by bow, frankie
Also by Frankie Bow:
The Miss Fortune Series: Sinful Science
(Hair Extensions and Homicide Book 1)
The Case of the Defunct Adjunct (The Molly Barda Mysteries, Book 0)
The Musubi Murder (The Molly Barda Mysteries, Book 1)
Paradise, Passion, Murder: 10 Tales of Mystery from Hawaii
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SINFUL SCIENCE
I was on my feet before the echoes of the gunshots had died away. The other customers in Francine’s Diner were still seated, staring through the front windows at the empty street and Walter’s General Store across the way.
“Stay inside until I signal that it’s safe,” I said to Gertie, my breakfast companion. “Do not come outside. You understand?”
She swatted my hand away. “Of course I understand, silly. I’m old, not stupid.”
From the doorway of Francine’s Diner, I was able to get a visual on the situation.
Ida Belle. I might have known.
Once upon a time, say a month ago, I would’ve been surprised at the sight of an ancient woman in a turquoise track suit standing on the sidewalk with her hair in rollers, waving a .45 at someone. But that was before I started my undercover assignment in Sinful, Louisiana, population 253, and got to know Gertie and Ida Belle.
Ida Belle’s apparent target looked shaken, but he stood still, making no attempt to evade Ida Belle.
Male. Early twenties. Han Chinese ancestry. Five foot nine, one- thirty. Moderate myopia requires vision correction. Minimal threat.
“Ida Belle!” I heard Gertie cry. I reached across to bar the doorway, but before I could stop her, Gertie had limboed underneath my arm and scampered out.
I turned around to see the rest of the folks in the diner staring at me. I flashed them my best beauty queen smile and ran out after Gertie. We reached Ida Belle and the kid at the same time.
“Ida Belle!” Gertie scolded, “Who is this nice young man, and why are you shooting at him? Look at him, he’s as scared as a rabbit. What’s your name, dear?”
Keep reading Sinful Science.
THE CASE of the DEFUNCT ADJUNCT
It was another beautiful Mahina morning. A pale mist veiled the lawn; dewdrops glittered on the hibiscus hedges along the walkway; the tall palms by the library building swayed and bounced in the wind. I barely noticed any of it. I had one minute to make it to the old Health building, way out on the edge of campus. I felt so harried and damp that I was tempted to skip class and go home. Unfortunately, as the professor, I didn’t really have the option.
A fat raindrop hit me in the eye as I reached the shelter of the language building. A cluster of students chanted their “Mele Kāhea,” the sung request for permission to enter the classroom. As I hurried by, the kumu opened the door to let the students file in one by one. Class was starting. I abandoned my dignity and broke into a sprint.
My business communication students had dispersed themselves around the room like gas molecules, expanding to fill their allotted container. The only two who sat near each other were the twins. In the back row, as far as possible from everyone else, was Bret Lampson. As usual, Bret stared through me, focusing on something far beyond the walls of the classroom. From the first day of class, Bret had tripped my internal danger alarm. The Student Retention Office had been unmoved by my concerns, reminding me that it was my job to honor each student’s unique learning style.
Keep reading The Case of the Defunct Adjunct.
THE MUSUBI MURDER
Our guest of honor, Jimmy Tanaka, may have been “The Most Hated Man in Hawaii,” but he was also the biggest donor in the history of the College of Commerce. We were in no position to be picky about the moral character of our benefactors. Not after the latest round of budget cuts.
I had never seen the cafeteria this dressed up: white tablecloths, a wall-length refreshment table laden with stainless chafing dishes and platters, and extra security. I felt out of place, a drab little sparrow (and a sweaty one) in my dark wool suit. Everyone else sported Aloha Friday wear, cool cotton prints with colorful hibiscus or monstera designs. Something was making my neck itch. It was either the humidity or the plumeria-spiked floral centerpiece.
I was the only professor at the table. We had been evenly dispersed around the cafeteria to encourage (force) us to mingle with our Friends in the Business Community. The arrangement had the added benefit of keeping Hanson Harrison and Larry Schneider separated. Our two most senior professors are like fighting fish, flaring their gills at each other when they get too close.
I’m constantly telling my students how important it is to network. What I don’t tell them is that I, personally, hate doing it, and, furthermore, I’m not very good at it. Mercedes Yamashiro, the only person at the table I knew, was deep in conversation with the woman next to her.
Bill Vogel appeared at our table, looking even more sour-faced than usual. Put him in a lace mantilla, and my dean could do a passable impression of Queen Victoria. “Mercedes,” he barked. “Do you have any idea why Mr. Tanaka would be delayed this morning?”
“Oh, hello, Bill. No, I haven’t seen Jimmy since he checked in last night.”
He gave Mercedes a curt nod and stalked off without so much as a glance in my direction. I was the only person at the table who actually worked for him, but I was of no immediate use. Vogel would remember my name well enough when it was time to delegate some unpleasant task.
The good-looking man on my right was studying the contents of a manila folder. Even if I had the nerve to interrupt him, I couldn’t imagine what I would say. I certainly couldn’t open a conversation by telling him how much I liked the way he smelled, although that would have been the truth.
Keep reading The Musubi Murder
TRUST FALL
From Paradise, Passion, Murder: 10 Tales of Mystery from Hawaii
A hard nudge in the ribs jolted me awake.
“Molly,” Emma hissed. “C’mon, stand up.”
I had dozed off in one of the comfortable new chairs in Administrative Complex Conference Room 5B, my head resting on the shoulder of my best friend and fellow sufferer, Emma Leilani Kano’opomaika’i Nakamura.
“What?” I rubbed my eyes.
“Are you sleeping?”
“Well I was. Why do we have to stand up?”
“We’re doing the trust fall thing now. Eh, don’t let Jake see you making that face or he’s gonna give us another lecture about our attitude.”
“What? I’m not making a face. This is my face.”
Jake Ahu, Director of Faculty Development, glared around the room, and tightened his grip on his clipboard.
“This is a trust fall, people. Come on, everyone out of your seats. We are cultivating a culture of trust here on our campus.”
Jake’s unenviable task was to wrangle us through a full workday of “team building”: making orange, gold, green, and blue hats out of construction paper, building towers with marshmallows and dry spaghetti, and falling backwards off of chairs. Jake was maybe in his late thirties, but looked prematurely haggard. His black hair was shot through with gray, and his bright aloha shirt fit a little too loosely around the neck.
“Fine,” he said. “If no one’s going to come forward, we’ll do it by department.”
At least he wasn’t insufferably chipper. I’ll give him that.
Jake tapped his clipboard with his pen.
“Anthropology? Anthropology isn’t here. Art, also not here. Biology, Emma Nakamura, there you are. You’re going first. Come on. Everyone. Up to the front of the room. Molly Barda, College of Commerce, you’re next after Emma. Kyle Stockhausen, Digital Humanities, you’re after Molly.”
I’m Molly. Molly Barda, Ph.D. I earned my doctorate at one of the top ten literature and creative writing programs in the country, and this is not where I expected to end up.
Keep reading Tru
st Fall
Table of Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SINFUL SCIENCE
THE CASE of the DEFUNCT ADJUNCT
THE MUSUBI MURDER
TRUST FALL