by Frankie Bow
“Thanks for the offer, Professor, but I’m working today. Maybe next time.”
“Yes, definitely.” I smiled at him and hurried off to my car. This wouldn’t have been a good time to bring up the thank-you letter. There was plenty of time to straighten it out later.
Emma was waiting for me at the Pair-O-Dice. I told her about the events of the previous night, and of Gloria’s glee at her ex’s demise. Then there was Davison’s blessed event and his secrecy about the mother’s identity. Finally, I told Emma what I’d learned from Uncle Brian about the car crash that had killed Donnie’s parents.
“I had been so eager to find out more about Donnie’s family,” I sighed. “And come to find out, it’s just one tragedy after another. Donnie’s sister has this rotten ex, who goes and dies. Then I find out Donnie and Gloria’s parents died, poor old Uncle Brian took them in, and now they barely acknowledge the man.”
“Know what, though, that’s just how life is.” Emma placed her bare elbows on the sticky table and leaned forward. “People suck. What did you think you were going to find out when you started poking around? You thought your husband was secretly descended from the Romanovs or something?”
“Hardly.”
“Secretly descended from Kamehameha the Great, then. And Davison’s Johnny Appleseed all of a sudden? Man, that came out of nowhere.”
“I know. Here Donnie and I have been trying so hard to start a family, and meanwhile Davison has a healthy eight-pound infant just drop into his lap.”
“So what, it’s a contest?”
“No, Emma, it’s not a contest, it just seems so unfair—”
“Aha. It is a contest. It’s like total sibling rivalry between you two.”
“No, it’s not—”
“Yes, it is. You’re all like, ‘How come Davison got a baby? How come I can’t have a baby? I never get anything and he always gets whatever he wants.’”
“He does always get whatever he wants.”
“So who’s the mom? How come he won’t tell. . .? Aw no, not Sherry, is it?”
“I think it is Sherry. Davison says his mystery woman is someone I know. Oh, and she smokes. And the baby isn’t even Davison’s. I mean, who else could it be?”
“It’s not right.” Emma shook her head. “The stepmother-stepson thing. Kinda unhealthy if you ask me.”
“You think?”
“Does Donnie know about Davison and Sherry?”
“He knows they’ve reconnected. But he’s in complete denial about it involving anything more than filial affection. I think he just doesn’t want to believe it.”
“So he’s gonna be pretty upset when he finds out there’s a baby involved.”
“No kidding. Oh, Emma, did you order yet?”
“Nah. I just got here about a second before you did.”
“Speaking of Donnie, how would you feel about going over to the Drive-Inn? We can walk up. Probably won’t take five minutes.”
“They serve booze there now?” Emma asked.
“At the Drive-Inn? No. But now we’re talking about Donnie. I’d like us to support him. I think business at the Drive-Inn hasn’t been great lately. Please don’t say anything to him about it, though.”
“Oh, ’cause Chang’s Pizza Pagoda, that’s why.”
“Emma, what do you know about Chang’s Pizza Pagoda?”
“They been advertising their new menu. They got two-for-one specials, and they’re open later than anyone else.”
“They have two-for-one specials?”
“Yeah. Big portions, too. I don’t know how they’re making any money. Okay, we can go to the Drive-Inn.”
“You’re fine with the Drive-Inn?”
“Yah, sure. Just a second.”
Emma went up to the bar and returned with a covered twenty-ounce Styrofoam cup.
“They have coffee at the Drive-Inn, you know.”
Emma gave me a look.
“Coffee?”
“Oh. Hey, Emma, can I have a sip?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Man, Mahina’s really gone downhill.” Emma rapped her knuckles on the glass of a blank window with a sun-faded For Lease sign propped in the corner. “Everything’s so junk now.”
“I think downtown looks cool.”
“Yeah, you and Pat like it for some reason. I don’t see it.”
“It’s because you grew up around here. You take it for granted. You don’t find the picturesque decrepitude quite as enchanting as Pat and I do.”
“I hadda watch it get all junk, that’s why. Back when we still had the sugar plantations, Mahina was a real city. Everyone went to the Mahina College basketball games—”
“Mahina College?”
“Yeah, was Mahina College back then, before it became Mahina State University. We had roller derby, too, and stock car racing, and sumo. Mahina was the place to be, believe it or not. We even got big-name bands on tour stopping by.”
“Really? Touring is expensive. How many people lived in Mahina back then?”
“Not much more than now. The bands were probably here for the high-quality pakalolo more than the ticket revenue, to be honest.”
As we were about to turn onto the main road going uphill, I nudged Emma. “Here’s where they found the body. Right behind this building.”
“Aw, no.” Emma stopped walking and took stock of the building. “When did this happen? Etsuko’s Fashion Frocks went out of business? My mom used to take me there when I was a little girl.”
“I can’t imagine you wearing a fashion frock.” I had rarely seen Emma in anything fancier than jeans and a free t-shirt she’d picked up from one of her conferences. Today she was wearing a green shirt advertising a brand of PCR primer, whatever that was.
“Yeah, well, I was like, eight years old.” Emma and I turned up the busy main road. We passed the abandoned bank building and the downtown post office, and then the Drive-Inn was in our sights.
“Whoa.” Emma laid a hand on my arm. “This is sad.”
“I know.”
Objectively, it didn’t look like anything was wrong with Donnie’s Drive-Inn. The bright noontime sun washed the building white, and the sky glowed blue above the white corrugated metal roof. The empty picnic tables gleamed in the cool shade, clean and inviting. The problem was, at this time of day there shouldn’t have been any empty tables.
“Emma, don’t say anything to Donnie about how deserted it looks. We should just pretend we don’t notice anything’s off.”
Emma socked my arm. “Gimme some credit, ah? I do have some tact.”
We placed our order at the window and took our food and drinks to one of the many available tables. We had just begun to dig in when Donnie joined us.
“Ho, bradda,” Emma exclaimed. “Hardly anyone here. What happened? Chang’s got all your customers?”
I rested my face in my hands.
“Business is down, a little.” Donnie didn’t sound particularly offended. I supposed he must be used to Emma by this point.
“So what’re you doing to fight back then? You know Chang’s Pizza Pagoda got a new menu, and some of the stuffs, not bad, ah? You were telling me, Molly, their chow fun focaccia—”
“I heard they had chow fun focaccia,” I interrupted. “Bread with noodles on top. Doesn’t it sound revolting?”
“I just started running an ad in The County Courier.” Donnie pulled a folded piece of newsprint from his back pocket. “Either of you see today’s paper?”
“We don’t get The County Courier,” Emma said.
“I brought in the paper this morning,” I said, “but I haven’t had a chance to read through it.”
“This is the ad.” He unfolded the paper and smoothed it out for us to see. The ad showed Donnie framed in the Drive-Inn’s ordering window, smiling stiffly and holding out a tray of Spam musubis to the camera. The picture was underexposed and had been taken with a harsh flash, making him look dark and shiny.
“Whoa, is thi
s you?” Emma exclaimed. I kicked her under the table.
“Who else would it be? It’s a great ad, Donnie. It makes the Drive-Inn look really welcoming.”
“Our establishment is centrally located near the Mahina Public Library, Laukapu High School, and the Downtown Farmer’s Market,” Emma read. “Enjoy our daily specials.”
“Donnie, is the street address on here anywhere?”
“It’s not there? Oh. I didn’t notice. Well. Everyone knows where the Drive-Inn is.”
“You know Chang’s got those buy-one-get-one coupons in The Island Shopper.” Emma obviously didn’t know when to stop. “And they got a lotta ads on Island Confidential too. You got an ad in Island Confidential? Ow! Molly, what the—”
Island Confidential was Pat Flanagan’s newsblog. Pat and I had already been friends by the time I met Donnie, and the two of them had never warmed to each other. When Donnie and I tied the knot, Pat gave me a copy of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper as a wedding present.
“I think The County Courier was a great choice.” I smiled at Donnie and then glared at Emma.
“Eh, bradda, you married to one business professor, remember? She can find out whatever you gotta know about marketing an’ sales an’ da kine. You gonna let her save your `okole or what?”
“I do have access to a lot of good information through our library, Donnie. We have industry reports, and marketing journals, all kinds of things. I’m happy to help you find whatever you think might be useful.”
“I know you’re always willing to help, Molly. Thank you. Oh, Emma, did Molly tell you the big news?”
Emma and I looked at each other. I had told her a lot of big news.
Donnie reached across the table and took my hand tenderly, a rare public show of affection.
“Molly and I have a grandson.”
“We what?”
“Oh, yeah, Molly told me all about it. She couldn’t stop talking about how happy she is for Davison. Right, Molly?”
“Sure,” I stammered, stunned at my sudden promotion to grandma.
“And I appreciate you being so understanding about letting Davison’s new family stay with us.” Donnie beamed at me.
“Understanding? Yes. That’s me. Very understanding.”
“They’re coming here to stay with you?” Emma made big eyes at me. “The mom, too?”
“Donnie insisted.” I shrugged. “Hey, if it’s what he wants, it’s okay with me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I pulled into the carport, got out of my car, and paused. A repetitive squawk sounded from inside my house. It sounded like an insistent duck. I tiptoed up the steps, unlocked the door to the mudroom, and eased it open.
The sound got louder. It reminded me of squeaky bedsprings, an explanation as unlikely as it was distasteful. Our beds were all memory foam. Was it my computer? A propane tank? A nene goose? And how would an endangered bird have gotten trapped inside my house? I’d never actually heard a nene. For all I knew, they didn’t even quack.
I poked my head out of the mudroom. The kitchen lay straight ahead with the living-dining area to my left. Everything looked as I’d left it that morning, except for one thing. Parked in the middle of the living room was a crib.
Inside the crib, bright-eyed and awake, lay a prosperous-looking baby. He had chubby pink cheeks and a big round head with tiny wisps of black hair. I assumed “he” was the correct pronoun. The baby wore a blue terrycloth onesie, and Mahina wasn’t the kind of place where people encouraged their infants to upend gender norms.
The baby made little spastic motions with his tiny fists as he yelled. He wasn’t crying, exactly. It was more like he wanted to practice making loud noises. When I approached the crib, he quieted down, looked me in the eye, and said, “Bah.”
I looked around, wondering how an unattended baby had managed to move into my house. A gentle buzzing sound alerted me to Davison, asleep on the couch. I grabbed the arm of the couch and shook it.
“Davison. Davison.”
He sat up slowly and wiped his hand across his eyes.
“Davison, there’s a baby in our living room.”
He turned, and blinked. “Oh, Molly. That’s Junior. Aw, how come you wen’ woke him up?”
“He was awake when I came in. He was crying.”
Davison lumbered over to the crib, picked up the baby, and plopped back down on the couch with Junior in his lap. He produced a bottle and popped it in the baby’s mouth. Immediately the baby’s eyes closed and his cheeks started to pulsate. Chubby little fingers clasped the bottle.
“He is adorable. Poor little thing. Where’s the Mom?”
“Resting at home. She pumped a bunch a milk so I could bring Junior over to meet everyone. Eh, Junior, this your tutu Molly.”
“Where are Gloria and Skye?”
“Went out to buy more diapers an’ da kine.”
“Does Donnie, does your father know the baby’s here?”
“Nah. Didn’t wanna bother him at work. He’ll meet ’em when he gets home. It’ll be a surprise.”
“Well, there’s nothing your father likes better than surprises.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon at my computer, trying to work on my book chapter. Skye and Gloria returned, laden with baby supplies. I did my best to tune out the grownups bickering and the baby squawking and the pervasive odor of baby poop. When I’d taken yoga sessions down at Laughing Lotus, one of the instructors had scolded me for having “Monkey mind.” It was a fair description. I had been unable to stay focused on the lesson for more than a few minutes at a time. Today, my monkey mind kept leaping back to the scene of the dead man lying in the rain-soaked lot.
I could probably rule out Gloria as the murderer, and not just because she was bustling around and acting all grandmotherly now. Gloria was much too small to pitch the hulking Malufau out of a window. On the other hand, brawn wasn’t everything. She might have rigged a trip wire, or something similarly clever. And there was the matter of her having gone missing for two days. Right around Malufau’s time of death. On the third hand, if she was guilty, she’d have tried to feign grief at the news of Malufau’s death, instead of celebrating.
Even if Gloria were in the clear, three other people in my house had a motive to get rid of Malufau: Gloria’s husband, her biological son, and her brother. All of them would have wanted to protect her from Malufau. Any of them could have slipped away and made the short walk downtown to take care of things. The killer could have been back home—or in Donnie’s case, back at the Drive-Inn—before anyone noticed he had gone.
Of course, if Malufau was as bad as everyone said, then his circle of enemies would certainly extend beyond my household. Maybe his past had caught up with him in a way that had nothing to do with anyone in my family. The officers who found him in the vacant lot sure didn’t seem too torn up.
There was also the possibility Malufau’s fall had been an accident, but I didn’t believe that for a second.
When Donnie came home, it turned out I was the one who was in for a surprise. I watched him turn into a doting grandfather right before my unbelieving eyes. He insisted on holding Junior, who contentedly nestled into Donnie’s arms and rested his fat cheeks on Donnie’s shoulder. Donnie didn’t even seem to mind when Junior spit a stream of curdled milk down the back of his red polo shirt. Donnie tenderly lifted the baby, dabbed the spit-up from his face with the front of his shirt, and kissed his chubby cheek.
Then he passed the baby to me. I looked around, panicked, but no one else stepped forward. Donnie, Gloria, Skye, and Davison just stood there beaming at me. I told myself to calm down. Humans had been doing this for millennia, and what kind of mother was I going to be if I was afraid to hold a baby? I had to get used to this sooner or later.
The second I took Junior in my arms, he stiffened and started to scream. Gloria quickly snatched him from me and calmed him down. I backed away and sank down onto the couch, temporarily deaf in one ear a
nd feeling like a failure.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The following morning I didn’t even try to get any work done at home. I walked down to the library, where I spent the rest of the morning at an ancient but serviceable terminal and made acceptable progress on my book chapter. At lunchtime, I packed up and crossed the street to Donnie’s Drive-Inn. The air smelled of frying oil, plumeria blossoms, and rain.
A few customers were scattered around the Drive-Inn’s gleaming red picnic tables. At this time of day, it should have been at capacity.
I seated myself at an empty table, and within a few minutes, Donnie appeared with a Drive-Inn Jumbo Meat Platter. I gratefully attacked it, starting with the Portuguese sausage.
“What did you think of Junior?” Donnie asked.
“He’s the most productive worker I’ve ever seen.” I took a bite of the spicy sausage slice. “Did you notice Gloria was changing his diaper like every twenty minutes? The principle of conservation of mass means nothing to the kid. And he is cute, I have to admit. Those chubby cheeks.”
Donnie beamed. “Our grandson. Do you believe it?”
“No.” I swallowed the sausage and stuffed a strip of fried chicken into my mouth.
“I hope Davison can bring him by again tonight. I’m really curious to meet the mother. Davison says you know her.”
I shrugged. “I heard him say it, but I’m not exactly sure who he’s talking about.”
Two people at another table finished their lunch and walked away, leaving Donnie and me the only people sitting at the Drive-Inn’s picnic tables.
“It doesn’t seem like the ad in The County Courier worked very well.” Donnie picked up a curly slice of teriyaki beef and examined it. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m not doing anything different.”
“It might just be a matter of doing a little more marketing. Chang’s Pizza Pagoda is being very aggressive. Lots of advertising, two-for-one specials. Maybe the Drive-Inn could try some of the same things.”
“I don’t know, Molly. I didn’t even like doing The County Courier ad. I’ve always relied on word of mouth.”