The Fever Cabinet, page 14
part #9 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
“Molly, Larry Schneider and Hanson Harrison are both past retirement age, and they’re holding it over me. The minute I dare to ask either of them to take on an overload, I’ll get their notices of intent to retire the same day, and there’s two faculty members gone I won’t be able to replace.”
“What about Rodge Cowper?” I asked. “He’s not eligible for retirement yet, is he?”
“Rodge would agree to it just to get me out of his office and then and he wouldn’t show up to any of the classes.”
“Is he allowed to do that? Just not show up?”
“I could fire him for insubordination. But it’s the same thing. I’m down another faculty member I can’t replace within my lifetime.”
“Why is it such a fight for us to keep our positions?” I asked. “Emma’s department doesn’t seem to have any problem hiring new people.”
“Funny you mention biology. Last time I brought up our situation with Marshall Dixon, she told me for the price of one College of Commerce professor she can get two biologists who will teach a three-three load, bring in a quarter million a year in grants, and are happy to have the job. Hard to argue with that.”
“Dan, I’m not a business ethics expert. I teach resume writing. My degree’s in literature. I had to do a ton of prep just to be able to teach Intro to Business Management. Sticking me into Fiona’s classes would not be doing the students a favor.”
“Well, maybe you’ll do a better job than I could at convincing Fiona Spencer to stay. Good luck.”
Molly: The Tanning Bed Accident
DONNIE WAS SITTING at the kitchen counter with Francesca hoisted over his shoulder. With his free hand he was sorting through the day’s receipts. The baby was drooling happily down the back of his red Donnie’s Drive-Inn shirt. I grabbed a prefilled formula bottle from the pantry, lifted the baby from Donnie’s shoulder, and sat down to feed her.
I checked my phone with my free hand. Nothing interesting in my email, and Pat’s reply to my text had been profoundly disappointing. He’d already heard about Emmett Spencer’s murder, so I hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know.
I single-thumb-typed another text to Pat:
Apostol Dos Santos first wife died in tanning bed “accident”?? Biker connection?
Pat had told me the wife of a trustee rode with the local biker club. I hoped he’d find my idea interesting.
“Donnie, did you feed the baby today?” I asked. Francesca was frantically gulping down the formula.
“I gave her a bottle about twenty minutes ago.” He got up from the counter, ran a glass of water, set it in front of me, and sat down next to us on the sofa. “Tough day?”
“Yes, now that you mention it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had starved her. She still seems hungry, that’s all. Maybe she’s going through a growth spurt. And thank you for the water.” I took a sip to show his effort wasn’t wasted. “It’s not quite as important now that I’m not breastfeeding, though.”
“You’re right,” Donnie said. “She does seem hungry.”
We watched Francesca’s cheeks pulsing as the fluid level in the bottle sank. The baby’s eyebrows drew together, giving her a determined expression.
“Her whole world is focused on getting that formula out of the bottle,” I said. “Only a baby could make complete self-centeredness look so adorable.”
“So how was your day?” Donnie asked. “Want to talk about it?”
“I learned a new way to peel a banana.”
“From the non-stem end?”
“You knew about that? I hate feeling like everyone knows things except me.”
Donnie put his arm around me and gave me a gentle hug.
“Fiona’s mother is a suspect in Emmett Spencer’s death,” I said. “Unless you already knew that too?”
“She was arrested?”
“Not yet. Fiona and her mother came in to see me about it this morning. I told them to call Honey Akiona.”
“Good recommendation.” Donnie took the empty bottle from Francesca, got up, and returned with a full one. Francesca grabbed the bottle and attacked it as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.
“Yeah, turns out someone had already given them her name. Oh, one more thing.” I stroked the baby’s fuzzy black hair. “This afternoon, I found out Fiona told Dan she’s leaving.”
“I know you fought really hard to fill that position. Will you be able to replace her?”
“Probably not. But wait, there’s more. Dan thinks she’s going to leave before the end of the semester, so I’ll have to teach all her classes.”
“Why you? Can’t any of the other professors help out?”
“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it. Is it okay if we invite Fiona over for dinner?”
Francesca was struggling to stay awake now. Donnie caught her half-empty bottle before it toppled onto the floor and took it over to the sink.
“Are you going to try to convince her to stay?” Donnie called over the sound of running water.
“Why, you think it’s a bad idea?”
“No, not at all. But I can understand her wanting to leave.”
“But to walk away from a tenure-track job?” I said.
“She just found her husband’s dead body in her office.”
“Good point. He’s the main reason she came to Mahina in the first place. Now he’s gone, we have to give her another reason to stay. Make her feel like part of the College of Commerce family.”
“Didn’t you say her mother’s here?” Donnie shut off the water and came back out to the living room. “Sounds like she already has family.”
“True, but I’m not sure it really helps. Imagine me and my mother, only times a thousand.”
“Hm.”
“Fiona doesn’t realize she has people here in Mahina who need her,” I said. “Her students. Her colleagues.”
“Her department chair who doesn’t want to take over her classes,” Donnie said.
“Exactly. So is it okay if I invite her over?”
“Sure.” Donnie said. “When?”
“How about tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“I know it’s last-minute.”
“What are you thinking, an hour from now? If you’re okay with leftovers. Here, I’ll take the baby. Take a look. See what you think.”
Donnie went to deposit Francesca into her crib. Inside the fridge I found stacks of large foil pans, neatly labeled with masking tape.
“It looks like we have chow fun, chicken katsu, teriyaki beef, and fried rice,” I said to Donnie when he came back out. “I think that’ll be fine. You’re amazing. Thank you.”
“Thank all the customers who didn’t order chow fun, chicken katsu, teriyaki beef, and fried rice today,” he said.
I gave him a big hug, and he planted a kiss on top of my head.
“Okay, I’m going to make the call now,” I said. “Boy, I hope this isn’t awkward.”
Fiona: Surely it’s Not That Simple
FIONA SAT ON THE UGLY maize-coloured couch in the darkening living room, too dispirited to make the effort to switch on the light.
Fiona was no Pollyanna when it came to the American legal system. Her views had been shaped by studying its outstanding ethical failures: the Korematsu decision; the mortgage securities meltdown; the industry-fuelled opioid epidemic. Even so, she had been shocked by her conversation with Honey Akiona, reputedly the best lawyer in Mahina.
Honey had advised Fiona and Harriet to leave Hawaii before they could be arrested.
She hadn’t come right out and phrased it that way, of course. She had prefaced her advice with, “now I’m not saying you should do this...” and gone on to talk (hypothetically, of course) about what would happen if they were to leave before any formal charges were filed. The lawyer’s best guess, based on her own experience, was with the evidence they had, Mahina PD wouldn’t bother to follow through. Especially if it was going to involve extradition from another country.
“Surely it’s not that simple,” Fiona had objected. “We’re to just pick up and leave?”
“Sorry to be blunt,” Honey explained, “but a lot of people think your husband got what was coming to him. Karma. Bachi. There’s not a lot of sympathy for the victim here.”
Fiona bristled. Certainly, Emmett had his faults. But for the entire town to dislike him as much as she did felt like an insult to her good judgement.
“There’s something else you should consider, Dr. Spencer,” the lawyer continued. “Your mother had a confrontation with the victim, which looks bad. But you lied to your husband’s secretary and told her your husband was with you after he was already dead. That’s even worse. Makes you look like you got something to hide.”
Fiona hadn’t tried to explain. She couldn’t bring herself to admit she had lied to protect Emmett’s reputation (and her own) and it had backfired horribly. It would make an interesting case study for her class, if it weren’t all so mortifying.
Fiona didn’t even have her mum about to commiserate with. Harriet had seemed more exhilarated than alarmed by the prospect of becoming a fugitive from justice and had gone out for a celebratory dinner with Clyde.
Fiona considered writing to her father to tell him about Harriet’s friendship with Clyde. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
“Let her have her bit of fun,” the perpetually unbothered Nigel Holmes would reply. Or worse, “That’s my Harriet, absolute force of nature, don’t you know. Always been a man magnet.”
Fiona had never wanted a marriage like her parents’. She wanted a husband who stood up for himself, who cared for her enough to be just a little jealous. It hadn’t quite worked out as planned, to say the least.
Meanwhile, against all reason, her parents’ peculiar union had endured. It was all rather infuriating.
Fiona got up to fix herself a pot of tea, never mind it was already after five. She filled the electric kettle, the one that didn’t whistle. Fiona had wanted one that whistled so she’d know when the water had boiled, but Emmett had insisted on a quiet one because he didn’t like the noise. (Emmett himself drank coffee.)
Fiona realized she had few fond memories of her husband. It made the loss more painful. Because Emmett had left her with nothing.
Fiona abandoned the idea of tea. She switched off the kettle and helped herself to Emmett’s good whiskey instead. She was on her second glass when her phone rang.
It was Molly Barda, her department head. With apologies for the late invitation, was she free for dinner? It looked like she bloody well was. No husband to worry about, and no mother either. Anything was better than hanging about, festering. Transportation was no longer a problem, as Maureen had managed to track down Emmett’s car and rescue it from police impound.
Fiona punched Molly’s home address into the map program on her phone and started down the hill.
Fiona: A New Perspective
FIONA SPENCER WAS NOT an experienced drinker, so she was unacquainted with the effects of whiskey on an empty stomach. When she arrived at Molly’s house, she felt tipsier than when she had left. She probably shouldn’t have driven herself down, but she was here now. There was nothing for it but to carry on until her head cleared.
Fiona had prepared herself for an awkward evening. But from the moment Molly answered the door and invited her in, Fiona found to her surprise that the time passed quickly. She had never been impressed by her department head’s social skills. But tonight, she realized Molly was a fantastic listener. So much so that she seemed fascinated by Fiona’s every utterance. Molly’s husband was dead charming too, although not at all the pale and slender type Fiona usually fancied.
Dinner was plain comfort food, served “family style” on platters and accompanied with wine, which Fiona did not refuse, lest she seem standoffish. The conversation flowed so easily, and the company was so agreeable, Fiona wondered whether Mahina might not be such a bad place to live after all. She might even miss it after she left.
“I’ve always distrusted passion, you see.” Fiona was sitting at the kitchen counter, refilling her glass at regular intervals while Molly loaded up the dishwasher. “I suppose it’s why I married Emmett in the first place. Well I liked his looks, too, didn’t I? Can’t ignore that side of things. Tall and ethereal, like some sort of angel. It was a challenge, at first, to try to make him happy. I even bought him a ten-thousand-pound watch as a wedding present.”
Molly turned and gave Fiona a quizzical look.
“Did you say a thousand-pound watch? How does a watch—oh, you mean it cost a thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand.”
“Whoa.”
“Mum says buying a man an expensive gift makes a woman look desperate. Do you think it’s true?”
“How does a watch cost ten thousand pounds? Can it fly or something?”
“It’s a Vacheron Constantin. Platinum. Gorgeous blue-black alligator band.”
Molly slotted the dirty plates into the dishwasher racks in neat rows. Fiona would have volunteered to help tidy up, but Molly seemed to have things under control.
“Do you have the watch now?” Molly asked. “I’d love to see it.”
“No idea where it is. Funny, I haven’t thought about the bloody thing in yonks. Looked lovely on Emmett’s wrist. I can’t even remember whether he was wearing it the last time I spoke to him. We had quite a row, you know.”
“I think you mentioned it,” Molly said.
“I was thinking he might’ve lost the watch. Or perhaps given it to someone.”
“Things must have been good between the two of you at first, though, right?” Molly asked.
Fiona gave the question some thought as Molly rinsed and loading dishes. Had they ever had what people called a “honeymoon” period? Finally, she said,
“When Emmett first asked me to marry him, he said he thought I’d be a ‘suitable’ wife. So no, I don’t suppose there was ever a time when we were giddy in love or anything like that.”
“You were okay with that?” Molly asked.
“Oh, yes. It sounded so rational. So different to my parents. They like to think they’re all about passion, living their truth, and all that tosh.”
“Following your passion and living your truth doesn’t sound so bad if you can afford it,” Molly said.
“It is when it lands you in prison.”
“Prison? Who’s in prison?”
“My father, for one.”
Fiona wouldn’t have opened up so readily if Molly’s husband had been there, but he’d long since gone to put the baby to bed and hadn’t returned. For some reason it was easy to confide in Molly.
Molly finished up at the dishwasher, pulled up a barstool next to Fiona, and poured herself some wine.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” she said. “If you’d like to talk about it? I don’t want to pry.”
“Oh, no need for sympathy. He’s quite proud of himself if you must know. He was sentenced to twelve months for protesting a tree-felling scheme in his neighbourhood.”
“A whole year for participating in a protest? Sounds kind of harsh.”
“Oh, he fancies himself quite the martyr. He’s only got a few months left on his sentence so he’s in a bit of a rush to finish writing his prison memoir.”
“Okay,” Molly said.
Fiona stared into her glass.
“Molly, all I wanted was routine. Consistency. To live an unexceptional, predictable little life. Like yours.”
“Um, thanks?”
“Life with Emmett in Mahina seemed to suit. Married to a headmaster in a little village thousands of miles away from anything. Teaching at an obscure college no one’s ever heard of. It seemed like a lovely plan.”
“You sound exactly like my dissertation advisor.” Molly put her glass down. “Except he didn’t think it was at all lovely. It was bad enough for me to end up at a university he’d never heard of, but teaching in the business school? That was a mortal sin as far as he was concerned. He said I was wasting my ‘fine critical mind’ teaching ‘a bunch of slack-jawed baseball caps how to pad their resumes.’ But you know what? I could’ve done a lot worse. Mahina is a great place to live, Fiona. We don’t have a symphony orchestra, or a ballet company, or five-star restaurants, but we do have the County Band and world-class hula. Not to mention the Maritime Club and the Pair-O-Dice Bar and Grille. I like it here. I do. It probably sounds like I’m trying to sell you on Mahina.”
“A bit, yes,” Fiona replied.
“Maybe I am. Dan told me you were thinking of leaving.”
Fiona felt her face grow hot.
“I didn’t think he’d go and tell everyone,” she said.
“He didn’t tell everyone. He told me, because he thinks it’s my job to talk you out of it.”
Molly drained and refilled her wine glass.
“He says it’s my fault you’re leaving,” Molly went on. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be engaging you. Making you feel like you belong here. Ensuring you’re fully integrated into the life of the college.”
“What a bloody load of rubbish.” Fiona was unsure whether to feel flattered or manipulated.
“Exactly!” Molly tried to point at Fiona, but her aim was slightly off, and she had to grab the countertop to keep from toppling off the stool. “That’s what I’ve tried to tell Dan. Depending on me to charm people into making good life choices is a ridiculous load of...what you said. But. Here’s the thing, Fiona. Losing you would be a disaster for the management department. You’re the best teacher we have. By far.”
Better than the two quarrelling silverbacks and Rodge the superannuated sex pest? Fiona wondered. Faint praise indeed. Unless Molly was including herself in the comparison.
“And I count myself, by the way,” Molly added. “Fiona, the students really like you. They’d be heartbroken if you left.”
“Never.”
“It’s true,” Molly insisted. “They love your lectures, your syllabus, everything. They’re always telling me how much they enjoy taking a class from Mary Popp—pop, popular, you’re very popular, is what I’m trying to say. You’re doing such a great job, Fiona. We’re lucky to have you. I’m sorry if I haven’t made it clear.”
