was dark, and uncomfortably hot. The only climate control was a lone wobbly fan beating the humid air. The tables were rickety, the fries leathery, and the drinks watery. The bartender was probably the owner’s son. He acted like he couldn’t be fired, and he looked about seventeen years old.
On the plus side, the Pair-O-Dice attracted so little custom during the day it felt like our own private club. After the crush of Mass at St. Damien’s, the quiet interior was balm to my jittery soul.
I pushed through the Pair-O-Dice’s front door and waited for my eyes to adjust. Except for a furtive couple sharing one side of a booth at the far end of the bar, Emma was the only customer. It still took me a while to find her. Emma’s black hair and black t-shirt faded into the dimly lit background, and she was so short her head was level with the back of her chair. By the time I joined her, she was halfway through a pitcher of Mehana Volcano Red Ale. A basket of fries and an extra glass sat on the table.
“Got a glass for you,” she said as I sat down. “Want some fries?”
“I don’t know.” I poured myself a glass of beer. “I heard fries have a lot of carbs. I’m thinking I should cut back.”
“How’re things at home? You manage to go another day without murdering your stepson?”
“Barely. You know the platinum earrings and necklace Donnie gave me?”
“Yeah, those are nice. How come you didn’t wear ’em to church today?”
“Because my beloved stepson stole them.”
“Davison did? How come you think it was him?”
“I was polishing them Wednesday morning. By Wednesday evening, they’d disappeared. We called the police. Davison played dumb. And then late that night he went out to visit a friend. Or so he claimed.”
“An’ you think that’s when he fenced your jewelry?”
“I can’t think of another explanation. Who else would have taken my things? No one else had the opportunity.”
“How come you never told me until today?”
“I guess I hoped the jewelry would turn up. Maybe Davison would hear Donnie and me talking about it, feel some remorse, and put the things back, or something. But no, my jewelry’s still gone. Oh, and one more thing. Davison was looking to buy a ring.”
“Davison was? You mean like an engagement ring?”
“Exactly. He pestered me into driving him up to Fujioka’s that morning.”
Emma set down her beer. “It’s not Sherry, is it? I mean he wouldn’t. . .would he?”
“Yes, I think he would. I think he is back with Sherry. And it sounds serious this time. Like I think he wants to marry her serious.”
“Eh, not your problem.” Emma emptied the pitcher into her glass. I looked around for the bartender, but he had abandoned his post. I probably could have walked up behind the bar and helped myself.
“It will be my problem. I’m going to be the one dealing with an extra-grumpy husband. Seriously, how do you think Donnie’s going to react when he finds out his ex-wife and his son are going to get married? Think about it for a second.”
“So Davison would be his own stepfather, yeah? That means he’s gonna be your stepson and your brother-in-law at the same time.”
“I can’t even keep track. It’s such a soap opera.”
“Yeah, speaking of drama. You hapai yet? Hapai means pregnant by the way.”
“I know what hapai means, thank you.” I scooped the last few fries from the basket. They were chewy and lukewarm, but the fat and salt made them palatable. “And no. I’m not expecting. Not yet.”
“Maybe it’s time to start thinking about fertility treatments, Molly. You and Donnie are pretty old to be starting a family. I think you get at least one try covered by insurance.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure how far I want to push the issue. I’ve seen couples get so obsessive about conceiving. Getting hormone shots, timing things down to the second, rushing home from work for. . .what sounds like the least romantic date ever. It seems like so much effort. I think we’d rather just take things day by day. If it happens, it happens. If not, it’s not the end of the world.”
“So what, you’re doing the fatalistic Catholic thing now? You cannot just sit around and wait for things to happen.”
“Oh, like Buddhists aren’t fatalistic?”
“Only when it’s something you can’t do anything about. But this? You gotta get proactive. I’m telling you. Neither one of you’s getting any younger.”
I didn’t bother to argue with her. Emma Nakamura was one of those driven people who went after things and got them. She always knew the direction her life would take. She grew up just outside of Mahina, moved to the mainland to earn her doctorate in biology, then beelined straight back to a tenure-track position at Mahina State with a new husband in tow. No postdoc purgatory for her. And despite Mahina State’s heavy teaching load, Emma had been raking in grants and publishing like a fiend ever since.
“Who’s your OB-GYN?” Emma demanded. “Is it Ishimaru? I heard he wasn’t bad.”
“It is Ishimaru. I guess he’s okay. I don’t know. He’s young, but I still get this old school, Doctor Knows Best vibe from him. The office visit was like something out of the 1950s. It seemed like if I got too uppity or asked too many questions, they’d put me on tranquilizers. And if that didn’t work, they’d schedule me for a lobotomy. I wish there were some other options.”
“There’s the LightSpirit Organic Farm and Natural Birthing Center, down in Kuewa.”
“Really? It might be worth looking into.”
“I don’t think you’d like it, Molly. I was down there one time, to help them out with the rat lungworm disease problem they were having. The birthing center part is just someone’s house with a redwood hot tub in the back. The water was all green, and there was a dead gecko floating in it.”
“Oh well,” I sighed. “I guess I’ll take my chances with Doctor Headmirror.”
“Hey, Molly, did you get something from the Student Retention Office about a humor initiative we’re supposed to be starting in the fall?”
“I think so. I deleted the email.”
“Know what we should do? We should get ’em to shut it down. When school starts again, I’ll tell the refrigerator joke in class, and you can tell the canoe joke.”
“Emma, why do you want to antagonize the Student Retention Office?”
“’Cause they’re idiots.”
“Yes, but thanks to their Foundation grant they’re well-funded idiots, and you know what they’ll do to anyone who gets in their way. Do you want to end up
like the history department? Anyway, I can’t tell the canoe joke. You tell the canoe joke.”
“I don’t like the canoe joke. I think it’s gross.”
“Get Pat to tell it, then. Hey, here’s some interesting news I forgot to tell you. The police department is hiring me as a consultant.”
“Our police department? Mahina PD?”
I nodded.
“Aw, that’s great, Molly. How much they paying you?”
“I don’t know yet. But after all of the times I’ve helped them out for nothing, it’s kind of validating to have them acknowledge me.”
“Good for you. Just don’t let it distract you from your research. Hey, how’s your book chapter going?”
“Not as well as I’d hoped. Working at home is kind of tough with Davison rattling around the house. You know, I don’t have my own office at home, just a corner of the living room.”
“Do not go onto campus during the summer, Molly.”
“I’m not planning to go onto campus.”
“I know you’re tempted to go into your office. Don’t do it.”
“No, I know. Pat was telling me the same thing.”
“Seriously. Anyone sees you there, you’re gonna get roped into some time-suck admin work, and you’re not gonna get any research done.”
The couple in the far booth got up and exited toward the back. A glint of sunlight briefly illuminated the man’s face. I realized I had just seen him at church. It was Andy De Silva.
I nudged Emma. “There’s the police officer who took the report when my jewelry was stolen. And I was just talking to him at St. Damien’s, right before I came here.”
“How come you’re whispering? Not like there’s anyone around.”
I looked around the Pair-O-Dice. Emma was right.
“Those two were up to something, though.” Emma looked to where the couple had gone. “I bet at least one of ’em’s married. You recognize the wahine?”
“No, I didn’t see who the woman was. Well, what do you know? And right after Sunday Mass, too.”
“Why, what day of the week are you Catholics supposed to schedule your fornication and adultery?”
“Where on earth is the bartender? Is there any ale left?”
“Too late.” Emma turned the empty pitcher upside down to demonstrate.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Monday dawned rainy and gray, but my mood was bright. Today was my first consulting appointment with the Mahina Police Department.
Donnie was already gone by the time I woke up. I showered and dressed, then slipped into the kitchen and quietly brewed and downed a cup of coffee. I tucked the letter from Mahina PD into my bag and slipped out the side door to the carport. It was a three-minute drive to the police station, and another ten minutes prowling for a parking stall big enough for my Thunderbird.
I entered the Motor Vehicle Department through the main entrance and picked the shortest line to wait in. When I reached the counter and told the woman why I was there, she was nice enough to close her window and help me. She led me through a door marked “Employees Only,” and down a hallway to a bare-bones break room near the back of the building.
Sitting around a U-shaped walnut-grain table were half a dozen police officers in their late twenties or early thirties. They were heavy set, with close-clipped black hair, varying in height from five foot seven all the way up to five foot eight. The room itself was government-issue, with linoleum flooring and fluorescent lights. A single window, set high in the wall, revealed a patch of pearl-gray sky.
“Good morning.” I smiled as I entered the room. The officers’ expressions ranged from sullen to bored. I looked around for someone in charge, and at that moment, Andy De Silva burst in through the door. He was in uniform, and holding a clipboard.
“Doctor Barda. Good. You’re here. Do you have slides? We have a projector.” De Silva indicated an overhead projector sitting on the side table, its power cord coiled on the glass platen like a snake. It was designed to project transparent slides. I looked around, but De Silva was definitely talking to me. I did not have a presentation prepared, certainly not one compatible with their antique equipment.
I flashed what I hoped was a confident smile.
“I thought we could just talk today, and make introductions. This is my first time meeting with all of you, and I’d like to learn as much as I can.”
“Good deal.” De Silva grinned and nodded at me as if I had given the right answer. He took a seat in the remaining empty plastic chair. There I stood, with no chair, and seven of Mahina’s Finest looking at me expectantly.
“So. Here we are. Thank you very much, everyone, for meeting with me this morning. I didn’t realize we’d have so many people on the team. Officer De Silva, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear your take on this. What do you think are the salient facts?”
Andy De Silva flipped through the papers on his clipboard.
“This workshop is the centerpiece of the settlement in the case of Baker versus Mahina County PD.”
I nodded knowingly, feeling utterly baffled. A settlement? Was this a cold case resurrected by a bereaved family member’s lawsuit?
I turned to the officer next to De Silva, hoping for further explanation.
“Yeah, what he said.” The officer jerked his head toward De Silva. “The settlement.” The rest of them nodded agreement.
“You said it was just gonna be introductions today,” said another of the officers.
“Well, sure, that’s what we’re doing now. Just laying the groundwork.” I hadn’t even signed anything yet. I wondered how much I was going to get paid for this.
“How about you first, Professor?” The young policeman smirked and folded his arms. “Tell us what’s your qualifications.”
“Me?”
De Silva nodded at me.
“Right. Of course.” I summarized my educational credentials, making sure to highlight my prestigious Ph.D. I spoke in broad terms about the qualitative methods that I’d used in my dissertation research, omitting the fact my degree was in literature and creative writing. Somehow, I sensed this wasn’t a humanities-friendly crowd. Finally, I got to the important part: My Mahina connections.
“My husband, as you may know, is Donnie Gonsalves, of Donnie’s Drive-Inn.”
I could feel the tension in the room ease a little. Now they knew I wasn’t just another earnest mainlander committing a drive-by let-me-tell-you-how-it’s-done-back-home. Thanks to my relationship with Donnie, I was vetted.
Andy De Silva was the next to make introductions. He had grown up in Mahina. His father and uncles were police officers, and he had always known that he’d follow in their footsteps. The other six officers had also grown up with fathers, uncles, and grandfathers on the force. All of them had been born and raised in Mahina, except for one oddball whose family had moved from Maui when he was four years old.
When the session had finished, I knew everyone’s biography, but I still had no idea what I was supposed to be doing for the Mahina Police Department.
Officer De Silva walked me out.
“You’re gonna be starting the lectures tomorrow then, yeah?”
“The lectures? Listen, I’d like to make sure our expectations are aligned. I have my materials ready, of course, but I’d like to get a better idea of exactly what you envisioned.” I hated myself for spouting corporate-speak at him, but I had no alternative. I had nothing prepared at all, and no idea what they wanted me to do. I’d assumed I’d be analyzing documents, not giving lectures.
“Alls you gotta do is what it says in the contract,” De Silva said. “Simple.”
“Officer De Silva, I never got a contract. Only a short letter. I think some of the important documents may not have reached me.”
The look of panic on De Silva’s face told me he had been the one responsible for sorting out the paperwork.
“No, no, it’s fine,” I assured him. “If we need to order another copy of the contract, we can d
o it. I trust you. I’ll sign whatever I need to. In the meantime, maybe you can help me fill in some of the details. I haven’t seen any written description of exactly what services I’m providing.”
De Silva smiled, visibly relieved. “Oh, I got my copy right here. Here, Professor.” He paged through his clipboard, unclipped a packet of papers, and handed it to me.
I read over it. Then I read over it again. And handed it back to him.
“Diversity training?”
“Yeah, cause that gender discrimination lawsuit. Works out good for us, too, ’cause we can get you for free.”
“Did you say free?”
“Yeah, otherwise would cost us a couple thousand. When we was ordered to do this thing, boys was pretty unhappy about it, no lie. But our department admin called the university and found out there’s this community speakers’ bureau.”
“The speakers’ bureau. That’s right. I volunteered for the speakers’ bureau.”
“Yeah, I dunno how come we gotta do this in the first place. I don’t see what the problem is. You saw, it’s all guys. How could we be discriminating if it’s all guys?”
“Baffling,” I agreed.
We walked through the low-ceilinged lobby of the Motor Vehicle department and out into the sunshine.
“So, Officer, will I be able to get a copy of the paperwork? Just for my records, to show my administration?”
“The info packet was sent on the twelfth,” De Silva said. “That’s how come I can’t figure out how you never got it. We sent it to your office.”
“It’s on campus? Shoot. It’s probably sitting in my mail cubby. You know, I’m flattered you picked me to teach your free seminar, but diversity training isn’t my specialty at all. I teach IBM and BP.”
“What’s that?” De Silva asked.
“Intro to Business Management and Business Planning.”
“Well we got all the speakers’ bureau names an’ took a vote. The boys picked you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, we gotta sit through this thing anyways. Rather look at a good looking wahine instead of some old guy with white hair.”