The Perfect Body, page 1
part #8 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
The Perfect Body
Frankie Bow
The Perfect Body
Copyright © 2018 by Frankie Bow
Published by Hawaiian Heritage Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the authors except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Edited by Carina de Pillis-Shintaku
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
About the Author
Chapter One
“Are you okay, Molly?”
Donnie squeezed my hand a little tighter as we made our way up the worn steps of the old Mahina Memorial Hospital. My normally-stoic husband seemed nervous about our first time leaving the baby alone with the sitter. But instead of coming out and saying so, he kept asking me how I was feeling.
“Donnie, it’s fine. Remember I’ve known Margaret since she was a student. She’s probably the most conscientious person I’ve ever met. And besides, she’s already watched Francesca lots of times.”
“During the day. With you there.”
“That’s how I know how good she is with the baby. She’s probably reading to Francesca right now from her CPA study guide. Come on, this is our first dinner out together since the baby was born. Let’s enjoy it. It’s kind of exciting to be out at night, isn’t it? Well it is when you’ve been stuck in the house for two months.”
I don’t normally look forward to work functions, but the Mahina State University Donor Dinner was different from the team-building retreats our administration regularly inflicted on us. The purpose of tonight’s event was to woo and celebrate our donors. There would be no “inspiring” PowerPoint presentations about doing more with less, no mind-numbing exegeses about the distinction between Mission Statements and Vision Statements, no lectures from the Student Retention Office about crafting a “customer-friendly” classroom.
All I had to do tonight was dress up and enjoy a rare dinner out with my handsome husband.
We followed the crowd through the double doorway into the reception area of the old hospital. The building was in mid-remodel. Here and there you could see a patch of unfinished wood, or wires protruding from the wall where a light switch would be. The tang of fresh drywall cut through the food smells wafting from the dining room.
The old Mahina Memorial Hospital had stood empty for years, accumulating graffiti, termite damage, and ghost stories. Last year, the county had “generously” donated it to the university. It was our white elephant now. But as white elephants went, it was gorgeous.
Donnie and I followed the crowd under one of the two curving staircases that bookended the vast entryway.
“I’ve always wanted to see what was inside this building,” I said. “Look at this. It’s like something out of an old movie set.”
“It doesn’t look ADA-compliant,” Donnie remarked. “How do people get upstairs? Is there an elevator?”
That’s the kind of thing Donnie would notice. When I enter an old building like this I see glamor and history and long-forgotten craftsmanship. He sees code violations. I would never say it to Donnie, but I think being an entrepreneur eats away a little piece of your soul.
“There’s a creaky old elevator somewhere,” I said. “You know, the kind I wouldn’t ride on a bet. That probably gets us a pass on ADA. Oh! Did you know, Dan, my dean told me he would try to get some space over here for our college? Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
“Molly,” Donnie said, “you’re amazing.”
He placed his arm around my shoulders as we took our place at the end of what I assumed was the check-in line. I couldn’t see the reception table, but from the speed of the line, I assumed there was only one person staffing it.
“You don’t like this place,” I said.
“It’s distinctive,” he replied diplomatically. “No offense, but it reminds me a little bit of a horror movie.”
“Oh yeah, I can see it. Out of the corner of their eye, someone notices the wallpaper moving. Did they really see a tormented soul screaming? No, it’s just the wisteria print. Or is it?”
“I thought you didn’t like scary movies,” Donnie lifted his chin to get a better view of the dining room as we inched forward in line. “This is a distinguished crowd. I see our mayor, two state senators, and a football coach. And there’s the prosecutor. Did you know the prosecutor’s office used to be in this building?”
“That must have been before I moved to Mahina. This building has been abandoned as long as I can remember.”
“You’re right. I think the last time anyone was in here was right after I graduated high—graduated from high school.”
Being much shorter than Donnie, I didn’t have the same view he did. But I did get a glimpse of the vast dining room. White-shirted wait staff circulated from one table to the next, refilling water and wine glasses.
“Nice event,” he said.
“Don’t be too impressed. I wasn’t the one who was invited, originally. It was supposed to be Dan, my dean. But he’s stuck at an accreditation conference, so he asked me if I wanted to come in his place. Ooh, look at that stamped tin ceiling. Do you think it’s original?”
“I suppose so.”
I noticed someone waving from a table inside the dining room. I waved back.
“That’s Betty Jackson from the psychology department,” I said. “She’s the one who helped me with the Student Retention Office paperwork. She had a copy of the memo that said we only had to update the Teaching Philosophy Statements once a semester, not every week. It’s only the Customer Interaction Reports that every faculty member has to generate each week—”
“Molly?” Donnie interrupted. “We’re up. You need to sign in.”
“Professor Barda?” I recognized the woman at the registration table as someone who worked in fundraising. Her name tag was hidden behind her hair. “You’re at Table Four. Near the entrance, just like you requested. You’ll be seated with Miss Dorothy Pfaff and her companion.”
“Oh, that’ll be nice,” I said. “I’ve met Miss Pfaff. She’s delightful.”
I hoped it didn’t sound like I was namedropping, but it didn’t matter in any case. The woman had already turned her attention to Donnie. I was now invisible.
“Congratulations, ah? Donnie. The baby.” Apparently, she thought Donnie had managed to produce a baby all by himself. “Aw, I bet she’s beautiful. Get pictures?”
Two things about Donnie. One, he’s extremely easy on the eyes. Two, he doesn’t seem to realize when people are flirting with him.
I do, though.
“Let’s not hold up the line.” I slid my arm through Donnie’s, smiled at the woman, and moved us toward the dining room.
Chapter Two
Table Four was, as promised, close to the entrance. In case of a baby emergency, we could make a quick getaway without disrupting the dinner.
When I saw who was already sitting at Table Four, I wanted to make that getaway immediately.
“Isn’t that your old friend, the music teacher?” Donnie asked. “What’s his name again? I don’t remember.”
“Stephen Park. He teaches theater, not music, and he is not my friend.”
I wish I could forget Stephen Park’s name. When I first moved to Mahina, Stephen and I were briefly an item. We broke up after he stood me up on my birthday. Infuriatingly, whenever I’ve run into him since then (impossible to avoid on our small campus), he’s always acted like he’s the wronged party.
“And that’s Bee Corcoran sitting with him. She’s the new kinesiology professor I was telling you about.”
“The one who keeps telling you to work out more?”
“Yes. Nothing a new mom loves better than unsolicited life advice from someone who’s never had kids.”
“She doesn’t look like a man.”
“She’s not a man. She identifies as a woman. She is a woman. You shouldn’t treat her differently or a
“Then why did you tell me?”
“You’re my husband. We’re one flesh, remember our wedding vows?”
“Is that the rule?”
“Yes. You tell me everything, right?”
“Sure.”
“Come on. It’ll be fine. When Dorothy Pfaff shows up she’ll talk about her latest skydiving adventure or her affair with Ernest Hemingway or something and we won’t have to say a word.”
Chapter Three
I didn’t dislike Bee Corcoran, exactly. I just didn’t want to sit with her. Bee seemed to think I wanted to hear her views on how much to exercise (excessively), what to eat (practically nothing), and how to sleep (for eight uninterrupted hours, “no excuses.” Because a baby who wakes up hungry every hour is apparently an “excuse.”) I’d never say it to Bee, of course, but I kind of resented getting fitness advice from someone who grew up without thigh fat.
“Molly!” Bee grinned, exposing blue-white teeth. When she reached across the table to grasp my hands, I saw her arm muscles slithering under her skin. She put me in mind of a toothy blonde shark sizing up a plump seal.
“Bee, this is my husband Donnie. Of Donnie’s Drive-Inn. Donnie, this is Bee Corcoran, our new kinesiology professor.”
“Donnie. Hel-lo.” She turned her high-wattage smile on him and reached out to take his hand.
“Stephen Park, Donnie,” I interrupted, “I believe you’ve met.”
This forced the two men to acknowledge each other.
It was only after we were all seated that I noticed Stephen looked different. His black dress shirt was snug over his shoulders, and his neck was thicker (either that or he’d shortened his bolo tie). He looked like he’d been lifting weights, something I’d never known him to do before.
Aside from the new muscles, he was the same old Stephen Park. His jet-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, as always. Defying the usual order of things, his hairline had advanced, rather than receded. Stephen’s parents owned Park Beverly Hills Aesthetic Center. Each time he flew to Southern California to visit them, he came back looking a little younger.
But I noticed glints of silver at Stephen’s roots. The eternally-youthful Stephen Park was finally going gray.
It had been a long time, I realized. Years. Maybe it was time to let old resentments go.
“We’re very lucky tonight, Bee,” Stephen started in as he reached for the bread basket. “We get to sit with the world’s happiest couple. Isn’t it marvelous?”
Apparently not everyone was letting things go.
Stephen liked to poke fun at my “bourgeois conformity.” I had moved on and gotten married, he hadn’t, and this was his way of getting back at me. Well, I wasn’t going to take the bait. The only thing to do was to maintain a dignified silence.
“Wow, Stephen,” I said, “it looks like you lost all of that weight you gained after rehab. Between that and the gray hair, I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Oh, he’s just eating clean and moving around a little more,” Bee said, before Stephen could respond. “Getting in shape’s not super hard. You just have to make it a priority. Now, Molly, how about you? Are you taking those walks with the baby?”
“Yes, I am. It’s quite invigorating,” I said, referring to the times I walked Francesca between the playpen in the living room and the changing table in the nursery. Moving around the house was still moving. “And Francesca loves being carried.”
“Be careful about carrying her too much,” Bee warned. “You don’t want her to get lazy.”
“She’s two months old, Bee. She’s not even going to start crawling for another—”
“Oh, I bet she’s adorable.”
“Well of course she’s adorable.” Stephen managed a thin smile. “Look at her parents. The ideal family. All they need is one-point-seven more kids and a white picket fence, and the dream is complete.”
“The cliché is two point five kids, Stephen, not two point seven. So, Bee, how do you like the new building? This is the first time I’ve been inside. It’s so beautiful. They don’t build places like this anymore.”
“Our Bee is fearless,” Stephen proclaimed. “Aren’t you, darling? The ghost stories don’t rattle you at all, do they?”
“Hey, I’m just glad to get the lab space I need, finally,” Bee said. “I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be getting this place up to compliance. We’re getting there, though.”
“They say if you come here after dark, you can hear babies crying,” Stephen said.
“Oh, Stephen, stop trying to scare me!” She dealt him a playful slap on the shoulder, which sounded hard enough to hurt. Stephen didn’t seem to mind. “Let’s talk about something happy. Do you two have any baby pictures?”
Donnie got there first. He pulled out his smartphone to show off a picture of Francesca in her pink, blue, and white striped knit hospital cap.
“This is Francesca the day she was born.” He swiped to the next picture. “And here she is the day we brought her home.”
“Oh, she’s so cute!” Bee enthused. “Look at all the black hair! She got it from her dad, didn’t she? Donnie, you’re Hawaiian, aren’t you?”
“Hawaiian, Portuguese, Chinese, Scottish, and German,” Donnie said.
“I knew it. Lucky girl, there’s so much college money out there for Native Hawaiians. You know some of the scholarships I see my Hawaiian students coming in with, wow. I mean I wish I’d had—”
“It’s a little early to think about college,” I said quickly. Donnie’s own college plans had been scuttled in high school when his parents died. “We’re just happy to have her. We think she’s adorable.”
“Yes, adorable,” Stephen sneered. I wanted to kick him in the shins, but was distracted by a dangerous prickling in my chest. Seeing Francesca’s face on Donnie’s phone had triggered the letdown reflex. I grabbed my purse and stood up so fast I almost knocked my chair over.
“I have to call the babysitter,” I announced, and hurried away, leaving poor Donnie to make conversation with my toxic ex-boyfriend and his tactless companion.
Chapter Four
I raced into a bathroom stall, whipped off my blouse, and checked my pads. I was just in time. Another minute or two and they would have been soaked through. What reckless impulse had led me to wear a red silk blouse? I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and pressed as much moisture out of the pads as I could. In my rush to get out of the house and arrive at the dinner on time, I hadn’t even thought about packing an extra pair of breast pads.
Emma Nakamura, my best friend at Mahina State, had advised me not to come to this dinner at all. As I repositioned my bra and bent over to shake everything back into place, I wondered whether she might have been right.
“It’s summer,” Emma had warned me. “Don’t be a schnook and work for free when you should be catching up on your research. It sets a dangerous precedent.” (Emma grew up in Hawaii, but went to graduate school in New York. This, in her mind, entitles her to throw in a little Yiddish when she feels like it.)
The flaw in her logic was that doing research is work too. But Emma doesn’t see it that way. She lives for her research, which has something to do with plant DNA.
Also, Emma and Yoshi don’t have kids, so she has no idea how hard it is to get anything done with a baby in the house. Looking after a baby is like trench warfare—long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of terror. And like trench warfare, it wears you down. A dinner out, even a work-related one, was a treat.
