The Blessed Event

by Frankie Bow

  The interior was equally delightful. A potted Phalaenopsis, or moth orchid, sat atop the dresser. The broad petals were yellow-green, veined and speckled with vibrant magenta. The walls, bedding, and drapes were bright white, suffusing the room with reflected sunlight. Donnie would like it here, I thought.

  I didn’t want to get dressed and go out. I wanted to nestle in the floral chintz armchair, reading mystery novels and ordering room service all day. Unfortunately, I still had to work on my book chapter, and I hadn’t brought my computer.

  The public library didn’t have air conditioning, just louvered windows open to let the breeze through to the courtyard. It was too warm to buckle down and focus. Maybe all I needed was a short break.

  I wandered into one of the side rooms, where I found a display of manga paperbacks, sorted by series. Some of the titles were in Japanese. Others contained English words but were equally incomprehensible. A shelf further back featured old videotapes few people had the equipment to play anymore. Next to that was a stack of free books, library holdings, which had rotted in the humid climate. One of them had an actual, honest-to-goodness bookworm tunneling through the pages. And then I saw the yearbooks along the back wall.

  Why not? I wasn’t getting any work done anyway, and now I was curious. I’d never seen pictures of Donnie other than as an adult. I knew Donnie’s date of birth, and calculated which years he would have been in high school. Mahina had two cross-town rivals: Mahina High, directly across the street from Mahina State University, and the older Laukapu High. I pulled down both yearbooks for what would have been Donnie’s freshman year. A quick search of the index showed Laukapu High as Donnie’s alma mater. I took down the next three years of Laukapu High School yearbooks, wondering how a high school in rural Hawai`i had chosen Vikings, of all things, as their mascot.

  Donnie’s freshman portrait showed a skinny kid wearing a crewneck t-shirt and a serious expression. He hadn’t yet grown into his ears, and was still a long way from handsome. Donnie’s sophomore yearbook yielded a bonus. Donnie’s younger sister, Gloria Farrah Bysentenyl Gonsalves, appeared in the freshman section. Her curly hair was pinned behind one ear with a red hibiscus.

  By his junior year, Donnie had matured into looking more like his adult self. That issue of the Laukapu High yearbook also had a photo of Gloria at the junior prom with Andy De Silva.

  Cute. The budding ex-con and the future cop. Young Andy gazed at Gloria adoringly, his gawky features aglow with delight. Gloria looked happy too, but in a way you might be happy if you were having a fun night out with a friend.

  I briefly wondered whether it was Gloria I’d seen at the Pair-O-Dice with Andy De Silva. But that didn’t jibe with De Silva’s standoffish attitude toward Gloria when he’d been in the same room with her.

  On the other hand, maybe De Silva’s impersonal demeanor didn’t mean anything, and was simply a necessity for someone who had to police the same community he grew up in. How awkward would it be to bust your math teacher for possession, or to be called out on a domestic involving your high school buddy? He probably ran into old acquaintances all the time in Mahina and acted detached as a matter of course.

  The yearbook for the following year didn’t have Donnie’s photo with the rest of the senior class. He was still enrolled but hadn’t made it in for picture day. Where his senior portrait should have been was a gray box, captioned with his name: Donald Muraco Gonsalves. There were no memorable quotations or favorite memories underneath where his photo would have gone.

  Gloria’s junior portrait was where it was supposed to be, but she had no more prom pictures. She had apparently lost interest in high school proms. Or in Andy De Silva.

  I put the yearbooks back on the shelf. I knew patrons weren’t supposed to re-shelve books, but I remembered where they went, and I didn’t want to make extra work for the librarian. Looking over Donnie’s old pictures made me realize I missed him, a little.

  I glanced at the library’s wall clock. I still had some time to decide whether to check out or stay another night.

  I left the library and walked down toward the Drive-Inn, past the little stone house with the chiropractor’s office, and then the tiny shopping center with the defunct toyshop. Of course, I wouldn’t tell Donnie how much I enjoyed my stay at the Lehua Inn. I didn’t want him to think I was glad to be away from him. But I would tell him about flowers in the room, the vintage koa furniture, and the calming view of the golf course. Once this murder charge was cleared up and all the houseguests were gone, Donnie and I might spend a weekend at the Lehua inn as a mini-vacation.

  I was thinking about the yearbook pictures, which led to doing some quick arithmetic. Gloria had gone to prison when Davison was three years old. When Davison was three, Donnie was twenty. From the yearbook, I knew Gloria was one year behind him, so she was nineteen. She had been sixteen when Davison was born. Well, at least I’d figured out why she skipped her junior prom.

  Poor Andy De Silva. He thought he had a shot, and next thing he knew, Gloria was off having babies with Iulani Malufau.

  There it was. Why hadn’t I seen it before?

  I stopped, pulled out my phone, and called Emma. She wasn’t picking up. I considered leaving her a text message, but I was almost at the Drive-Inn. I’d tell Donnie what I’d just figured out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Exhausted Farmer’s Market shoppers filled the Drive-Inn’s picnic tables and lined up at the order windows. I had to stand and wait for an empty seat, but I didn’t mind. This crowd was good news, as long as it lasted.

  Finally, a couple with a baby stood up from a table, and I hurried over to claim the space. I pulled out my phone and tried Emma’s number again, but before it rang, I felt someone sit down across from me.

  I looked up at Donnie. He didn’t seem particularly glad to see me.

  “Hi Donnie.” I put my phone away. “Listen, thank you so much for letting me get an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Just one night’s sleep makes all the difference. I feel better than I have in ages. It’s so important in my delicate condition. I mean, I’m not in a delicate condition yet, but we want me to be, right?”

  “I suppose.” Donnie was avoiding eye contact with me. I wanted to tell him I’d figured out who murdered Iulani Malufau, but I sensed I should probably deal with whatever was bothering him first.

  “Donnie, are you mad at me?”

  He sighed.

  “Am I supposed to act like everything’s fine? How would you feel if I walked out and spent the night who knows where?”

  I thought about it.

  “If you did it for no reason, then sure, I’d be upset. But since we’re playing what-if, how would you feel if, I don’t know, I got my old band together, and then let them practice in our living room all night? I think I’d understand if you needed to go somewhere else to get some sleep.”

  “It’s not the same thing. I can’t just tell my family to leave. Especially not now, with the trouble Gloria’s having.”

  “I didn’t ask you to tell your family to leave, because I know it would be impolite and you would never do it. So I found another solution. I got to sleep through the night, and you have a cheerful wife. I believe it’s called a win-win.”

  Donnie shook his head and made a move to stand up.

  “Donnie, wait. Don’t go. I have to talk to you about something important.”

  He sat back down.

  “You know what? Even when you’re grumpy, you’re still very handsome.”

  “Molly, this really isn’t the time—”

  “Sorry, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s about Gloria. And the murder.”

  “I’m listening.” He seemed to be half-listening, if that. He was making the whole table vibrate with his impatient leg bouncing.

  “It was Andy De Silva, Donnie. De Silva is the murderer. He killed Iulani Malufau. I just figured it out when I was walking down from the library.”

  “Officer Andy De Sil
va? That’s impossible.”

  “Andy and your sister were high school sweethearts, right?”

  “I don’t know if I’d say they were sweethearts. They knew each other. They might have gone out a few times.”

  “They went to prom together in Gloria’s sophomore year.”

  Donnie shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t remember. Why?”

  “Their prom picture was in your high school yearbook. All the yearbooks are at the public library, which by the way is a valuable and underestimated community resource. Anyway, I think Andy De Silva was smitten with her.”

  “How do you know that? And even if he was, how does that make him the murderer?”

  “Just listen, please. Okay, cut to junior year, and Gloria is not only with Iulani Malufau, she’s having a baby with him. How do you suppose young Andy felt about that development?”

  Donnie drummed his fingers on the table but didn’t make a move to get up and leave. He knew what I was saying made sense, but he apparently didn’t want to admit it.

  “Donnie, listen.” I leaned forward so I could speak quietly. “When Malufau escaped and came back to Mahina, Andy De Silva saw his opportunity. Part one, he kills Malufau. Part two, he lets Gloria take the blame. It’s a perfect way to get revenge on both of them. And I do mean perfect, because even though I’ve figured it out, what can I do about it? Nothing. I can’t call the police, right?”

  Donnie looked like he was about to say something to contradict me, so I spoke quickly.

  “You’re going to ask what proof I have, right? Well, I don’t. Sorry. But what about this? First, De Silva seems like he’s senior in the department. In a case like this, with no witnesses and no evidence to speak of, De Silva could probably influence where suspicion fell. Oh, and he’s the one who invited me on that ride-along, when we found Malufau’s body. He knew very well who Malufau was, but he had me there so that I could ID the body. I said, ‘I think that’s Iulani Malufau,’ and then De Silva announced I’d identified the John Doe. I bet it was part of the plan too, to have me there to ID the body, maybe to make it look like he hadn’t been stalking Malufau and planning to kill him, even though, of course, it’s exactly what he’d been doing.”

  “Was it De Silva who invited you? I thought you said it was those other guys who wanted you to come along.”

  “Well, I’m sure De Silva engineered it or encouraged it somehow.”

  “How did De Silva know you’d be able to ID Malufau? In fact, how were you able to identify him? I’m still not clear myself. You just guessed?”

  “I told you already. Because he was the guy who followed Davison and me into Fujioka’s parking lot. And then he happened to bump into us downtown later the same morning.”

  “But how did you connect the man with my sister’s ex? What made you think it was the same person?”

  I knew “the unmistakable family resemblance” wasn’t the right answer. Oh, because Davison looks so much like his real father Felon McMurderpants.

  “An educated guess. Putting two and two together. Induction.”

  “Don’t you mean deduction?”

  “No, I mean induction, Donnie. Stop trying to trip me up. Induction is where you ask, ‘What are the circumstances that led to this situation?’ As opposed to deduction, which is, given the present circumstances, what are the likely consequences?”

  “I’m not trying to trip anyone up,” Donnie said, “and since we’re playing detective. Would Iulani Malufau let Andy De Silva, a cop, get near him? Let alone into his room, where De Silva could do anything and it would be Andy’s word against his?”

  “De Silva could’ve gone to visit him pretending to be someone else. Or maybe he just followed Malufau home one night and cracked him over the head. The whole falling out of the window thing could have been staged.”

  “But why would Andy let Gloria take the blame?”

  “Because she hurt him by choosing Iulani Malufau over him, and he’s been stewing about it all these years. Now he’s getting his perfect revenge. Why do you seem surprised?”

  “Molly, who holds a grudge from high school?”

  “Are you kidding? Everyone.”

  “You think Andy would want to hurt my sister? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Wow, Donnie, you really do have a much more charitable view of human nature than I do. Anyway, you know Gloria’s not helping her own case. I don’t know why she doesn’t just cooperate with Feinman. Here Skye’s family just bought her the best lawyer in the state, and instead of working with him, she’s giving him attitude.”

  At that, Donnie stood up. “You and I should stay out of this.”

  “What, and leave it to the police? Who might be trying to frame her?”

  “Why don’t we just let Gloria’s attorney do his job? It’s bad enough having Skye rattle on about how the police are spying on us. I don’t need you hopping on the paranoid train, too.”

  “You want your sister to spend the rest of her life in prison? She’s not a first time offender, you know. This doesn’t look good for her.”

  Donnie sat back down. “Molly. Please, let’s stay out of this. Our getting involved is not going to help. It’ll only make things worse.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  I was completely out of options now. I couldn’t call the police and tell them what I’d told Donnie. It would get right back to De Silva, and then all of us would be in danger. Had Donnie believed me, he could have tried to work his Mahina connections to fix the situation. Maybe get De Silva transferred or something. But he was being stubborn again, refusing to listen to reason. Just like when he’d ignored my marketing plan.

  And if we did “stay out of this,” best case? Gloria would sabotage her own defense and end up in prison. Skye’s parents would finance endless appeals. Skye (and Davison and Tiffany and little Junior) would heroically rally to fight for her freedom. And in the meantime, of course, they’d all need someplace to stay. Donnie wouldn’t dream of turning them away. . .

  “Okay, I’m going back to the house.” I stood up.

  “Good. Thank you, Molly. I’m glad you’re coming home. You’re making the right decision.”

  “I’m just going to grab some fresh clothes. I might be at the Lehua Inn for a while.”

  The mail hadn’t arrived yet, but there was a brown paper parcel from Donnie’s laundry service on the front porch. I picked it up and let myself into the house. The rental car was gone, so Skye and Gloria were out somewhere. Strategizing with Alika Feinman, I hoped. Squawky noises and bilious aromas signaled Junior was home, with (presumably) at least one of his parents.

  I set the parcel down on the kitchen counter, took out my phone, and dialed Emma’s number. It clicked over to voicemail.

  “Emma, it’s me. Listen. I know who—”

  Wait. Donnie had said, “Skye keeps rattling on about how the police are spying on us.” Skye might be paranoid, but that didn’t mean he was wrong. Someone could be listening in right now.

  “Emma, I need to talk to you. It’s about the, um, the set of slipcovers I was going to order? It’s urgent. Please call me back now. I’m at the house, heading out to—uh, the hotel I like.”

  That was probably more secrecy than necessary. The Lehua Inn’s desk clerk had recognized me right away. By this time, half of Mahina probably knew I was staying there.

  I picked up the laundry parcel and took it back into the master bedroom. After the tense conversation Donnie and I had just had, I felt like doing something nice for him. I could put away his shirts, sparing him a minor inconvenience when he came home later.

  I tore off the brown paper to find a dozen red Donnie’s Drive-Inn polo shirts, Size Large. Each one had been cleaned and pressed, hung on a paper-wrapped wire hanger, and sheathed in clear plastic. The twelve wire hangers were fastened together with a rubber band, from which hung a white letter-sized envelope. Gonsalves was written across the envelope in black marker.

  I hung up the shirts, and then pulled t
he envelope off. Hey, it just said Gonsalves on it, not Donnie Gonsalves. The flap was sealed shut. Inside was something substantial, bigger than just a stray button. The contents seemed heavy for their size, and slithered as I tipped the envelope back and forth. I tore open the flap and dumped the contents onto the bed.

  My platinum necklace and earrings gleamed on the white duvet cover. The delicate ribbon of the necklace was bent in one spot. Otherwise, the jewelry looked unharmed. Not only that, it was sparkling clean from a trip through the laundry’s industrial washing machines.

  I stood, flummoxed, for a few moments. Then it came back to me. I’d put the jewelry on top of the dresser in anticipation of going out that evening. Donnie had folded his used shirts and stacked them on the same dresser. When I’d swept the shirts into the cleaner’s bag, the necklace and earrings must have gone with them.

  Had I accused Davison of this theft outright, I would owe him an apology. Of course I hadn’t, so I didn’t. I went to the closet and pulled out a few of my own shirts, an extra pair of trousers, and some underwear. I placed the necklace and earrings back in the envelope, and rolled the envelope inside my bundle of clothes. Then I tucked the bundle under my arm, closed the front door quietly behind me, and hurried back down to the library to get my car.

  I pulled into the lot of the Lehua Inn and jogged into the lobby. This hotel room was an investment in my mental health, and I was going to get my money’s worth. Skeptical husbands, ungrateful sisters-in-law, and crooked cops could do their worst. I was going to enjoy a relaxing afternoon reading a mystery novel in my room. Afterward, room service and another heavenly night of uninterrupted sleep.

  Housekeeping had already tidied my room and made the bed. Every surface sparkled. Even the potted orchid looked clean. I plugged in my phone to charge and hung up my fresh clothes in the closet. Then I pulled out the white envelope with my jewelry still in it. I opened the night table drawer and tucked it into the back, behind the Mahina phone book, the Protestant Gideon Bible, and The Teaching of Buddha.