The Perfect Body, page 4
part #8 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“See, that’s why I don’t follow the news. Ugh.”
“Molly, that’s probably how come they had the donor dinner up there in the first place. So the high maka makas could see for themselves all the work that needs to be done and open up their checkbooks.”
“If that was their plan, it backfired. No one was pulling out their checkbooks that night, believe me.”
Emma and I drank our coffee in silence for a few moments.
“So, the old hospital building’s been closed for decades,” I said. “They open it up and the first event they have there, Stephen Park wanders out onto the terrace, the same place where Miss Constance supposedly killed herself, what, a hundred years ago. Next thing you know, he’s dead.”
“Yeah. Creepy, ah?”
“Ghost stories aside, though. It’s not impossible that there was someone up there with Stephen.”
“You see or hear anyone?” Emma set down her coffee cup. I lifted it and slid her coaster underneath.
“No. I was just remembering how dark it was out there. Yeah, it was probably an accident. Stephen called my name, and when I didn’t answer he leaned too far over the railing and fell.”
“Oh yeah, if you hadn’t walked by, Stephen wouldn’t’ve tried to get your attention, but you ignored him, so he leaned over to try again, and he fell down. You shouldn’t blame yourself for Stephen dying, though.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me to blame myself, Emma, but thanks ever so much for bringing it up.”
“You know, if there wasn’t someone else up there with Stephen Park? You’re the only one who saw what happened.”
“But that’s the problem. I didn’t see anything. Stephen fell behind me, after I’d already walked past. I only saw him after I heard him fall and turned around.”
“You remember anything that happened just before?”
Emma stood up and took our coffee cups into the kitchen.
“Emma, you know what? We should talk about something else. This isn’t our problem to solve.”
“Sure,” Emma called from the kitchen. “As long as you can honestly say you’re a hundred percent sure that whoever killed Stephen Park will never kill anyone else.”
“Emma, no one killed Stephen Park. Ghost or human. It was an accident.”
“Oh yeah? Would you bet your life on it?”
I placed my hands over my eyes, relaxed into the couch cushions, and let my mind float back to that evening. It was a practice I’d learned from Stephen, of all people. Memories want to be found, not forced, he’d said. This technique had never helped me remember my student’s names, and it sure hadn’t stopped Stephen from forgetting my birthday, but I didn’t have any other tricks up my sleeve.
I recalled the glow of Stephen’s cigarette and the scent of burning cloves. It was dark, and Stephen had been drinking. No, wait. I was the one who had been drinking. Stephen and Bee had green tea. So, what happened? Either Stephen really wanted to get my attention and lost his balance, or someone had been waiting up there to give him a little shove. Someone who had been pushed to his limit.
I moved my hands off my eyes and pressed my fingers into my temples.
“Got some fresh coffee…” I heard the clunk of cups on the bare wood of the coffee table, but I couldn’t will myself to open my eyes, much less do anything about it.
The couch cushion jumped as Emma plunked down next to me.
“Ooh, Molly, you okay? Got one of those ice cream headaches?”
“Ice pick headaches,” I groaned. “Ice cream. I should be so lucky. Okay. I think it’s gone.”
I slowly released the pressure on my temples, opened my eyes, and sat up.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Emma demanded.
“What do you mean? I’m telling you everything.” I avoided looking at her and concentrated on putting coasters under the coffee mugs.
“I know you, Molly. You only get those headaches when you get da kine. Too many ideas in your head fighting with each other.”
“Cognitive dissonance.” I picked up my cup and held it under my nose. The coffee aroma made me feel a little better. “Emma. Do you think Donnie is jealous?”
“Of what?”
“Not of something,” I said. “I mean is he jealous in general. Like Othello.”
“The ‘who’s on first’ guy?”
“Donnie was not happy about having to sit with Stephen.”
“Molly, what guy would want to have dinner with his wife’s ex?”
“I know. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Is the baby still asleep?”.
Emma leaned over the arm of the couch to check.
“Uh-huh. She’s out.”
“Good. Thanks. You know, I’ll be honest. I wasn’t thrilled about having to sit there either.”
“Oh yeah, having to sit next to Bee the Body right after you had a baby? I don’t blame you.”
“Bee the Body? Who calls her Bee the Body?”
“Everyone,” Emma replied. “You gotta admit, she’s hot.”
“I guess, if you buy into Eurocentric, ageist, thinness-privileging—”
“So in other words, you admit she’s hot.”
“It’s not fair. That low level of body fat is completely unattainable for…most women.”
“Oh, you thinking Donnie killed Stephen Park?” Emma said.
“No, I I’m not saying I think Donnie did it. It’s just—”
“Then look me in the eye instead of talking to your coffee.”
I set my mug down and angled myself to face Emma.
“Stephen was really getting under Donnie’s skin that night. I could tell.”
“Yeah, Stephen’s annoying. No argument there. But Molly, Donnie is not a hothead. When has he ever made an impulsive decision? Besides marrying you.”
“He made a point of asking me not to investigate Stephen’s murder. I hadn’t even mentioned investigating anything. Why would he do that?”
“Cause he knows you like to go poking your nose into things, and he doesn’t want some crazy idiot shoving you into a lava tube and leaving him widowed with a baby to take care of.”
“Why does everyone keep bringing up the stupid lava tube incident? I make one little mistake—”
“What about Stephen’s ex-girlfriends?” Emma interrupted. “You know if anyone was stalking him?”
“I don’t know about his ex-girlfriends. I don’t get involved in Stephen’s personal affairs.”
“What? How about the girl he was cheating on you with? You broke ‘em up, don’t forget.”
“I did nothing of the kind. All I did was let it slip that Stephen Park was not, in fact, part-Korean.”
“And she dropped him like a maggot sandwich.”
“Wow, what a disgusting expression.”
“But accurate. Eh, sounds like Donnie’s home.”
“I don’t think so. This is peak lunch hour at the Drive-Inn. Besides, it doesn’t sound like Donnie’s car.”
Chapter Twelve
Detective Ka`imi Medeiros strode into the living room, the floorboards straining under his weight. His demeanor alone would have been intimidating enough, even if he had been the size of an ordinary man, which he wasn’t. His aloha shirt could have doubled as a slipcover for one of our armchairs.
Emma, the coward, quickly made her excuses and skedaddled, leaving the baby and me alone with the plainclothes Goliath.
I offered Medeiros a cup of coffee. He refused.
“Did you want to talk to Donnie? He should be down at the Drive-Inn.” I took my seat on the end of the couch next to the baby’s bassinet. Medeiros carefully lowered himself onto one of the aforementioned armchairs.
“Actually, I was hoping to ask you a few questions, Professor. About the events leading up to Stephen Park’s death.”
“Oh. Wonderful. Okay. You did get my statement that night. Was there more?”
Medeiros reached into his shirt pocket and took out a tiny notepad and pencil.
“Just following up on a few details. Can you describe the interaction between your husband and Stephen Park prior to your discovery of Park’s body?”
Was this the part where I was supposed to clam up and demand a lawyer? No, that would have been silly. A lawyer for what? I wasn’t in trouble.
“Civil, I suppose? I guess it’s no secret Stephen Park and I used to date.”
“No. It’s pretty well-known.”
“Oh, good.”
“To your knowledge did your husband have any conflict with the deceased?”
“Donnie gets along with everyone,” I said.
“It didn’t bother him that you had been in a romantic relationship with Park?”
“It was over before I even met Donnie.”
“But is it possible there was still some jealousy?”
Ouch. I had to hand it to Medeiros. Despite having been friends with Donnie since elementary school or whenever, he wasn’t shying away from the hard questions.
“Detective, Donnie is a devoted husband and father, an honorable businessman, and an outstanding human being. Stephen Park was a narcissist, a predator, a fraud, and Donnie’s inferior in every possible way. Donnie had absolutely no reason to be jealous of Stephen Park.”
Medeiros wrote in his notebook for what seemed like a long time.
“How about you, Professor?” he said finally.
“Me?”
“How did you get along with Stephen Park?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I mean, I didn’t socialize with him. But I saw him now and then around campus. He was the theater department chair, and I’m the chair of the management department in the College of Commerce. Mostly I’d run into him at department chair meetings.”
“You called him a predator,” Medeiros said. “Why?”
“Oh, that. He dated students.”
Whimpering sounds came from Francesca’s bassinet.
“Would you excuse me, please?”
“Yes, of course,” he said.
I picked up the baby and the nursing pillow and took a seat on the chair next to my computer. With my back to Medeiros, I got Francesca latched on. All the action was hidden under my baggy t-shirt, so there would be no possibility of indecent exposure.
“How did your relationship with Stephen Park end?” Medeiros asked as I swiveled to face him. His eyes flicked briefly to the baby legs sticking out from the bottom of my shirt, but his expression remained neutral.
“We went our separate ways,” I said.
He held his pen above his notepad and waited.
“He stood me up on my birthday,” I said, finally. “He claimed he’d lost track of time, and I found out later that he’d been with, yes, one of his students. But it was a long time ago, Detective. I’ve moved on. I mean, look at me. I’m married with a baby. The whole situation with Stephen Park, it’s over. It’s not something I dwell on.”
He nodded and wrote on his tiny notepad.
“And the worst thing about it was,” I continued, “Stephen wasn’t even a little bit contrite. The fact that he left me waiting for him, on my birthday, was my fault somehow. Like I was being unreasonable for expecting him to keep his appointments or something. Because his time was valuable, and mine wasn’t.”
“How did your husband feel about the fact that you had contact with Stephen Park at your workplace?”
“I don’t think it bothered him. I doubt he ever gave it a thought.”
Underneath my shirt Francesca squirmed and tugged. I tried not to grimace.
“In your view, is it possible that your husband, if provoked, might have gotten into an altercation with the deceased?”
“Detective, you know how even-tempered Donnie is. He’s the last person in the world who would get pulled into some chest-thumping nature-show display with his wife’s ex. Now if you’re looking for someone with a motive to kill Stephen Park—”
Just as I was hitting my stride, I heard the garage door open. Donnie was home. Lunch rush at Donnie’s Drive-Inn must have ended early. The sound made Francesca fussy. I struggled to get her calmed down while she did her best to rip my nipple from its moorings. Medeiros kept his eyes on his notepad.
“Donnie, hi!” I said as he came into the living room. “Look who stopped by for a chat!”
Medeiros stood, and they greeted each other with a hand grip. Donnie was almost as tall as Ka`imi Medeiros, but Medeiros beat Donnie hands-down in the width department.
“Coffee,” Donnie offered.
“Thanks, ah?”
Donnie went to the kitchen to make coffee and Medeiros sat back down. Why had Medeiros accepted coffee from Donnie, but not from me? The man had never trusted me, that I knew, but did he think I was going to poison him?
“Who do you think had a motive to kill Stephen Park?” Medeiros asked as I wrangled the squirmy baby.
“Well, let me say straight off that I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.” Like any good Catholic, I know you’re supposed to make that disclaimer before you launch into speaking ill of the dead. “But as I mentioned, Stephen did have a habit of getting involved with his students. I’ll bet there are a few angry parents out there that you might want to talk to.”
Medeiros nodded.
“You already mentioned Stephen Park dating his students. Any particular individuals I should follow up with?”
This was where a better memory for names would have come in handy.
“There was an Alyson. No, Alicia?”
“Last name?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
Donnie came in with two cups of coffee on a tray with a cream pitcher and a sugar bowl.
“I can go into the back room if you want to talk out here,” I said. Donnie declined my offer, so I wouldn’t have to pick up the baby and move. Instead, the men went out to the lanai. I stayed indoors, nursed the baby, and watched cat videos on my computer. Then I went to bed early.
Chapter Thirteen
I was asleep by the time Donnie came to bed, and I didn’t have much luck the next morning trying to find out what Medeiros had asked about. I followed him into the bathroom, hoping to get him to talk.
“So what did you two talk about last night?” I asked. “You were out there for a while.”
“Nothing too interesting,” Donnie said.
“Did Medeiros tell you how Stephen died?”
“You know Ka`imi. He doesn’t tell you much.”
“So, what did he ask you?”
“Just the normal things. Probably the same questions he asked you. Right, Francesca?”
I held Francesca so she could watch Donnie shave. She stared at him with big eyes as he leaned into the bathroom mirror and ran an electric razor over the lower half of his face. He stood up, tapped the razor against the sink, then rinsed it and wiped it down. All of this fascinated the baby.
Then he turned around, kissed the top of my head, bent down to kiss the baby’s chubby cheek, told us he’d see us for lunch, and headed out to work.
I decided to use the time between Donnie’s departure and Margaret’s arrival to take a walk. It was still cool outside, so it would be pleasant for Francesca as well as good weight-bearing exercise for me.
I trudged uphill toward the dead end of the street and reviewed the events of the past two days. The fact that Medeiros was asking questions meant that Stephen’s death wasn’t considered an accident. And I didn’t like what he was asking about Donnie and Stephen. It was one thing for me to wonder what Donnie might be capable of. But for Medeiros to suspect Donnie seemed paranoid and wrong of him.
A car went past, and I stepped off the road onto a neighbor’s lawn. I liked my little street, but sometimes I missed the big-city amenities. Like sidewalks, streetlights, and roads wide enough to fit two cars at once. Fortunately, traffic was sparse, and my neighbors didn’t seem to mind the occasional pedestrian on their lawn.
I stepped back onto the asphalt and resumed stewing about Detective Medeiros.
Maybe Medeiros didn’t believe I’d tell the truth on my own and assumed he had to rattle me. To shake loose whatever I might have been keeping to myself. Medeiros has always mistrusted me, ever since the first time Emma and I found ourselves accidentally mixed up in a murder case. Neither of us had ever wanted to get involved. Every time it happened it was because of some weird chain of coincidences that no one could have predicted. But as any hard-boiled detective novel will tell you, men like Ka`imi Medeiros don’t believe in coincidence.
Or maybe Medeiros’s suspicions had nothing to do with me. Maybe someone put the idea in his head, about Donnie being jealous of Stephen. But who? There was Geoffrey “Chaucer” Gunderson, the arts and sciences dean. He sat with us long enough to have perceived the tension at our table. And the young woman who came by with the tea and wine, who wouldn’t look Stephen in the eye (and vice versa). It didn’t take much imagination to guess what was going on there. The poor girl must have been one of Stephen’s discarded conquests. But what possible reason would either of them have to direct suspicion toward Donnie?
Then there was Bee Corcoran. Maybe she was so upset at losing Stephen that she was looking for someone to blame. Or maybe she had a more sinister motivation for misdirecting Detective Medeiros? No, I was letting my imagination get ahead of the evidence now. I stopped to readjust the baby carrier and work the kink out of my back. I had hoped to get in shape by carrying the baby around, but she was gaining weight much faster than I was gaining strength.
Stephen’s death was an accident, I told myself. Medeiros would poke around and disrupt people’s lives for a while until he figured it out, and then everything would go back to normal. It was highly unlikely that there was a murderer on the loose.
It occurred to me then that I should reach out to Bee Corcoran. Just to see how she was holding up in the aftermath of Stephen’s death. Bee hadn’t been at Mahina State that long, and as far as I could tell, Stephen was her only friend there. From what Stephen had told me, Bee was estranged from her family. A friendly call from a coworker wouldn’t be amiss at a time like this. Of course, I wouldn’t ask Bee any inappropriate questions, like what she remembered from the night of Stephen’s death, or who might have wanted to kill him. That would be bad form. But if she wanted to talk things through with a sympathetic colleague, I’d be there to listen. She’d even given me her phone number and told me to call any time if I had questions about getting my pre-pregnancy body back. Why would she have given me her number if she didn’t want me to call her?
