The Influencer, page 15
part #10 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
“Our gentle little Emma Nakamura? Never. However did it all start?”
I glanced across the room. Linda was far enough away to be out of earshot. Still, to be safe, I motioned Harriet outside. We stood next to the retaining wall separating the Holmes’s backyard from the cemetery below.
“It all began back when the Student Retention Office had a campaign to go after classes with high failure rates. BIO 101, Emma’s class, popped up on their radar. Linda Wilson went after Emma, trying to arm-twist her into giving more generous grades. According to Linda, Emma was crushing the dreams of future doctors and nurses. When Emma wouldn’t cave, Linda went straight to Emma’s dean.”
I looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Most of the guests had gone inside, and a few lingered on the lanai, drinking and chatting.
“So now Emma’s dean is all upset about getting in the crosshairs of the Student Retention Office. He goes to Emma and tells her she has to fix things with Linda, but of course without lowering standards in BIO 101. Now Emma was in an impossible position. So she wrote out the whole story and published it to the campuswide listserv. She wrapped up by saying she would quit before she took advice on teaching biology from someone who didn’t know Gregor Mendel from Josef Mengele. I don’t know whether Linda got the reference, but she knew she was being insulted. She retaliated by referring Emma to Faculty Development.”
“Ah yes.” Harriet lifted her whiskey glass. “The Student Retention Office struggle sessions.”
“Emma calls it de-education camp, because you come out dumber than when you went in. Anyway, I’m sorry you’ve have to deal with that, Harriet. Not the friendliest welcome to Mahina State.”
“De-education camp, that’s brilliant. Actually, I don’t mind it. Rather a jolly wheeze, if you must know. One spends the day in a palatial sort of conference room with working air con, loads of snacks, and shockingly decent coffee. And if we’re lucky, we get a little speech from Victor Santiago from alumni and community whatsis.”
“Yeah, Victor Santiago kind of scares me too. Have you noticed he never smiles?”
“Victor scares you? I think he’s dead sexy. I mean to say, I’m a happily-married woman, but what’s the word? Caliente.”
“Okay. Listen, Harriet, it was really nice of you and Nigel to open up your house for this meeting. It made me feel a little less like I was entering enemy territory. Where is Nigel? I thought I heard him earlier.”
“Back at his desk, I expect, working on his manuscript,” Harriet said. “He’s fallen a bit behind schedule, it seems.”
I felt a cramp in the back of my leg and propped my foot up on the retaining wall. A stone dislodged and tumbled down to the cemetery below.
“Oh no, sorry about that.” I took my foot back down. “Harriet, speaking of Linda, you might want to ask her to get this retaining wall looked at. I’m not a structural engineer or anything, but I don’t think retaining walls are supposed to have pieces falling off them.”
“I jolly well will ask her to fix it. I’ve become rather attached to this place and I’d rather it didn’t slide into the graveyard. I say, speaking of Linda, I’d heard she was having it off with one of our lecturers, and you and Emma found them out. I’d assumed it was why she disliked you.”
“Emma and I didn’t set out to expose her,” I said. “We had no idea. We were looking into something completely different. But once you start turning over rocks...”
“Ah yes. No telling what sort of slimy abominations will come wriggling out. Oh I say, Henriques, you’re a quiet one. You gave me quite a start.”
Mr. Henriques, my next-door neighbor, had materialized next to us. In the moonlight, his big round moon head looked more moon-like than ever. He reeked of sour booze.
“Good evening Professor Holmes. Professor Barda. How are you on this fine evening? Or is it a fine evening?” Mr. Henriques’s voice cracked. “Poor Jandie. Poor, poor girl.”
Out of one of the multitudinous pockets of her field coat, Harriet produced a crisply folded handkerchief and handed it to Mr. Henriques. He blew into it with a loud honk.
“He didn’t deserve her,” Henriques sniffled. “Shame we don’t have the death penalty in Hawaii.”
“You think the husband’s guilty then,” Harriet said.
“I’m not talking about the age difference.” Henriques tucked Harriet’s handkerchief into his back pocket. “Nothing wrong with a girl wanting to be with a mature man. When’s the last time he brought her flowers, you think?”
“I expect you know the answer.” Harriet seated herself on the crumbling retaining wall, dislodging another stone. Mr. Henriques and I sat on either side of her. The stone was cold and damp, but there was no other place to sit.
Henriques pulled out his phone and showed us one of Jandie’s photo posts, from about a month earlier. It showed a pretty but inexpensive coffee-can flower arrangement of waxy red anthuriums, torch ginger, ferns, and ti leaf, the kind you might buy at the Farmers’ Market for ten dollars.
“Nice composition,” I said.
“I sent the flowers. Me.” Henriques pocketed the phone. “Anonymously. I didn’t want credit. I just wanted to make her happy. The husband, all he cares about is his aquarium. He deserves to get the needle, that’s what I think.”
Having made his point, Henriques stood and made his unsteady way inside, heading in the general direction of the potluck dishes.
“Well, that was unexpected,” I said.
“Was it really?” Harriet countered.
“I guess not. He’s always struck me as a little odd. Linda!”
Linda Wilson materialized in a cloud of gardenia perfume and stale cigarette smoke.
“Hello Harriet. Molly. How nice of you to show up to one of our little association gatherings. I hope you didn’t find it too boring.”
“Never boring, Wilson,” Harriet said. “I say, where are little Whatsis and Thingummy?”
“Pele and Hiiaka get stressed around crowds,” Linda said. “Bob’s watching them at home.”
“Is that what they’re called?” Harriet exclaimed. “Wilson, you named your dogs after two revered Hawaiian goddesses? Careful, that’s the sort of thing that’ll get you packed off to sensitivity training.”
“I love the potluck idea,” I interrupted. “And I always enjoy seeing people’s houses and getting decorating ideas. I’m really glad I came tonight.”
“Well, I must see to the other guests.” Harriet stood. “Snacks and bevvies inside, whenever you’re ready.”
I watched helplessly as Harriet disappeared into the house, leaving me alone with Linda Wilson.
“Such a shame about Jandie Brand,” Linda said. “I hope this doesn’t ruin the image of our neighborhood.”
“It’s terrible,” I said. “Everything that’s happened. Poor Jandie.”
“Yes. We should all try to be careful about screening our renters. I know I am. Well, you’re new at this. You’ll learn, I hope.”
“You’re absolutely right, Linda. I am new at this.” I tried to figure out what Linda’s game was here. Linda would have jumped at the chance to have Jandie Brand as her own tenant. But now things had gone pear-shaped, as Harriet might say. I figured there were now two possibilities. Linda was either:
(a) gloating at my misfortune, cured of her celebrity fever, and relieved Jandie’s murder hadn’t happened on her watch, or
(b) gloating at my misfortune, and convinced things would have turned out differently if only she had been the one renting to Jandie Brand and Edward Ladd.
“How did you get Jandie interested in your place to begin with?” Linda asked.
Ah, so the answer was (b).
“I actually asked Kaycee to help us advertise the place, I said. “I’m not sure exactly which listing brought them in. She’s good at social media. She uses it to publicize her landscaping business.”
“But after they saw your house up close, they still agreed to rent it?”
“Yes, they did,” I said. “It’s brand-new, and we spent the money to make it nice. Oh, that reminds me, Linda, you might want to have someone come out and look at this retaining wall. It’s a little...crumbly.”
“You’re always so full of interesting ideas, Molly,” Linda said stiffly.
“I mean, I’m not a structural engineer or anything, I just...oh goodness, look at the time.” I checked my wrist (a symbolic gesture, as I wasn’t wearing a watch). “I have to get back home. Thank you so much for all your organizing and leadership, Linda. Okay, see you around.”
I cut through the yard and speed walked straight home, without saying goodbye to Harriet or anyone else. Retired or not, I was still a little afraid of Linda Wilson from the Student Retention Office.
CHAPTER 37
I DON’T KNOW WHAT WOKE me up at two in the morning. Maybe it was the smoky smell. Or the glow outside my window, too early and too orange to be sunrise.
I grabbed my phone and ran out onto the lanai, around to the corner where I had a view of the rental house. Orange light flickered behind the pebbled glass jalousies. After what seemed like minutes of fumbling, I managed to dial 9-1-1.
While I was panic-shouting at the dispatcher I ran back through my bedroom and into to the living room where Emma was sleeping. I shook her awake. We both went and pounded on the guest room door to wake Pat.
We had a fire extinguisher in the pantry. I finally found it on the floor, lying sideways behind a stack of toilet paper.
By the time the three of us got outside, the rental unit was engulfed in flames and the air smelled like a rained-on campfire. The little fire extinguisher wouldn’t have helped, even if we could safely get close enough to use it. The blaze lit up the lawn and the cemetery. We could hear the sirens coming up the short drive from downtown.
The yellow fire truck pulled up and firefighters jumped out. I wanted to watch them but a tap on the shoulder distracted me. Detective Medeiros was standing behind me.
“Professor. You got a minute?”
I realized I was standing out on the street wearing nothing but my fleece bathrobe. The grass was wet and cold. I thought of squirmy creatures under my bare feet.
“Of course,” I said. “Should we go inside?”
Medeiros shook his head.
“Your house might’ve been targeted as well. Safest not to go back in for now.”
“Targeted?” I repeated. “Me?”
I’d like you to come down to the station to make a statement.”
“Can I just grab some slippers from the front porch?” Medeiros glanced at my bare feet and nodded. I dashed up and grabbed a pair of Donnie’s slippers, or flip-flops as they’re called outside of Hawaii. They were ugly blue plastic and way too big for me. They made loud comical slapping noises when I walked. But at least I wasn’t going to the police station in bare feet. My car was in the garage—also not safe, and possibly wired to blow up for all I knew—so I hopped into the back of Medeiros’s big SUV for the short drive downtown.
“Where are Pat and Emma?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Pat Flanagan? Emma Nakamura?”
“Oh. Don’t know,” he said.
For a wonder, Medeiros didn’t treat me like a suspect. Instead of the bare, uncomfortable interview room (which I was familiar with by now, unfortunately), he let me sit in a chair in his office like a regular visitor. Wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and my husband’s giant slippers, but still.
“First thing, Professor, you got any idea who did this?”
“No. Believe me, this was a surprise. Although now I think of it, Linda Wilson, the head of my homeowners’ association, had a grudge against me. I think she wanted the celebrity renters and resented our getting them first.”
When I said it out loud, it sounded silly. Linda Wilson was spiteful and underhanded, but a literal arsonist? Well, maybe, but I couldn’t prove it.
“You heard of Justice for Jandie?” Medeiros asked.
“No. You mean, justice for Jandie Brand?”
“Yeah. It’s a trending hashtag. Might be her fans, might be someone who got a beef with the current prosecutor, might be people with too much time on their hands. Or could be something else. You never heard of it?”
“No. I try to avoid social media. For my own peace of mind.” I pulled my robe tight around me. Why did they have to keep it so cold in the police station? “Why would these people burn our house down? What would it accomplish?”
“We think it may have to do with your tenant Edward Ladd.”
“What about Kaycee Kabua? Has anyone targeted her? I heard a rumor about Kaycee and Tedd Ladd conspiring together. I hope she’s not a target.”
“I don’t know, Professor. We’re trying to gather up the facts.”
“I sure wish I could be more helpful. Detective, I really appreciate your letting me know all this. My experience with Mahina PD...you guys haven’t always been so forthcoming.”
Medeiros picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk.
“I’ve found it’s best to be open with people. You don’t tell ‘em stuff, they fill in the blanks themselves. So I’m gonna tell you something else now and I want you to tell me what you know about it.”
“Okay.”
“Ladd says his wife is still alive,” Medeiros said.
“What? But he identified her in the morgue. He said it was Jandie. Remember? When he was talking about how it was a shame, she was so beautiful, which I thought was kind of creepy, honestly. Does he think unattractive people deserve to die?”
Medeiros lifted his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair.
“How do you know what Mr. Ladd said? I don’t believe we released the transcript to the public.”
Whoops.
“Mr. Ladd talked to me about it,” I said, which was true.
“And at the time you discussed it with him, did he seem to believe the deceased woman was his wife?”
“I think so? It was an uncomfortable conversation. He and I are not particularly chummy.”
Medeiros leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk.
“Mr. Ladd is claiming he was mistaken. He says now the dead woman is not his wife. He says the whole thing was a publicity stunt that got out of hand.”
“Can’t you do DNA tests or something?”
“Sure. DNA can tell us a lot. But it’s not like on TV, where you always get a clean sample and then the lab sends you results instantly. And even when you do have results, it’s not always so clear what they’re telling you.”
A percussive noise behind me made me turn around. It was Emma, knocking on the door frame. She wore black leggings and a red Cornell sweatshirt. Like me, she was wearing what she’d been sleeping in. But her ensemble seemed more dignified than my fuzzy bathrobe and ill-fitting slippers.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Emma said. “Eh, howzit Detective.”
“Professor Nakamura.” Medeiros pushed his chair back from his desk.
“You done with her?” Emma asked. “I’m gonna take her home now, if can.”
Medeiros held up a finger and made a phone call. He listened and nodded.
“Yeah, they swept the house. It’s okay to go back in. Please let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary.”
I pulled my fuzzy robe tight around me and followed Emma out to the parking lot, keeping my eyes focused on her back. I tried to ignore the loud slapping sounds of my oversized slippers. I hoped none of the characters sitting around the Mahina police station at this hour were my current or former students.
“So?” Emma said as she drove me home.
“Have you ever heard of something called Justice for Jandie?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. It’s a big movement online. They want whoever killed Jandie to face the consequences. I mean, I do too. Don’t you?”
“Could wanting ‘Justice for Jandie’ be a motive for someone setting fire to the house? To get back at Jandie’s husband? Some unhinged fan who took things a little too far?”
“Nah, no way they’d burn it down. Jandie lived there. That house would be a shrine to them.”
“I guess that’s reassuring. But also disturbing. A shrine?”
By the time we were back home the sun was coming up. I fell into bed and pulled the covers tight around me, feeling I had burned through every last drop of adrenaline my body could eke out.
CHAPTER 38
I WOKE UP WITH THE sun shining rudely into my eyes. I flung my arm over my face and groped at the night table with my free hand until I found my phone.
According to the clock on my lock screen, it was already Sunday afternoon.
I showered, got dressed, and did my makeup. It was something I could do to feel normal, even if I wasn’t going to see anyone today. Except for Pat and Emma, who were pretty much members of my household by this point. Our insurance office wasn’t going to be open until tomorrow. I’d call them and deal with the fire damage first thing tomorrow morning. What should I tell Donnie? I’d put off thinking about that until tomorrow too.
Pat and Emma were at the dining table. Pat was on his phone, and Emma was reading the County Courier.
“You okay Molly?” Emma set down her newspaper.
“I’m fine.”
I fixed myself a cup of coffee and joined them at the dining table.
“You slept through Mass,” Pat said. “For shame.”
“Give her a break, Pat.” Emma scowled at him. “Her new ʻohana just burned down, she had to spend half the night sitting in the police station in her bathrobe, and worst of all, she had to go to a homeowners’ association meeting with Linda Wilson.”
“Thank you, Emma. Oh, there’s one bit of good news.” I sipped my coffee. “I sent out a message to my class telling them certain assignments had been identified as having been purchased from OutsourceMyHomework.com, and academic dishonesty would result in a failing grade and expulsion from the school.”
“Could someone really get expelled for plagiarizing?” Pat asked.
“Technically, yes,” I said, “although in reality the Student Retention Office would never allow us to expel anyone. I just wanted to scare the students into doing the right thing. Give them a chance to turn back. So I told them if anyone wanted to change their business idea, they should delete their previous submission and they could submit a different idea for their next draft.”
