The Fever Cabinet, page 3
part #9 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
“What’re you watching?” I sat next to her and pulled the foil top off my yogurt.
“This is me with the paddlers. Right after we finished the Molokai to Oahu race. We finally got the video posted.”
I picked up Emma’s phone to see a rowdy group of women on a small karaoke stage, clearly in a celebratory mood.
“Look how sunburned you all are. What are you doing?”
“We’re doing a victory haka.”
“You’re what?”
“The haka is an ancient Māori tradition we use in the islands to display our strength and unity.”
“I know what a haka is. That’s not a haka.”
“Oh yeah? What do you know about it?”
“Emma, you’re playing air guitar.”
“Colonizer.” Emma snatched the phone back. “So what’s new up here at the haunted hospital?”
I told Emma about Fiona Spencer’s disappearance. She finished her musubi and licked the stray rice grains from her fingers.
“Did you get a picture of the guy who grabbed her?” she asked.
“No. Everything happened so fast. And he didn’t grab her, that’s the thing. She invited him into her office, and next thing you know she was riding off on his motorcycle. That’s why I’m not sure whether this is something I need to report.”
“You could describe the guy, though, yeah?”
“Sure. He kind of looked like a gardener. Or a hobbit? I don’t know. He was wearing a lot of layers.”
“What’s Fiona look like?” Emma pulled the plastic wrap off her second Spam musubi and took a big bite.
“You’ve never met her?”
“Nope.”
“Early thirties, fair hair, judgmental expression that says, ‘I’m from Oxford and I disapprove of everything,’ thin build, average height.”
“Sounds like your new hire’s working out great.”
“Why does Fiona Spencer have to be my problem, Emma?”
“Cause you’re department chair? Wild guess.”
“I blame Dan Watanabe for appointing me.” I gestured with my spoon for emphasis. “Anyone can see I’m not cut out for this.”
Emma picked up a napkin and dabbed her eye.
“Easy there, Spatter McGee.”
“Sorry about that.” I set my spoon down. “I’m supposed to be keeping my faculty happy and productive and instead I go and lose one of them.”
“Does she look like that?” Emma jutted her chin at a point behind me.
“Like what?” I twisted around to see Fiona Spencer sitting on the far side of the dining room, silhouetted against the tall window. She was eating alone.
“Emma, that’s her! It’s Fiona!”
Emma started to unwrap her third musubi.
“Glad I could help. You’re welcome.”
“What a relief. Let’s go sit with her.” I stood up.
Emma stayed put and scowled at me.
“Kinda looks like she wants to be by herself, Molly.”
“I’m already behind on my Encompassing Mentoring check-ins. And also I’m supposed to encourage her not to miss any more meetings.”
Emma made a face.
“Gotta make sure she’s ‘fully integrated into the life of the college’ so she won’t quit on you?”
“Exactly. Come on.”
Emma didn’t budge.
“Molly, in what alternate universe do people want their boss butting in on their peaceful lunch?”
“What are you talking about? I’ve had lunch with Dan Watanabe lots of times,” I said.
“Yeah, but that’s different,” Emma shot back. “Your boss is Dan. Her boss is you.”
Emma and I glared at each other for a minute, me balancing my half-eaten yogurt on my tray, her sitting there stubbornly.
“Your reasoning is unsound, and your conclusion is invalid,” I said finally.
“Yeah, but I’m right,” Emma retorted.
“I have to go talk to her, Emma. What if Dan comes in and sees her eating by herself and I’m over here with you enjoying my lunch?”
Emma sighed heavily, but she got up and came with me.
The deer-in-the-headlights expression on Fiona’s face as we approached her table confirmed Emma was right. She wanted to be left in peace. But it was too late to back out now.
“Oh. Molly. I apologize for missing the budget meeting yesterday,” Fiona said to me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I said.
“Well, ehm.”
“Mind if we join you?”
We seated ourselves across from her, which probably made Fiona feel like she was facing a tribunal. But it seemed like a better choice than plunking down on either side of her. Fiona put aside the journal she’d been reading. Emma introduced herself, and Fiona introduced herself back.
“I put in another request to Konishi Construction,” I said. “To have them get the junk out of your office.”
I wanted to find out what had happened to her the previous day and who her visitor was, but it was a topic I’d have to ease into, and I couldn’t really bring it up in front of Emma anyway.
“I’d be perfectly happy if they simply stopped bringing in more rubbish,” Fiona replied. “Having the existing rubbish removed would be more than I could hope for.”
“Whoa, three pretty ladies at one table.”
We all looked up to see Rodge Cowper holding his lunch tray. The buttons of his rumpled aloha shirt strained across his belly. His thick, graying hair was cut short in the front and longer in the back. It occurred to me his hairstyle was probably older than Fiona.
Rodge placed his tray on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
“Looks like today’s my lucky day.”
“Hey, Rodge, why don’t you join us?” Emma said, once he was seated and had started in on his sandwich.
“She’s a little firecracker, isn’t she?” Rodge mumbled to Fiona, through a mouthful of egg salad and white bread. Rodge Cowper has an enduring crush on Emma despite (or possibly inflamed by) Emma’s obvious contempt for him.
“You wouldn’t know from her last name, Nakamura, but Emma’s half-Hawaiian. That’s why she’s got that wild streak—”
“Rodge?” I said. “Do you remember our discussion with Maisie from HR?”
Rodge’s face fell.
“I thought that was just for job interviews.”
“No, it’s for not getting written up by HR again.”
“Eh, Fiona,” Emma said, as if Rodge weren’t there, “you going to the in-service tomorrow?”
“The Professional Development thing,” I said, in response to Fiona’s questioning look.
“That’s tomorrow already?” Rodge asked Emma. “Are you going, Emma?”
“I forgot it was so soon,” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the Student Retention Office announcements. “Oh. Here it is. It’s about how to understand text-speak so you can communicate better with your students.”
“Surely we’re not expected to share our private telephone numbers with our students?” Fiona asked.
“Oh yeah, you’re new here,” Emma said. “The Student Retention Office thinks professors should be on the clock providing outstanding customer service 24/7.”
“Aw, give the SRO a break,” Rodge said. “They’re good people.”
“Yeah, you’re just saying that cause they keep nominating you for the stupid teaching award,” Emma shot back.
“Our legal department says we don’t have to share our personal contact information with students,” I told Fiona. “I don’t.”
“Me neither.” Emma narrowed her eyes at Rodge. “I believe in maintaining appropriate boundaries with students.”
“Are the Student Retention Office and the university lawyers at odds then?” Fiona asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s like the rule about our office doors,” Rodge said. “We have to keep ‘em closed for fire safety, but open so we look welcoming to students.”
“Actually the thing about keeping the doors open is called the Rodge Cowper rule,” Emma put in maliciously. “When a student’s in your office you gotta keep your door open at least 45 degrees.”
“There’s a Rodge Cowper Rule?” Fiona asked suspiciously.
Rodge, his mouth once again stuffed with egg salad sandwich, gave Fiona a thumbs-up.
“Wait’ll you hear about our new attendance policy,” I said. “It’s in the meeting minutes Serena sent out this morning.”
“Hey, Fiona,” Rodge swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. “You got any plans for Christmas?”
“That’s right, we’re almost to the end of the semester. Do you and Emmett have any plans?” I was proud of myself for remembering the name of Fiona’s husband. Normally this is the kind of information that deserts me just when I need it.
“If you’re going off island, you should know they jack up the prices exactly when school’s out,” Emma advised. “It’s better if you guys can take off as soon as final week’s over.
“I suppose I’ll travel back to England.” Fiona rested her hand on her issue of Philosophy & Public Affairs. “Emmet won’t be joining me.”
“Whoa, pretty lady like you traveling that whole way all by yourself?” Rodge said.
“He can’t get away from work, I’m afraid.” Fiona’s tone was flat.
“Isn’t your husband the headmaster at St. Aelred?” Emma asked. “He can’t take Christmas off to be with his wife?”
Fiona obviously didn’t want to discuss this. I nudged Emma’s foot under the table. She ignored me.
“Speaking of Christmas,” I said, “Did you know in Japan, the traditional Christmas dinner is Kentucky Fried Chicken?”
I’ll admit, I’m terrible at this.
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Emma persisted.
“It’s true,” I said. “You have to place your order months in adva—”
“Didn’t you move to the butt end of creation to be with him?”
“Emma!” I exclaimed.
“That’s exactly what your dissertation advisor said about Mahina,” Emma retorted.
“He was a little disappointed I didn’t end up somewhere more high-profile, but Emma, you love living here. And so do I. Mahina is a wonderful place to live.”
“Yeah, there’s no place like it,” Rodge agreed. “It’s got everything you need. Did you know just about forty minutes south of here they got a clothing-optional—” I cleared my throat. Rodge shot me a guilty look and quietly started on the second half of his sandwich.
“It’s rather silly and sentimental for a married couple to expect to spend all one’s free time together,” Fiona said quietly.
“Nah, that’s your husband talking,” Emma declared. “You don’t believe it for a second. You moved halfway around the world to be with him, and now he won’t even spend Christmas with you? Come on, you don’t have to put up with that.”
“Emma! Fiona, I am so sorry. Emma, I think we should go. Rodge, maybe we should all let Fiona get back to her—”
Fiona burst into tears, stood up, and fled.
Rodge, Emma, and I sat and watched her leave.
“Whoa, catfight!” Rodge said.
Emma and I glared at him until he picked up his energy drink, mumbled something about getting back to the salt mines, and left.
“Nice going Emma,” I said, when Rodge had left the cafeteria. “Why did you say those things to her?”
Emma reached across the table and grabbed Fiona’s untouched tuna sandwich.
“I hate it when women put up with that crap. He makes her move all the way out here just to be with him, then he ditches her at Christmas. She’s gotta dump him.”
“Technically you’re not wrong,” I said. “But now I have to go do damage control. So thanks for that.”
“Eh, I told you it was a bad idea to come sit with her. Next time listen to me.”
I left Emma to dispatch the remains of Fiona’s abandoned sandwich.
Fiona: Found and Lost
FIONA MARCHED BACK up to her office, fuming. How dare that Emma creature say those things about Emmett? Why did Molly simply sit there, gawping, while Emma harassed her? And to top things off, there was that tiresome old fossil Rodge Cowper waggling his eyebrows at her.
Fiona was angry at herself as well. She shouldn’t have let on about spending the Christmas holidays apart from Emmett. That titbit would be catnip for Mahina’s nosy parkers.
Fiona hadn’t tried to start a row. She’d only asked Emmett how long they were expected to live in the rented kit house while the St. Aelred’s parsonage was being refurbished. She hoped the builders would be finished before the new year. Somehow it came up that Emmett already had plans for the Christmas holiday. Plans that didn’t include her.
This was an obvious sign of trouble in their marriage. But it wasn’t the first.
There was the time Fiona had popped into St. Aelred hoping to surprise Emmett for lunch, only to be told he was unavailable. On her way back out to the car park, she stopped in the ladies’ privy (the one for female staff and teachers). She was in the far stall when two women walked in, chatting.
“I thought after Emmett’s wife got here, he’d be more careful,” said one.
The sound of running water drowned out the other woman’s response.
“You really think the wife doesn’t know?” The first woman laughed. “Eh, love is blind, but in this case it’s gotta be deaf and dumb too, ah?”
“Yeah, dumb is right,” the other woman had replied. They walked out cackling.
Fiona realized she was standing in front of her office door. She couldn’t remember walking across the dirt path from the main building, nor mounting the stairs. She was that flustered.
Fiona unlocked her door and shoved it open. The Post-It Note with her name written on it fluttered to the ground. Her fury at Emmett gave way to feeling depressed about her working conditions.
She had no complaint about the size of her office. It was at least twice as big as any of the others on the floor. But whatever the room had been originally designed for, it certainly wasn’t marking papers or meeting students. The tiled floor sloped gently toward a drain in the centre of the room. There was a single small window, up near the ceiling. Its size and position made it look like it was designed to prevent a person escaping. It certainly didn’t admit much fresh air.
She sat down, set the stack of student papers in front of her, uncapped her red pen, and started to read:
The dictionary defines ethics as “moral principles that govern a person's behavior or the conducting of an activity.”
She moved the paper to the bottom of the stack and started on the next:
Since the dawn of time, ethics has been a big problem in society.
She capped the pen and set it down. Despite the portable air conditioner wheezing away at her elbow, it was too hot for her to concentrate. She wondered whether she could steal away home for a quick shower and change but remembered once again that Emmett had taken the car.
When Fiona had suggested buying a second car, Emmett immediately dismissed the idea as wasteful. He’d been so confident in making his argument Fiona thought it useless to contradict him. Now she was angry at herself for not having put up a fight.
Someone knocked on the door and opened it. It was Molly.
“Fiona,” Molly said, “I, uh—”
“Yes?”
Fiona had no interest in putting Molly at ease. Molly could have stopped what happened downstairs. Instead she did nothing. She could bloody well stand there in her uncomfortable-looking shoes.
“Fiona, I apologize for what happened just now. If I’d known how you—how those comments would land, I would have stopped it. Here’s the thing, in Mahina? People here are really interested in other people’s business. It took me a while to get used to it. When I was pregnant with Francesca, one of my students randomly congratulated me on having a girl, and I still don’t know how she knew, because we didn’t tell anyone the baby’s sex.”
Fiona said nothing.
“Emma means well,” Molly went on. “Her comments came from a good place, even if it doesn’t sound like it sometimes. Not sure I can say the same about Rodge. Sorry. Listen, is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Fiona said. “I mean, yes, there is.”
“There is?”
“If you wouldn’t mind dropping me at St. Aelred?”
“The school?”
“Emmett’s office has air con, and it’s quiet. I’d rather work there. And I don’t have the car just now.”
Fiona hadn’t had a car since Emmett had walked out. She’d been taking the sampan (Mahina’s open-air taxi), going on foot, and now and again cadging a lift from a friendly neighbour. Fortunately, the shuttle between the College of Commerce and the main campus ran at regular intervals, which enabled Fiona to get to and from her classes.
“Oh. Sure.” Molly glanced at her wristwatch. “Yeah, it’s hard to get anything done here with all the noise. You want to go right now?”
Fiona did.
As they walked side-by-side down the stairs, Molly filled Fiona in on the mundane details of the budget meeting she’d missed. Fiona assumed Molly was simply making conversation, so she barely paid attention as Molly nattered on about the dean’s scheme to scour the building for bits and bobs that could be sold off to supplement the budget.
The worst part of all of this was admitting her mother had been right about Emmett all along. That, more than anything else, was what Fiona found truly unbearable.
Molly: A Drive to St. Aelred School
THE DRIVE OUT TO THE boys’ school took longer than I thought. Or maybe it just seemed long because I was trying so hard not to offend the prickly Fiona Spencer.
Fiona might not be the most personable colleague I’d ever had, I reminded myself, but it could have been worse. We’d had so much trouble agreeing on a candidate, we could have ended up with a failed search.
Hanson Harrison’s pick was a self-styled iconoclast who refused on principle (he claimed) to publish in peer-reviewed journals. Instead, his intellectual output was entirely confined to social media, where he proclaimed, “attendance policies are educational malpractice,” and advised his followers “if you hate grading, stop doing it.” Hidebound reactionaries who insisted on “standards” and “rigor” were destined for the ash heap of history (or the glue factory). Best of all, this young rebel’s advisor happened to be one of Harrison’s pals at Yale.
