The Invasive Species, page 14
part #4 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
“What? No way, Emma. I don’t want to be alone with him. I think we should tell Detective Medeiros.”
Emma looked like she was going to object.
“I’m going to call Medeiros first thing tomorrow morning,” I said.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“If he’s not in, I’ll leave a message.”
“Good luck with that, ladies.” Pat set his cup on the coffee table. “I hope you nail him. Now, since we’re all here, let’s talk about something more important. I want your opinion on a new campaign I’m planning.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was glorious to greet the morning in my own bedroom. I woke up rested, having slept like a rock. I pulled open my light-blocking curtains, setting my bedroom ablaze with sunshine. My backyard still looked a little ragged. My Albizia trees hadn’t been the only casualties of the storm. The birds of paradise drooped, muddy puddles dotted the lawn, and one banana tree lay where it had toppled.
Waking in Donnie’s bed the past few days had been a treat, and I did miss it. But there was no grumpy stepson right down the hallway, and no off-limits, too-nice-to-use silverware in the kitchen. For the first time in over a week, I was finally home. And I had some things to cross off my to-do list.
Donnie wouldn’t approve of my calling Detective Ka`imi Medeiros, but he wasn’t there to stop me, and what business was it of his, anyway? I placed the call to the Mahina Police Department. Detective Medeiros wasn’t there. I debated leaving a message, and finally decided in the affirmative. If someone had an insight that would help me do my job better, I’d want them to share it with me. It was only fair to extend that courtesy to Detective Medeiros.
“This is about the incident at Art Lam’s farm,” I told the receptionist. “October twenty-eighth.”
“Oh, the papaya grove murder. Terrible, that thing.”
“Please tell Detective Medeiros to look at the blog of Bananawrangler-dot-com.”
“Banana what?”
“How about this. Just tell him to look into Randy Randolph of Seed Solutions. Randy Randolph.”
“Randy Randolph,” she repeated. “This is for who now?”
“Detective Medeiros.”
“Which one?”
“Ka`imi Medeiros. There’s more than one Detective Medeiros?”
“Ka`imi. Anything else?”
“That’s it. Thank you for your help.”
Better to keep it simple. Too bad Detective Medeiros didn’t have an email address.
“No worries, professor. You have a good day, ah?”
Professor? Had I told her who I was?
An enthusiastic hammering on my door signaled Emma’s arrival. I let her in and told her what I’d just done.
“You think the police haven’t already thought of Randolph as a suspect? They’re not stupid, Molly. Eh, you got some coffee?”
“I was so excited about calling Detective Medeiros that I forgot to make any. No wonder I’m getting a headache”
I heard muffled music playing in my laptop bag as I brought out our cups.
“What’s the scary song?” Emma stared at my bag. “It sounds like a haunted house.”
“It’s Khachaturian’s ‘Masquerade Waltz.’ It’s not scary. It’s dramatic.”
“Oh, right.” Emma nodded. “Your revenge song.”
The caller was patient enough to stay on the line until I dug my phone out. The caller ID was blocked.
“Maybe it’s Detective Medeiros calling back.” I set Emma’s coffee down in front of her and switched on the speakerphone. “He realizes I might have something to contribute to this case.”
“Good morning, professor.” Randy Randolph’s voice squawked on the speaker. “Guess who?”
“Oh, gosh, I couldn’t possibly—”
“This is Randy Randolph. Aw, don’t tell me you forgot about me already. We had such a good time last night.”
“Mister Randolph. What a delightful surprise.”
“Call me Randy. So like I was saying, I think your research sounds really interesting. I’d like to get a chance to sit down and talk story. Hopefully without your bodyguard there.”
“Did he say talk story?” Emma said.
“Shh.”
“Who was that?” Randy asked.
“That’s Dr. Nakamura. She was at our table last night. She’s a biologist, and has done some research on transgenic organisms—”
“Ah, the little Hawaiian girl with the big—eyes?”
Emma vigorously pantomimed sticking her finger down her throat.
“Mister Randolph, were you thinking the three of us could chat sometime, over coffee?”
“I’m off island for the weekend,” he said.
“Probably on some quickie third world sex tour,” Emma muttered.
“What was that?” Randy asked.
“Static.”
“How about Monday?”
“This Monday? Day after tomorrow?”
“Come by my apartment around nine. I’ll be done with my workout by then.”
Emma wrinkled her nose.
“His apartment?” she whispered.
“It’ll be easier for you girls. I’m right in town. The Seed Solutions office is all the way out in Pohaku.”
“Sounds fine.” I ignored Emma, who was pantomiming retching on the floor. “We’ll see you then. What’s the address?”
“Why did you agree to that?” Emma asked when I had gotten the address and hung up.
“Because we’ve been ordered to be nice to our donors. What do you think would happen if I told Randolph to get stuffed, and then he went and complained to Marshall and Victor?”
“Wow, you’re a jumpy little rabbit this morning.”
“Emma, I got a negative vote from my department. I just got the registered letter last night. I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Pat, because I’m not sure where his loyalties lie now.”
“They all voted against you?”
“No, there was just one no-vote. But it wasn’t a unanimous yes.”
“I see. You have to stay on the administration’s good side now. Fine. But if Randolph answers the door in a velvet bathrobe, I’m outta there. Hey, I’m ready for a second cup.”
Emma drained her mug and handed it to me. I stood up to get refills.
“I’m calling Detective Medeiros again. I’m just going to let him know about our appointment with Randolph on Monday. I think it’s better if we keep him informed.”
“Good idea, Molly. You don’t want him to think you’re a loose cannon or anything.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
One benefit of living apart from my husband was that date nights felt special. Tonight, Donnie was planning to cook a gourmet Italian meal for the two of us, and I was looking forward to it.
I wore a retro-styled red dress with three-quarter sleeves, a deep V-neck, and a flattering A-line skirt cut to guide the eye past my burgeoning hips. While the silhouette was mid-twentieth century, the dress was made of a decidedly twenty-first century stretch fabric, which was the reason I could still squeeze myself into it. On the way out of my house, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and sighed. The dress was so tight I was ready to pop out of it, and it was too late to go back and change. I really had to lose some weight. Maybe Donnie would be so busy cooking that he wouldn’t notice my dress was two sizes too small.
Unfortunately, he did notice. When I walked into the kitchen, he looked up from the stove and stared. His eyes traveled slowly down to my fishnet-stocking-clad feet and back up again. Only a sudden, frantic sizzling drew his attention back to the pan he was holding.
“You look great.” He focused on pouring liquid into the pan and unsticking something from the bottom. “Sorry, I’m kind of chained to the stove right now.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment. Can I help?”
“No, no. Sit. Keep me company. I just opened a bottle.”
I sat at the kitchen counter, where I could watch Donnie’s deltoids and latissimus dorsi working through his silk shirt as he cooked. He’d set a wine glass out for me on the counter, next to the uncorked bottle. I poured a glass.
“So where’s Davison tonight?”
“He went out earlier with that girl, Crystal. Seems like they’re really getting along.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, I hope it doesn’t cause a problem when he has to go back to school.”
I took a sip of wine, and sighed with contentment. Funny what a treat it was being down here at Donnie’s house, as long as I could think of myself as a visitor and not a permanent resident. Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here. What was wrong with me, that I felt this way about spending time with my own husband? I adored Donnie, so what was my problem? My mother often accused me of having commitment issues. Well, maybe I did, but come on, no one chooses to have commitment issues, so really, whose fault was it, Mom? She also liked to say I blamed everyone but myself for my problems.
“So, you and Davison have a nice time at dinner last night? I never got to hear what happened.”
Donnie was doing his best to ignore the previous night’s unpleasantness between us. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Donnie, I’m sorry I was so cranky. Dinner was stressful. We all had to be polite to that awful Randy Randolph, all because there’s a chance he might cough up some Seed Solutions money for the university. And then getting that letter about the negative vote on my tenure application was the last straw. And you know what? I think Randy Randolph killed Primo Nordmann.”
“You think so?” Donnie spoke over his shoulder in a sort of sideways direction. It was hard to hear him over the sizzling sounds, which filled the kitchen, along with heavenly aromas of tomato, garlic, wine, and mushrooms.
“I don’t know about means and opportunity, but he sure had motive,” I continued. “You didn’t see the last post Primo put up on his website, documenting all of Randolph’s shortcomings and failures.”
“I know Randolph didn’t make a very good impression on Davison. I heard him complaining to his girlfriend on the phone. The guy really got under his skin. Funny, both of you had a negative reaction to him. I never saw it. He’s always seemed fine to me. Until that incident when he cut in front of us yesterday.”
“He knows exactly what he can get away with.” I took another sip.
“Well, the donor dinner’s over now. Neither of you needs to spend any more time with him.”
Now probably wouldn’t be the best time to tell Donnie that I was planning to visit Randy Randolph’s apartment on Monday.
“I think the guy’s a sociopath,” I said.
“I guess I should be glad you and Davison agree on something.”
“When does Davison go back? Doesn’t his school term start Monday?”
“It does. But he couldn’t get a flight. He’s on a waiting list for something later next week. He might even be able to stay here for his birthday. He says he’s worked it all out with his professors.”
“A couple of years ago, I remember you talking about Vegas for Davison’s twenty-first birthday. Have your plans changed?”
“He’s not interested in Vegas anymore.” Donnie splashed some liquid into the pan so it sizzled and spattered. “Good thing, too. You ask me, gambling’s a waste of money.”
I started to feel warm and relaxed from the wine. And brave.
“Donnie, why did you really have to go to the library last night?”
“I told you. I had to look up some information.” He turned off the stove, arranged the pasta on two oversized white plates, and carried them out to the dining room table.
I got up and picked up my glass and the bottle of Sangiovese.
“You went to the library to look up some information is like saying you went shopping to procure some merchandise.”
Donnie laughed, and deftly changed the subject. “Normally, I wouldn’t use shiitake mushrooms in an Italian dish. I thought I’d take a chance and try it. Tell me what you think.”
Chapter Thirty
It took me a while to get oriented when I woke up at Donnie’s the next morning. The duvet lay in a heap on the floor. I leaned over and pulled it aside. Underneath, I found my dress, knotted up like a big red piece of chewed gum.
I looked through Donnie’s closet for something church-appropriate and found a modest navy blue suit I had brought at some point and forgotten. I dressed quietly and made myself a cup of coffee, which I enjoyed in pleasant solitude at the kitchen table. Donnie had already left for the Drive-Inn, and Davison was probably still asleep in his room, assuming he had come home at all. I left (red dress stuffed in my purse) for the early service at St. Damien’s. After church, I went back to my house to change into Sunday loafing clothes, and occupied myself with chores until it was time to meet Pat and Emma for brunch at the Pair-O-Dice Bar and Grill.
Pat and Emma were the only people inside when I arrived. Pat was enjoying a cup of the Pair-O-Dice’s bar coffee, which no matter when you ordered it, always seemed to have spent hours sitting in its glass carafe on the hot plate. Emma was already drinking beer, even though it was still well before noon. I went to the bar and ordered a bourbon straight up from the (apparently) teenaged bartender, then went to sit with Emma and Pat.
“So, you two have a date with Randy Randolph tomorrow morning,” Pat said.
“Ucch.” Emma gagged.
“I’ll be glad to get it over with,” I agreed.
“I told Pat about your letter,” Emma said.
“It’s not the end of the world, Molly. Marshall Dixon has a lot of power. If she likes you, she can make tenure happen. Just make sure you stay on her good side.”
“The thing is, these are my colleagues. The guys in my own department. Which one of them would vote against my getting tenure? Which means, voting for the end of my career.”
“Chill, Molly, it’s just one vote. It’s not gonna spike your tenure—oh, hey, Davison.”
There was my stepson, making his way toward our table.
“Davison,” I exclaimed. “No New Beginnings Chapel this morning?”
“I already went.”
“Well, what a surprise. I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Crystal had to go to work. She’s over at Natural High, so I walked up. Thought I’d probably find you at the Pair-O-Dice.”
“You already eat?” Emma said. “Come sit.”
Emma’s invitation was superfluous since Davison had already pulled up a chair.
“How did you know we’d be here?” I asked.
“Dad said you guys like slumming here.” Davison gave a side-eye to Emma’s pre-noon beer.
“So what do you do at New Beginnings?” Pat asked. “Burn a witch, stone an adulteress, sing a few hymns?”
“Nah. What?” Davison looked confused. He’d wedged himself into the chair and somehow managed to take up way more room than anyone else at the table, even long-limbed Pat.
I scooted sideways to relieve the pressure of Davison’s leg against mine.
“Did you see your friend from Konishi Construction?” I asked. (Scoot.) “The one who told us about the box?” (Scoot.)
“Nah. Seeing Curtis again was kinda, I dunno. Kinda depressing.”
“Classmate?” Emma asked.
Davison nodded. “We used to be pretty close back in the day. But when Tessa came hapai, couldn’t hang out, ’cause the baby. All the family responsibility and stuff. I dunno how he can deal with it.”
“Yes, having a baby and all that responsibility must be very difficult for him,” I said.
The bartender arrived with my bourbon.
“You want some coffee or something?” Emma asked.
“Yeah, get me a coffee.” Davison addressed the young man.
“Thank you,” I added, because no one else had said it. The bartender nodded in my direction and left to get Davison a cup of the Pair-O-Dice’s stale, burned coffee.
“Not twenty-one yet?”
“I don’t drink, Professor Nakamura. I’m keeping my metabolism well-tuned and my body fat down. You know, your digestive system treats ethanol like a—”
“Eh, Davison.” Emma peered under the table. “There’s no room for the rest of us under there. You really gotta sit with your knees in two different time zones?”
“What? Oh. Sorry.” He moved his chair back and rearranged his legs.
I said nothing. With Davison there, I didn’t feel comfortable discussing either my own tenure woes or Primo Nordmann’s murder. And I certainly wasn’t going to bring up the topic of Randy Randolph.
“Hey Molly,” Emma said, “you going to yoga today?”
“No. I think I’m going to rest—”
“Good,” she interrupted. “You can come with me to the gym today, get your exercise there.”
“Too crowded and noisy.” I shook my head.
“We can make sure to get in before one,” Emma insisted.
“Not today. Thanks, anyway.”
“You need to work on your upper arms, Molly. You gotta do something.” She reached over and jiggled my upper arm. I smacked her hand away.
“Mahina State gym’s pretty good,” Davison said. “We useta laugh about it. How the library’s old and it’s closed half the time, and the gym’s all new and full of the latest and greatest stuffs, and open twenty-four seven.”
“Priorities,” Pat agreed.
“Hey, you can come work out with us,” Emma offered.
“I’m sure Davison has better things to do on his break, Emma.”
“Cannot. Not a Mahina State student anymore. Anyway, I been going to Strongman. Couple of my classmates work there now. Nothing fancy, but they get the basics. Barbells, dumbbells, li’dat. Crystal comes with me to Strongman an’ helps spot.” He grinned. “Makes the workout go faster.”
“I remember she mentioned she worked as a personal trainer. At least that’s what she claimed when she offered her services to your father.”
“Hey,” Emma said, “so what’s our plan for Randy Randolph tomorrow?”
I felt Davison stiffen next to me at the mention of Randolph’s name. I tried a subtle head shake to warn Emma off, but she plowed ahead.
