The Fever Cabinet, page 10
part #9 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
One by one, each man expressed sympathy in his own way. Finally, Harriet herself approached and placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.
“Hard luck, darling,” she said. She turned and herded the men out the front door.
A roar of un-mufflered engines crescendoed, then faded as the bikers drove off.
Fiona walked into the kitchen, pulled out a teacup, and poured herself a generous portion of Emmett’s good whiskey, something she had never done while Emmett was alive. Not that he forbade her outright. But he made her feel she lacked the expertise to truly appreciate it. That it was wasted on her and she may as well drink something cheaper.
Fiona took her brimming teacup back into the living room to find her mother there, in the act of lighting her pipe.
“Mother!”
Harriet jumped.
“Ah, there you are, darling. Wasn’t it lovely of the fellows to stop in and wish you well?”
Fiona clutched her teacup of whiskey and sank into the closest chair.
“Mum, you can’t smoke in here.”
Harriet pocketed the pipe and headed to the kitchen.
“Mind if I help myself to whatever you’re having? ‘Tea,’ is it?”
“Bottom shelf, next to the fridge.” Fiona called after her. “Have as much as you like.”
Harriet came back out with a glass in her hand and got comfortable on the couch.
“You’ll have to forgive me for asking,” Harriet said as she took a sip, “but you’re quite sure it was Emmett you found?”
Fiona nodded miserably and stared into the amber depths of her teacup.
“I can’t imagine who could have done this to him,” she said.
“Well, I can,” Harriet countered. “He’d made a lot of enemies, hadn’t he?”
“Not every passing thought needs to be spoken aloud. How did you know about it? It hasn’t been in the news yet, has it?”
Harriet set down her glass.
“Not that I know of. It’s a bit tricky to explain how I came to find out.”
“I’m sure it is,” Fiona replied. “And while I don’t wish to appear ungrateful for the outpouring of sympathy from the horde of men you invited into my house and who now know where I live, what on earth possessed you to tell them about Emmett’s death in the first place? They certainly were no friends of his.”
Although, as she said it, Fiona realized she didn’t know who Emmett’s friends had been. She certainly had no idea whom he had intended to meet in Las Vegas.
“You’ve got it backwards, darling,” Harriet countered. “I didn’t tell anyone. It was Clyde who heard about it first from the police. He told me. Marvellous coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Clyde? Who on earth is Clyde?”
“He was sitting next to me. He reminds me a bit of your father, in a way.”
Fiona stared at her mother.
“Reminds you of Father? You don’t mean the man with the plaited beard and the leather waistcoat?”
“Handsome man, don’t you think?” Harriet replied.
“And how did he happen to know about Emmett?”
“It’s rather a long story.” Harriet took a sip and set her glass down on the side table. “Perhaps I’d better start from the beginning. Now, let me think.”
“Take your time.” Fiona gulped her whiskey and started to cough.”
“You okay?” Harriet asked.
“Never better,” Fiona gasped. Fiona was not much of a drinker and didn’t see the appeal now. Her throat was burning, and she felt lightheaded. But she wanted to prove Emmett wrong about her not appreciating whiskey. “Now tell me, how did you find out about Emmett’s death?”
“It seems one of the policemen who came to the scene had attended St. Aelred School. When he realized the body belonged to the headmaster at his alma mater, he rang up his wife to tell her.”
“I wouldn’t think they’d be allowed to do that if there’s been a murder,” Fiona said. “Seems a bit sloppy. Were there any other details?”
Fiona considered mentioning that the policemen who showed up at the murder scene were the same ones who had come round asking after Mr. Ferman but decided against it. She didn’t want to derail the conversation.
“He said the room smelled like kalua pig. That’s the one they cook underground. Have you tried kalua pig? It’s lovely, rather like a smoked gammon.”
“You do realize the ‘smoked gammon’ was my husband,” Fiona said.
“Yes, they found him in a sort of great roasting pan thingy, didn’t they?”
“It’s true,” Fiona swirled her teacup and took another gulp of whiskey. “Now I think of it, I do remember a meaty sort of odour in my office.”
“Your office?” Harriet exclaimed. “That’s where he was?”
Fiona nodded.
“What on earth was he thinking getting murdered in your office? How horrid of him. Now you’re getting me all distracted, darling. Let me think. What happened then?”
“The policeman’s wife,” Fiona said.
“Ah yes. The policeman’s wife told her mother, who manages Mahina Printing and Stationers.”
“Mahina Printing and Stationers? Why does that sound familiar? Is it where you told me you’d seen Emmett?”
“Quite. Lovely little shop. You didn’t seem at all interested when I tried to tell you about it before.”
Fiona slumped in her chair and took another slug of whiskey.
“I don’t want to hear what happened in the shop. I want to know why everyone in Mahina seems to know Emmett was murdered.”
Fiona: Word Gets Around
HARRIET RETRIEVED THE bottle of Macallan from the kitchen, refilled Fiona’s teacup, and topped off her own glass.
“Let me start again, darling, shall I? The policeman told his wife about finding the headmaster of the boys’ school dead. Yeah? Then the wife told her mother, who manages the stationer’s. The mother remembered seeing Emmett in the shop. And me as well. Then the mother told the daughter about our little contretemps—”
“Ah,” Fiona said. “You’re already infamous in Mahina, are you?”
“Do let me finish, darling. The mother told the daughter she’d seen Emmett in the shop, and the daughter told her husband, the policeman. The police went round to the stationer’s, and that’s how they found me.”
“You were at the stationer’s again?” Talking with her mother often made Fiona feel like she was trying to read a book that had random pages torn out.
“Not today. No, I haven’t been back.”
“How did they find you then?” Fiona asked. “You really must be infamous, mustn’t you?”
“Oh, no one knows me. But I was with Clyde, you see, and it seems Clyde knows everyone in Mahina.”
“You were with Clyde? Plaited-beard Clyde? You never said you were with Clyde.”
“How am I supposed to remember every little detail if you keep interrupting me, darling? It seems the policeman’s mother-in-law recalled the woman who was with Clyde Hamamoto—that’s me, you see—had had words with the headmaster, so—”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, what exactly did you do?”
“I gave him a right bollocking, of course. What would you expect me to do?”
“Did you threaten him? Please tell me you didn’t threaten him.”
“Not a bit of it. All I did was tell him I had divorce papers all drawn up and ready, and there was a handsome incentive for him if he’d sign. I was improvising, of course, but he had no idea—”
“Mother!”
“Now don’t ‘Mother’ me, darling, I was only trying to help. Anyone could see he was making you miserable. And I do see how it’s all gotten a bit messy now, but how was I to know he was going to go and get himself murdered?”
Fiona closed her eyes.
“And did he accept your offer?” she asked quietly. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Please allow me to cling to the conviction that my dead husband loved me.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what he thought of my offer,” Harriet said. “I was escorted from the premises before I could get an answer. They have some sort of plainclothes house detective there, did you know? I suppose to stop people nicking pens. Poor Clyde, I certainly didn’t want to drag him into it.”
“You shouldn’t have brought him along, then.”
“I don’t suppose it would have made any difference. Clyde is my landlord.”
“You’re living with him?”
“Now don’t look at me like that, it’s not what you’re thinking. He owns the Hanakoa Falls Bed and Breakfast. That’s where the police found me.”
Fiona shook her head and poured herself more whiskey.
“I don’t believe there’s any such place. I think you’re making it up.”
“Look it up if you like. Four and a half to five stars on all the travel sites. I’ve got a room with a private bath, balcony that looks out over the river, the view’s brilliant. The police asked a few questions and told us what happened. Clyde already knew Emmett was my daughter’s husband, because I’d had to explain to him what happened at the stationer’s, you see. He insisted on getting the fellows together to come round and pay their respects. So here we are.”
“I should like to ask something,” Fiona said.
“Anything, darling.”
“What if Emmett had come to see you? To accept your hastily improvised and poorly-thought-through offer of payment in exchange for divorcing me? Would you have gone through with it? Paid him, I mean?”
Harriet thought for a moment and shook her head.
“No. If he had come to see me? Much simpler to push him over the balcony. Not that I couldn’t afford it, but why should he be rewarded for...you look a bit peaky, darling. Stay right here. I’ll get you a paracetamol and a glass of water.”
“It’s in the medicine cabinet,” Fiona called after her mother. “It’s called acetaminophen here. No one in America’s heard of paracetamol.”
Molly: The Baby’s Cry
BY THE NEXT MORNING, Saturday’s gruesome discovery seemed very far away. My queasiness had faded, as had my determination to be a vegetarian for the rest of my life. I took Francesca to Mass and stopped by Donnie’s Drive-Inn to pick up some lunch and see Donnie. (Sunday is the Drive-Inn’s busiest day.) I had just gotten everything put away at home when I remembered I had Student Retention Office paperwork due Monday. And I’d left the forms in my office.
So I buckled Francesca into the car seat and headed to the College of Commerce. I felt a little strange going back into the building after what had happened yesterday. But Campus Security had sent out an announcement this morning, assuring us there was no danger to the Mahina State University community, but to be on the safe side, they were stepping up security at the old hospital complex.
My only problem was going to be keeping Francesca out of sight.
Right after we moved to the new building, one of the marketing professors brought his non-housebroken twins into work and let them run loose while he met with his students. The adorable tots managed to steal their father’s cigarette lighter and set the hallway bulletin board ablaze. Fortunately, Serena, the dean’s secretary, got there quickly with the fire extinguisher. But from then on, children were banned from the College of Commerce building.
Once inside my office I locked the door behind us. Then, balancing the baby on one hip, I pressed a slightly-worn spot on the koa-paneled wall and entered my secret room. It smelled like old leather with a whiff of mildew. I plunked Francesca into the portable playpen I’d set up and switched on my battery-powered desk lamp to supplement the natural light.
When Pat Flanagan, my reporter friend in Honolulu, was researching the old hospital, I asked him to find out what the hidden room was for. He thinks my office, together with the adjoining room, was the personal workspace of Constance Brigham, heiress to the Brigham fortune. Miss Brigham was from one of those old Hawaiian dynasties that sprang from the son of a missionary marrying the daughter of a chief. Constance herself devoted her life to temperance and charity, and the Inebriates’ Asylum had been her life’s work.
Whether Miss Brigham used the secret room to court donors, rendezvous with lovers, or simply relax with a glass of something otherwise not permitted on the premises, was unknown. For me, the room had been perfect as a private space to pump breast milk. Now Francesca was mostly weaned, I’d found it was a good place to do paperwork. My computer wasn’t there to distract me, and with the panel closed, no one could barge in and interrupt me.
A breeze ruffled the stack of forms under the Alice Mongoose teapot I used as a paperweight. Francesca babbled happily as she played with her squeaky, jingly toys.
Filling out the Student Retention Office forms by hand was frustratingly inefficient, especially compared to the all-online system the Student Retention Office had until recently. But for now, there wasn’t any alternative. Our procurement officer had discovered serious security issues with the Student Information Management System (that is to say, she caught her husband fooling around with the company’s chief operating officer) so the contract was cancelled. The bidding process had to be started over, and until it ran its course, we were stuck with paper forms.
I heard a clicking sound outside on the landing. Who in the management department (besides me) would come in to work on a Sunday? I pressed the koa panel closed behind me, careful not to wake Francesca. The idea of leaving her unattended, even for a few seconds, spiked my anxiety, but I couldn’t let it be known that I’d brought a baby into the building. In any case, the panel wasn’t soundproof. So if she woke up, I’d hear her.
I went out to the landing to see Fiona’s door was ajar. There was no police tape or anything to indicate her office had been a crime scene. They must have collected everything they needed already. I didn’t feel like talking to Fiona, or anyone for that matter, but I realized I should probably pop in and see how she was doing. It was only yesterday she’d found her dead husband, after all.
“Fiona?” I knocked on the door frame and peeked in.
No one answered, and I didn’t see anyone inside.
“Fiona?” What if she had passed out again and was on the floor somewhere? I walked into the office, knelt down and checked under her desk, stood up—and found myself face-to-chest with a large man in a hot-pink Konishi Construction shirt. He was wearing dark sunglasses, which seemed odd.
I yelped and stepped sideways, toward the door.
He stepped too, blocking my exit.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“I’m Molly Barda.” My voice sounded thin and tentative. “I’m the department chair.”
He stared at me (or at least he aimed the sunglasses in my direction) as if considering whether to let me out. Who was this guy? My mind immediately went to the worst possible scenario. He was Emmett Spencer’s murderer, he’d somehow gotten his hands on a Konishi Construction t-shirt and a key to Fiona’s office, and he was back to make sure he hadn’t left any incriminating evidence.
But why would a Konishi Construction guy want to kill Emmett Spencer? And if he wasn’t a real Konishi employee, how would a random murderer get a key?
“I thought I heard Dr. Spencer come in,” I said to the man, “so I came over to see her.”
“You thought you was gonna find her on the floor?”
It was true, I had been looking under her desk.
“She fainted yesterday,” I said. “I thought she, um...”
Nice work, Molly, you pretty much just told this guy you were here when Emmett Spencer’s body was discovered. Smart move. The evidence he’s looking to get rid of now includes you.
The man didn’t move. He stood and stared. I couldn’t think of anything to do but stare back. I hadn’t even brought my phone with me, like an idiot.
And then I heard Francesca. Just one syllable: “ba.”
Francesca, hang on, I thought. We don’t want the bad man to find you.
Waaaaa! Francesca cried.
“What was that?” the man turned his head a little, but he didn’t move out of the doorway.
I was terrified, and angry. Poor Francesca, all alone in the musty little room.
But then I remembered what my student Bryce had told me. That if you were near the old hospital, you’d hear a baby’s cry before something bad happened to you.
“What was what?” I said. “I didn’t hear anything. Why, did you hear something?”
The man paled beneath his tan.
“You never heard that?” he demanded. “You deaf or what?”
I shrugged and tried not to flinch when I heard Francesca raise her voice again.
Waa, waa, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Even more upset now because where was Mom? I ached to rush back to my office and hold her, but even if I could push past the man (I couldn’t), I didn’t want to lead him to her.
WAAAAAAAAA!
“Someone get a baby in here?” he demanded.
“Did you say a baby?” I put on a concerned expression. “Are you telling me you hear a baby’s cry?”
He glowered at me for a few seconds and I was afraid he was going to punch me. He swore, turned on his heel, and thundered down the stairs.
As soon as he was out of sight I rushed back to my office, pushed through the panel door, and snatched Francesca out of the playpen. After finishing up the diaper change (the baby’s, in case you’re wondering), I took out my cell phone and called Security.
At first there was no answer. I hung up again and this time someone picked up after the second ring. I babbled out my version of what had just happened, but the woman interrupted me to tell me they would be sending someone up to my office.
Molly: Good News
“MICAH,” I SAID. “WE are really glad to see you. Thank you for coming up.”
“Oh, hey, little girl,” Micah cooed, as Francesca stretched her chubby arms toward him. “Can I hold her? Francesca, yeah?”
How could I say no? Francesca was leaning away from me so hard I had to struggle to keep her from tipping out of my arms. Micah took her and held her. He must have been closing in on thirty, but he still had his chubby baby cheeks, which made him and Francesca look adorably alike. I’m not saying he looked like he could be the father of the baby; he looked like the actual baby. I would never share this observation with him, of course.
