The Influencer, page 5
part #10 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
“So what do you think?” I asked Harriet as we headed back down the street. “It looks nice enough from the outside. I mean, if you want to live next to a cemetery, I know it’s not for everyone. Moving is a big decision. Moving all your stuff and everything.”
“Bit spendy, but worth it, I think. It’s an investment in Nigel’s career, after all. Someplace quiet to get his writing done. We do so want his book to be a success.”
We were approaching my house when Harriet said this, and I thought I saw her glance in the direction of my rental unit. Great. Add Harriet Holmes and her husband Nigel to the list of people who are going to be pestering me for an introduction to Jandie Brand.
“Well, it would certainly be delightful to have you as neighbors,” I said. “Although I have to be honest. If you’d asked me last week, I would have said the neighborhood was safe. But now, with Jandie Brand disappeared? I don’t know what to say.”
“Oh, I expect it’s not as bad as all that,” Harriet said. “Nigel abducted by rabid fans? We should be so lucky, as the song says. Ah, here we are.”
Harriet climbed onto her Triumph and roared off, calling back, “Cheerio!”
Pat, Emma, and I hosed off our muddy feet and left our footwear to dry on the front porch. Thanks to days of incessant rain, the atmosphere inside was close and damp. I cranked the ceiling fans up to top speed in an attempt to dry things out.
“An investment in Nigel’s career. Did you hear her? This is about me getting them an audience with Jandie Brand.” I headed into the kitchen to get two wine glasses. “Pat, help yourself to coffee or whatever you want to drink at this hour. Emma and I are having wine.”
Emma hitched herself up to sit at the kitchen counter, and Pat took my invitation to make himself a cup of coffee.”
“Wow, Harriet’s a lot,” Emma said. “I mean, I like her, but. Eh, you really think she’s moving in to be close to Jandie?”
“I’m sure of it,” I said. “Everyone seems to want to get close to Jandie. Even my friends, who I thought liked me for myself and enjoyed my company. Emma.”
“Maybe this wasn’t the right time for me to come visit.” Pat finished fixing his coffee and took a seat next to Emma. “I mean for the sake of getting a story about her husband. Of course, it’s always worth it to visit you guys. I enjoy your company, Molly.”
Emma socked Pat in the shoulder. He laughed.
“Pat, I don’t think Jandie’s husband would mind talking to a reporter,” Emma said. “I think he’d enjoy it. As long as the conversation is all about him and how smart he is. Eh, Pat, your mother never told you not to put your elbows on the table?”
Pat straightened up. “This is a counter, not a table. But whatever. I was surprised how much my editor loved the idea. Believe me, she doesn’t love anything. Washed-up mainland celeb discovers the ‘real’ Hawaii and tries to reinvent himself, even as his young wife eclipses him and he realizes he’ll never recapture even a fraction of his former fame and acclaim.”
“Ouch.” I handed over two furikake glasses to Emma, followed by the wine box. “It does sound like the kinds of depressing stories your paper likes to run, though.”
“Yeah, it’s right on brand for The Bleakly.” Pat finished his coffee in one gulp. “Hey, you got any more of that tea? It was good.”
“Sure, but I’m not sure I can replicate what Harriet did. You’re welcome to try.”
I traded places with Pat. He went into the kitchen to fill the electric kettle with tap water, and I sat down at the counter to fill myself with grocery-store cabernet.
“Is Mahina water still as good as it used to be?” Pat asked.
“Of course it is,” Emma said. “Not like your nasty Honolulu water,”
“I liked meeting Harriet,” Pat said. “I think she’d be fun to have as a neighbor.”
“It might be,” I said. “If I weren’t her department chair. Wait a minute. Pat, you have a crush on Harriet?”
“Maybe a little one.”
“You know she’s married, right?” I said.
“Obviously, to someone named Nigel.” Pat checked the oven clock and poured boiling water into his cup. “Don’t worry, it’s completely chaste and above board. You have to admit, there’s something about her.”
“Maybe it’s the ‘posh’ accent,” I said. “The students seem to be bewitched by it. Even when she says things that would normally be super-offensive, I only get one or two complaints at most.”
“Could be the pipe,” Emma said. “How many women do you know who smoke a pipe?”
“I don’t know anyone who smokes a pipe besides her,” I said. “And for the record I do not find it charming. It’s a constant battle trying to get her to comply with the on-campus smoking ban. Enforcement of which is my thankless responsibility, by the way. Somehow it always slips her mind that she’s not allowed to smoke in the building. ‘Oh dreadfully sorry Barda, made a bollocks out of it again haven’t I,’ and then I can’t even be mad at her because she seems genuinely contrite even though I know she’s not.”
“So you’re having fun being department chair?” Pat brought his tea over and joined us at the counter. “Hey, by the way. I invited someone to come by. I hope that’s okay.”
“Come by where?” I said. “Here? To my house?”
“The places downtown we’d normally meet are closed because of the flood warning. He’s going to be here in...” Pat glanced at me and something in my expression must have motivated him to add, “Sorry, I can call and cancel.”
“It depends,” I said. “Who is it?”
“His name is Howell. He's a nice kid, writes for the County Courier.”
CHAPTER 12
“PAT, YOU INVITED A stranger into my house?”
I sped into the kitchen and started flinging dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
“Don’t worry, your house looks fine,” Pat said.
“No it doesn’t, you huge liar. But it will. Can you clear all the stuff off the coffee table? Just bring it in here. I’ll figure out what to do with it later. Why on earth are you helping someone from the County Courier anyway?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Pat asked.
“Because the County Courier laid you off, along with all the other decent reporters, and now they’re basically a collection of ads for car dealers and furniture stores? Where did Emma go?”
“I’m in the bathroom,” came a disembodied voice. “Don’t talk to me.”
“He’s trying to get a start on his career and I want to help him out.” Pat brought over an armload of coffee cups and junk mail and dumped everything on the counter next to the sink. “Good karma, pay it forward, and all that nonsense.”
“It’s very nice of you.” I popped a detergent pod in the dishwasher, pushed the door shut, and got the cycle started. “I was thinking you were maybe cultivating him as an unwitting source, or doing some Machiavellian ‘keep your friends close but your rivals closer’ kind of thing. Darn it, there are still all these dirty cups. I’ll have to wash them by hand.”
“Here, I’ll do it.” Pat got up, filled the sink with soapy water, and swept the dishes into the sink. “There. Now you can’t see them under the bubbles. Molly, you don’t seem thrilled about Howell coming over. I thought you’d be interested in meeting a reporter. You always like hearing the village gossip.”
“I do. But not when I’m in the middle of it. Pat, you came over to do a piece on a formerly-famous cartoonist. Okay, fine. But now his celebrity wife has disappeared and you just invited over a reporter from the local paper?”
“Sorry, Molly, like I said, I can call him and cancel.”
“No, then he’s going to ask you why and it’s just going to seem like we’re hiding something and it’s going to turn into this big murder case. How am I going to explain this to Donnie? What if he sees it in the newspaper while he’s over on the mainland? Things always sound worse when they make it onto the national news. Remember that story about the eruption, where they claimed the lava flowed all the way to Honolulu?”
“I wouldn’t worry about getting your name dragged into this story, Molly. Look, I really appreciate you letting me do this. I didn’t realize it was gonna cause so much stress.”
Emma came out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on the back of her jeans.
“Eh, the place looks good,” she said.
“I guess it does look okay. Thanks for helping me tidy up, Pat.” I sat back down at the kitchen counter and refilled my wine glass. “I’ve been a little stressed out about this Senior Seminar thing.”
“Oh, the business planning class?” Emma hitched herself up next to me and filled her own glass.
“Is that the class they called BP?” Pat asked.
“Yes. They still call it that. Anyway, you know Victor Santiago, the fundraising guy whose title I keep forgetting? Big Head Cheese of Money Raising or whatever he’s called?”
“Vice-President for Student Outreach and Community Relations,” Emma said.
“How on earth do you remember that, Emma? Anyway, my business planning students have a command performance at the Senior Showcase. You know the end-of-the-year dog and pony show where they invite all our VIP donors and Friends in the Business Community? This year Jerry Mizuno is going to be there. They’ve been trying to cultivate the Mizuno family for years. Victor told me this is probably our most important Senior Showcase ever. With the latest budget cuts from the ledge, we’re more dependent than ever on private donations. He made sure I knew that he will not tolerate a repeat of what happened last year with the theater majors.”
“So what’s the problem?” Emma asked. “I mean, I don’t think your business students are gonna put on pig masks and critique capitalism through poetry and burlesque.”
“No, thankfully. But Victor wants to project a proper, dignified image of our school. My students are just turning in their first drafts now, and, well, the best plan by far is for something called Party Pooper.”
“What is it?” Pat asked.
“It’s a handheld device meant to carry in your pocket or purse. It’s a combination noisemaker and deodorizer dispenser, for when you’re away from home and nature calls.”
“Eh, sounds like a great idea,” Emma said. “Tell me when they start selling it. I’ll buy a bunch for the next time Yoshi has his paddler friends over to our house.”
“This is Jerry Mizuno as in Mizuno Mart?” Pat asked. “I mean, Mizuno Mart sells toilet paper and stuff like that. I don’t see how your Party Pooper product is gonna offend them.”
“I don’t know. I hope you’re right.”
“Molly, at least they’re coming up with their own ideas,” Emma said. “Count your blessings, ah? Remember last year when I found a bunch of my students buying their homework solutions online?”
“What did you end up doing about that?” Pat asked.
“No more research papers or homework. Nothing you could pay someone to do for you. I’m only assigning in-class exams and presentations now.”
“How does that work in your online classes?” I asked.
“A hundred percent of the grade is oral exams. There’s no hiding it if you don’t know the material. Really separates the wheat from the chaff.”
“Ouch,” I said. “I can’t imagine the Student Retention Office is happy about that. Their whole mission is No Chaff Left Behind.”
“Yeah, well, no big loss there. I’m already on the Student Retention Office’s ‘Party Pooper’ list. But the good part is, the students who make it through my class? They know their stuff now, when they go on to the higher level classes. You know da kine, who teaches anatomy and physiology? She’s ready to name her firstborn after me.”
We were interrupted by a quick knock.
“That’s him.” Pat jumped up and bounded to the front door.
“What was his name?” I asked.
“Howell,” Pat said. “Howard Howell.”
Howell looked to be in his mid-twenties, with auburn hair and a friendly, freckled face. He wore typical Mahina business attire, an aloha shirt tucked into slacks, but he struck me as not being local.
Great, I thought. I’ve turned into one of those provincial small-towners who sizes people up and decides they’re “not from around here.”
“Call me Howdy.” The young man reached out and grasped my hand. His flat Midwestern accent confirmed that he was not, in fact, “from around here.” And his gap-toothed grin forever cemented in my mind his resemblance to Howdy Doody.
We were all standing around awkwardly now, so I invited everyone to sit in the living room.
“I’ll make coffee.” Pat headed into the kitchen.
“Decaf for me if you don’t mind,” Howdy called after him, “thank you Mr. Flanagan!”
“I’ll do decaf for everyone. It’s easier.”
I wished Pat had let me make the coffee so I wouldn’t have to make conversation with this complete stranger, but at least Emma was there with me.
“I’ll go put together some snacks,” Emma said, and got up and disappeared into the kitchen.
Fortunately Howdy Howell was good at keeping conversation afloat. When he found out I taught in the College of Commerce at Mahina State, he asked how I liked working in the repurposed Inebriates’ Asylum, and did I think it was haunted? I replied that I liked the old building very much, and I half-hoped it was haunted as I would love to meet the ghost of the Inebriates’ Asylum founder, Constance Brigham. The spirit of the eccentric heiress was rumored to roam the old hospital complex.
“I was surprised to find out Mahina had its own university,” Howdy said. “I don’t mean anything bad by it. Nothing at all wrong with small towns, I always say. I cover high school sports for the County Courier, and let me tell you, it’s just like back home. People sure do love their high school football.”
“Our university get football too.” Emma came into the living room and set down a tray of goodies. “Go Fighting Moons.”
I supposed I could forgive Emma for abandoning me. She had pulled together whatever snack-like items she could find in my kitchen, including nuts, tortilla chips, and some long-forgotten chocolate buttons that had developed a white bloom.
Pat came out holding four pre-poured cups of coffee and handed them around.
“You notice they’re the Fighting Moons, not the Winning Moons,” he said. “At least with the high school teams you got a chance. Hey Howdy, did you tell her about the story you’re doing?”
“Story?” I looked from Pat to Howdy and back.
“He kind of beat me to the punch,” Pat said. “He’s doing a story on your tenants. The influencer and the has-been.”
CHAPTER 13
“WHAT?” I NEARLY DROPPED my coffee cup. “Look, Pat, Howdy, I’m sorry, I can’t be party to violating my tenants’ privacy. When they signed their lease, they were very clear—”
Howdy blushed.
“Oh golly no, Professor Barda, it’s not like that. I’m not invading anyone’s privacy. In fact, Jandie reached out to me.”
“It turns out they’re fine with publicity,” Pat said. “On their own terms, of course.”
“Emma,” I asked, “did you know about this?”
Emma shook her head.
“But if they wanna talk to someone, you can’t stop ‘em, right?”
“Anyone can talk to whomever they like,” I said. “I just feel like an idiot standing up for their privacy this whole time.”
“Nah, you’re doing the right thing,” Emma said. “Screen out the riff-raff. But maybe you don’t have to be so farbissen with your friends.”
“It’s a great story,” Howdy said. “Celebrity couple moves to the middle of nowhere, they find inner strength they didn’t know they had. They rediscover themselves and their love for each other.”
“The middle of nowhere?” Emma glared at Howdy. “The celebrity couple slumming it with us backwards country bumpkins? Is that what you’re going with?”
“No, no, not at all, Professor Nakamura. It’s only, that’s how Mr. Ladd...” Howie ran his hand through his already-unruly ginger hair. “Mr. Ladd called it the middle of nowhere. But I’m sure he means it in a good way.”
Emma pointed her stubby forefinger at Howdy.
“Well, you tell him he’s wrong. Mahina’s the biggest town on the island. We get paved roads, county water, and we’re connected to the electrical grid. Some of us even get sewer hookup. It’s not like we’re down in Kuewa.”
“Way to convince him we’re not a backwater, Emma,” I said.
“You’re right, Professor Nakamura,” Howdy said cheerfully. “I actually have been to Kuewa. I know exactly what you’re talking about. Jandie took me down there, to show me where they were originally thinking of settling down. They liked how affordable it was. But she needs good internet so that was a dealbreaker for her. Professor Barda, what do you think about Jandie and Mr. Ladd? Are they as perfect a couple as they seem?”
“I try not to talk about people behind their backs,” I said.
Pat snorted, which I thought was extremely uncalled-for.
“Sure, I understand. Say, I have another question, did any of you happen to see Jandie today?”
Emma and I exchanged a glance.
“No, not today, that I recall,” I said cautiously. “Why?”
“I was supposed to have an interview with her this morning, but she wasn’t at home.”
“She didn’t share her plans with me,” I said. “Oh look, we’re getting low on coffee. Emma, can you help me find the new coffee I just bought?”
Emma followed me into the kitchen. We ducked into the mud room, and out to the lanai. From there we had a view of the rental house and the cemetery, quiet under the green-gray sky.
“Jandie Brand missed an appointment with a reporter this morning,” I said. “What social media personality does that? The husband’s already told us he’s worried about her. Something is weird here.”
“The husband is what’s weird. If anyone did something shady, it’s him. Eh, I got another question. You think he calls himself Howdy to mess with people cause he knows he looks like Howdy Doody?”
