The Perfect Body, page 2
part #8 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
The donor dinner should be a treat, I reminded myself. And I wasn’t going to let Stephen Park ruin it.
I tugged my blouse straight, checked the soles of my shoes for stray toilet paper, and headed back out, determined to enjoy my dinner.
Chapter Five
When I got back to the table, I saw we’d been joined by Geoffrey Gunderson, Mahina State’s new Arts and Sciences dean. He was thin, balding, and sixtyish. Emma liked to complain about him, referring to him as “that dithering medievalist with his glasses on his forehead.” As far as I could tell, he wore his glasses the usual way. I think Emma only said those things because she resented answering to someone from the humanities.
“Dr. Gunderson,” I said.
“Please call me Geoffrey.” He stood, beaming, and shook my hand vigorously. “Geoffrey, as in Geoffrey Chaucer, and spelled the same way. Well, of course you get the reference, Molly. Molly’s secretly one of us, you know. One of these days we might talk her into coming back over from the dark side.”
“The dark side?” Bee asked.
“The business school,” I explained, as I took my seat. “My Ph.D. was actually in literature and creative writing.”
“I bet there’s an interesting story there,” Bee exclaimed.
“No. Not really.”
I had earned my doctorate from a top-ranked program, fully expecting to land a job at an exclusive campus in a trendy city. But the openings simply weren’t there. My graduation was followed by a desperate year of gradually broadening my horizons (or “lowering my standards” if you prefer) until I finally landed a position teaching business communication at Mahina State University.
Upon which my dissertation advisor (who has tenure, a pension, and health insurance) wrote to tell me how disappointed he was in me.
“The thing about going over to the dark side,” Stephen drawled, “is it pays so well. And who really needs a soul these days?”
“Well,” Geoffrey Gunderson rubbed his hands and beamed at us. “What a marvelous concentration of talent we have at this table.”
“Geoffrey was sharing some good news about your campus,” Donnie said.
“I didn’t even ask to be nominated for the system research award.” Bee flashed her Sports Illustrated swimsuit smile at her dean. “I’m as surprised as anyone. Honestly.”
Stephen reached over and rubbed Bee’s back. But he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on me.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” he said.
A real academic, he may as well have added. Not some phony who couldn’t get a literature position and had to settle for teaching business majors how to pad their resumes.
I ignored him and turned to Donnie. But Donnie was glaring at Stephen. A little muscle in Donnie’s jaw was twitching.
“Well, I didn’t only stop by to crow about our accomplishments.” Gunderson was rubbing his hands so vigorously now, I half-expected to hear cricket noises. “As impressive as those may be, it’s my sad duty to inform you that Miss Dorothy Pfaff won’t be joining us tonight after all.”
“Oh, what a shame,” I said, with genuine disappointment.
“Is Miss Pfaff not feeling well?” Donnie asked.
“No, no, nothing of the kind,” Gunderson assured us. “Miss Pfaff is in fine fettle. She’s on her way to Buenos Aires right now for a, I believe it’s a tango competition of some sort. Her assistant got the dates mixed up. In any event, I wanted to let you know what was happening. But please, stay and enjoy your dinner.”
He looked around and lowered his voice. “Please do stay. We need to keep empty seats to a minimum.”
“Ah,” Stephen said. “Like the Academy Awards.”
“Precisely. Precisely,” Gunderson said, and then scuttled away, no doubt relieved to escape our dysfunctional table. Donnie reached over and gave my hand a sympathetic squeeze. With Dorothy Pfaff on her way to Argentina, we were staring down the barrel of a long evening with Stephen and Bee.
For a moment I considered faking going into labor. But I’d just had a baby two months ago, so that particular ploy would probably fool very few people.
And then my phone rang.
Chapter Six
“It’s Margaret,” I said to Donnie.
“I can take it.” Before I realized what was going on, Donnie plucked the phone from my hand and was gone.
I couldn’t really blame him.
“That was the babysitter calling,” I explained.
“Molly, you’re so lucky,” Bee said. “Donnie seems like such an involved father.”
And I’m a very involved mother, although I don’t suppose it would occur to anyone to praise me for it.
“He is,” I said. “He’s wonderful. You’re right. I do feel very lucky.”
“Indeed,” Stephen put in. “I mean, look who you could’ve ended up with.”
“I know, right? Bullet dodged.” I took a sip of water and didn’t look at either Bee or Stephen. What was taking Donnie so long?
Fortunately, a server rolled up to our table with a silver drink cart. She opened her mouth to say something, made brief eye contact with Stephen, and then looked away quickly.
She was tall, slim, and young, with bronze coloring and startling green eyes. Surprisingly, Stephen didn’t try to flirt with her.
“Nothing for me,” Stephen said flatly, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth in front of him.
Maybe he was afraid Bee would snap him in half if she caught him gawking.
“We’d like green tea,” Bee instructed the server.
“Sure thing.” The young woman set a box of tea bags on the table. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. She wasn’t one of my former students. And was it my imagination, or was she looking everywhere except at Stephen?
“What kinds of wine do you have?” I asked.
“Chardonnay, Merlot, and Pinot Noir.”
“I’ll have Pinot Noir, please.”
“They have tea, Molly,” Bee said.
I pretended not to hear her.
“Wait,” I called to the server as she turned to go. “They’ll want some too.”
“Pinot Noir for them as well?”
“Sure. Yes. Thank you.”
I watched the server fill Donnie’s glass, and then the glasses at the two empty place settings.
“Impressive, Molly,” Stephen said, when the young woman had gone.
“I think the word you’re looking for is thoughtful, Stephen.” I picked up my glass and took a sip. “How would Donnie feel if he came back to an empty wine glass?”
“You know, Molly,” Bee said, “if you’re concerned about milk production, wine doesn’t really help. The thing about wine and beer is a myth. All you need to do is drink plenty of water. The milk glands—”
Stephen pushed his chair back. “It’s stuffy in here. I’m going out for a smoke.”
“Stephen…” Bee began. But Stephen was already gone.
Now only Bee and I remained, staring at each other across the round table. This was not what I had in mind when I’d talked Donnie into attending the donor dinner with me.
“Love how Mr. Edgy Avant-Garde has to run for the smelling salts the minute someone brings up breastfeeding.”
“What was that?” Bee asked.
“What? Oh, nothing, I was just thinking out loud. Apparently. Um, Bee, I notice Stephen’s really gotten into shape. Have you been coaching him?”
“Not much. A few tips here and there. But he’s very self-motivated. Oh, thank you.”
The server had returned with a pot of hot water for the tea.
“One thing, though, he really has to stop smoking,” she continued when the young woman had left. She opened the teapot, lowered in three teabags, and closed it again. “I know it’s hard to quit, but smoking’s about the worst thing you can do for your health. Besides being inactive.”
“But they’re not real cigarettes, Bee.” I mimicked Stephen’s why-is-everyone-so-stupid inflection. “They’re clove cigarettes.”
“Those are just as bad,” Bee said earnestly.
“No, I know about clove cigarettes, I was just…”
Fortunately, Donnie reappeared.
“What did Margaret say?” I asked him. “Is everything okay?”
“Francesca is asleep, but there’s only one bottle of breast milk left, and Margaret wanted to know, what if the baby wakes up and drinks the rest of it? I told her go ahead and use the formula. Didn’t we go over all that with her before we left?”
“We did.” I took back my phone. “But you know Margaret. She has to double-check everything. This is why she’s going to be a great CPA.”
“Good for you, Molly, sticking with the breastfeeding,” Bee said. “You know, you’re going to start losing weight eventually if you keep at it.”
Once again, I felt an ominous prickling in my chest.
“I’m sorry.” I stood up and pushed my chair back under the table. “Will you excuse me for a second?”
“Is it something I can take care of?” Donnie asked, a little too eagerly. I sympathized, but there was nothing to be done.
“No. It is not. I’ll just be a second.”
Talking about Francesca’s feeding had re-activated the letdown reflex. I scurried away, holding my arms up in front of me praying mantis-style.
This time I was too late. As I burst into the ladies’ room I saw my reflection. Two maroon splotches bloomed on my red silk blouse.
I cleaned up as well as I could and then poked my head out of the ladies’ room to make sure the coast was clear. It was not. Geoffrey Gunderson stood in the entryway between the hallway and the dining room, chatting with someone I couldn’t see.
I couldn’t walk past Gunderson. Attempting to scrub the milk off my blouse had only made the stains bigger. And I’d had to throw away my soaking-wet breast pads. To replace them I’d used folded paper towels, which gave me a sort of Cubist silhouette.
Instead of turning left toward the dining room, I turned right to continue down the hallway toward the EXIT sign. The door opened directly to the moonless night outside.
Good. A walk around the building would give my blouse a chance to dry off.
I stepped out onto the rickety landing and let my eyes adjust. It was still warm outside, and a little drizzly. We had walked in on the ground floor, so I was surprised to see several flights of wooden stairs between me and the ground. The dining room was level with the front entrance, but because of the slope of the lot, I was twenty or thirty feet up.
I wasn’t sure the stairs would hold my weight. And with no lights and no visible moon or stars, it was completely dark. Fine. I’d go back the way I came, praying-mantis arms and all, and hope no one noticed my stained blouse.
I pulled on the door handle to go back inside. But the door had locked behind me.
Okay, no problem. I’d stick with Plan A. Walk down and around the building and go back through the front entrance. I picked my way down the creaking steps and, happily, made it to the bottom without incident. I switched on my phone light and followed the dirt path, watching the ground for potholes and rocks. The last thing I needed was to trip in the dark and break something.
I caught a whiff of Indonesian clove smoke, and I looked up to see the glow of the end of a cigarette about twenty feet above me. It had to be Stephen up there on the terrace, smoking his stupid cigarettes. I kept my eyes on the ground and kept walking.
“Molly!” I heard Stephen call out above me. I sped up my pace.
“Oh, drop dead, Stephen,” I muttered. Whatever he was going to say to me, I didn’t want to hear it.
And then I heard something I’d remember for a long time.
Floomp. A heavy sack-hitting-the-pavement kind of sound.
I looked up at the balcony again and strained to see the glow of the cigarette. It wasn’t there.
I turned around and shone the light behind me.
What I saw nearly made me drop my phone.
Chapter Seven
I know I dialed 9-1-1. But only because it’s in my call history. I have no memory of making the call.
I remember sirens, and then pulsing blue and red lights in the darkness.
I remember Donnie (how did he get out here?) asking me over and over whether I was okay. I don’t remember what I said to him.
I remember Bee Corcoran rushing over to the covered gurney as it was being loaded into the back of the ambulance, and Detective Ka’imi Medeiros stepping in front of her, coming between her and Stephen.
I remember thinking, no one is supposed to touch the body. Bee should know that.
At some point Donnie must have taken me home. Although I don’t remember that either.
The next thing I recall was waking up in my own bed, to the sound of a ringing phone. I was wearing sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt.
Donnie was standing in the bedroom doorway, the baby over one shoulder, holding the handset of our phone.
“You’re looking for Molly?” Donnie announced loudly. “Just a second, Dan. Let me see if she’s here.”
I shook my head. No, I was not in any condition to talk to my dean.
“Sorry about that, Dan.” Donnie came over to the bed and let me take the baby from him. “She’s not available. Can I have her get back to you?”
“Your dad is awesome,” I whispered to Francesca as Donnie went off in search of a scrap of paper and a pen.
Chapter Eight
The baby opened her mouth wide, giving me a glimpse of the sharp tooth breaking through her lower gum. She waggled her head back and forth to find the optimal position and clamped on. Immediately her panic melted away, and her eyelids fluttered and drifted closed. She was motionless except for the plump cheeks, which pulsed gently as she applied an eye-popping level of suction.
I wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the baby was happy, which was something.
“Look at you two,” Donnie smiled as he came in. “You look so serene.”
“I guess,” I said. “If ‘serene’ is a synonym for the sensation of someone clamping a sawtooth binder clip on your nipple. She’s having fun, anyway.”
Francesca bit down harder and kicked her chubby legs with delight.
“A sawtooth binder clip? What’s that?” Donnie sat on the chair next to the bed.
“I don’t know. What did Dan want? Was it about what happened last night?”
“No, it was something about moving your office. I don’t know if he knows about last night. He didn’t say anything about you-know-what.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “We can discuss it in front of the baby. She’s not paying attention. She’s busy doing her food-processor imitation.”
Donnie stroked my hair. “How are you feeling? It must have been hard for you. Having to see what you saw.”
“Uh, yeah.”
Here is the horrible truth: I felt more relief than grief at Stephen’s death. I was not about to tell Donnie, of course. He’d think I was a heartless monster.
But it was freeing to realize I could show up at the next department chairs’ meeting without having to endure an hour of Stephen’s passive-aggressive barbs.
“It’s kind of jarring to have someone die right in front of you,” I said.
Donnie leaned forward and laid his hand on mine.
“You saw it happen?”
“Well, okay. He didn’t literally die in front of me. He died behind me if you want to be precise about it.”
“Molly, what were you doing back there? I’m not saying it was your fault or anything, I’m just curious.”
“You really want to know? Fine. I was trying to avoid running into Geoffrey Gunderson. He was standing right where the hallway opens into the dining room.”
“So, you went out the back door instead?”
“Yes. And then the door closed behind me and I was locked out, so I couldn’t go back inside.”
“But why? I know you don’t like talking to people, but you were doing fine. I thought you were very charming.”
“The front of my blouse had two big milk stains on it. Plus I was covered with those little paper shreds you get when you try to dry your shirt with a paper towel. Donnie, would you mind...?”
“Sure.”
Donnie got up and came back with a pillow and a tall glass of ice water. I positioned the pillow under the baby to ease the strain on my back and downed half the glass in one go.
“Thanks,” I said. “Much better.”
Donnie sat back down and looked at me with a concerned expression.
“Molly, I—”
“Donnie, you don’t have to take the day off. Go take care of the Drive-Inn. Margaret will be here soon.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“You weren’t offering to stay home with me?”
“I will if you want me to.”
“No, it’s fine. What were you going to say?”
“I just wanted to say I know you’re naturally a curious, inquisitive person, and I love that about you.”
“But?”
“When you set your mind on something, there’s no stopping you. But now we have Francesca, it’s not just the two of us. We have to think about—”
“Donnie, can you get to the point? Sorry, that sounded kind of snappish.”
“Kind of,” he agreed.
“Look, I have an angry little customer here chewing up my tender bits. Ow, baby, hang on. Next course is coming right up.”
When I had switched Francesca to the other side, I turned my full attention to Donnie.
“Yes? What would you like to tell me?”
“I’m worried you’re going to get curious about what happened to Stephen Park, and you’re going to get mixed up in something dangerous,” he said. “I’m asking you right now. Please don’t.”
“You’re asking me not to look into Stephen’s death?”
Donnie nodded.
“Okay.”
“Really?”
