The Fever Cabinet, page 6
part #9 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
“Already did,” the older officer said. “She said Mr. Ferman’s emergency contact is his ex-wife. He never updated it and the number’s disconnected. She thought Mr. Spencer might have more information. She told us when she called here last night, your husband was at home. Can we talk to him?”
Fiona felt Harriet giving her a sharp look.
“Yes, of course,” Fiona said quickly. “But he isn’t here now. I’d expect he’d be at the school by this time.”
Fiona knew better than to lie to the police. However, she had only said she expected her husband to be at work. She added, “I’ll tell him to call you as soon as I talk to him.”
“Car’s gone,” the older policeman said. The younger one nodded. Indeed, the carport was empty. This seemed to confirm for the police that Emmett wasn’t hiding inside the house, at least.
The older officer handed Harriet his card.
“Officer De Silva,” Harriet read. “We’ll be in touch if we hear anything. Ta!”
Harriet and Fiona watched the officers head back down the drive.
“Was Emmett here last night?” Harriet asked as the police cruiser pulled away from the kerb and drove off. “I thought you said he hadn’t come home.”
Fiona shook her head.
“Maureen called and asked where he was. I couldn’t very well tell her the truth, could I?”
“Why ever not?” Harriet asked.
“Maureen means well, but she’s a frightful gossip. She’d be broadcasting it to everyone on the bloody island, wouldn’t she? Don’t look at me like that, Mother. It was only a little misdirection to save myself being humiliated.”
“Fiona darling.” Harriet fished the smouldering pipe from her pocket and puffed it back to life. “What if your husband truly has come to harm?”
“Don’t be daft. I know it’s easy to let one’s imagination run wild, but nothing bad ever happens to Emmett.”
“I hope you’re right. Because if he has, your expedient little lie—excuse me, misdirection—is going to be a bit tricky to explain.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot. I’ll need to leave a note for Emmett to let him know I’m at campus.”
“I see,” Harriet said. “He’ll show up when he pleases, and no questions asked.”
Fiona went back into the house, leaving Harriet standing outside next to her motorbike, puffing thoughtfully on her pipe.
Fiona: By the River’s Edge
SATURDAY’S MEETING of the Pua Kala Garden Society, in the historic Brewster House on Russian Road, was exactly the kind of thing Fiona might have enjoyed under different circumstances. If she weren’t preoccupied with the fact that her husband was still missing. For now, she’d have to keep her chin up and hope no one asked after Emmett.
Molly parked in front of a white house set back on a velvety lawn. Near the entrance was a lovely assortment of rosebushes blooming in shades ranging from pink to crimson. Sugar-pink roses dotted the trellis framing the front door.
As Fiona followed Molly down the back staircase, she heard bits of conversation floating up:
“She moved all the way out here for him, and it didn’t stop him.”
“If anything, he became more flagrant.”
Fiona’s stomach clenched.
“Well, she’s better off without him.”
Better off without him?
At the bottom of the staircase was the sheltered area underneath the house where the Pua Kala Garden Society met. Outside the shaded area, the sun blazed down on a garden of wild ginger, ti plants, and ferns that extended to the edge of the embankment. The roaring of the Hanakoa River below was louder here than it had been from the road.
The Pua Kala Garden Society members were seated in rattan chairs around a low coffee table. They stopped chatting and looked up when Fiona and Molly walked in.
Fiona recognized the impertinent Emma Nakamura, the agreeable Iker Legazpi, and Emmett’s secretary Maureen Dos Santos.
“Fiona, come sit.” Maureen waved and pulled out the chair next to her.
Fiona got on well with Maureen, although they had little in common. Maureen was a bit older and hadn’t travelled much except to “go Vegas” each year. But Maureen had an easy laugh, and a way of making Fiona feel like an old friend, not like the boss’s wife.
Ordinarily, Fiona would have been glad to see Maureen. But not today. She worried Maureen might ask after Emmett and wasn’t sure what to say if she did.
The only person at the meeting Fiona didn’t recognize was an elegant woman with upswept white hair and a floor-length caftan. This turned out to be Mrs. Masterman, their hostess.
I suppose I should do my best to be agreeable, Fiona thought as she took her seat next to Maureen. If Emmett’s really done a runner, I may need to make some new friends.
Molly: Back to the Pua Kala Garden Society
I PARKED OUTSIDE THE Brewster House and let the Thunderbird idle. I knew I had to get out of the car and go inside. Only I didn’t want to.
Just push through it, I told myself. It’ll be over in an hour.
I hadn’t come to the Pua Kala Garden Society meeting to have fun or learn about flowers. I was doing my job. Specifically, I was here for the benefit of Fiona Spencer, who was currently sulking in the passenger seat.
Dan had reminded me once again that if we lost Fiona Spencer, the College of Commerce wouldn’t be authorized for another full-time hire until sometime after the sun cooled. And it would be my fault.
“Just make her happy,” Dan had urged me. “Maybe you can take her to that gardening club you and Iker belong to. English people like gardening, don’t they?”
“Just” make Fiona Spencer happy? Good one, Dan.
If King Eurystheus had truly wanted to stump Hercules, he wouldn’t have bothered with trifling tasks like slaying hydras and cleaning stables. No, he would have challenged Hercules to coax Fiona Spencer out of her perpetual snit. I doubted it was something even a demigod could pull off, let alone a socially inept department chair.
You might assume, because I’m friends with Emma Nakamura, that I can get along with anyone. But truly, Emma’s not so bad. I mean, sure, we get on each other’s nerves sometimes, but at least you know where you stand with Emma. If you invite her somewhere and she doesn’t want to go, she’ll tell you straight out, with some swear words added in to make sure there’s no misunderstanding. She won’t give you a hunted look and an affectless “yes, of course” as if she were being ushered up the steps of the guillotine.
I realized Fiona was already halfway up the walkway to the Brewster House, so I quickly locked up and followed her. The front door was unlocked. I slipped my shoes off and went in first. Fiona left hers on, which I didn’t realize until I heard her behind me, clacking across Mrs. Masterman’s polished eucalyptus floor in her leather-heeled flats. I didn’t say anything to her about the shoes. Mrs. Masterman could scold her about it if she wanted.
As we stepped into the shaded area under the house, the conversation stopped. I wondered at first whether they were talking about me. It was my first time attending a Garden Society meeting in a while. But to my relief I wasn’t the topic of conversation at all; it turned out they were only gossiping about Nicole Nixon from the English department, or rather, her faithless ex-husband. Nicole wouldn’t have minded at all. His caddish antics had inspired her recently-published memoir, which was enjoying some success in the literary world.
Iker Legazpi, the only man in our group, stood and greeted us with a neat bow. Emma was there, along with Mrs. Masterman and a dark-haired woman I didn’t recognize. She wore a muddy-colored muumuu that flattered neither her complexion nor her figure, but she had a friendly smile. She and Fiona seemed to know each other, which I was relieved to see.
Mrs. Masterman made everyone introduce themselves, and I learned the woman’s name was Maureen.
“Mrs. Masterman,” Iker said, “I must say how fortunate we are that you have returned to Mahina.”
“Yeah, what happened with that?” Emma asked. “We thought you was gonna stay in Honolulu, ah?”
Mrs. Masterman smiled and settled into her chair.
“The Brewster House has such a unique location. It has the great good fortune of being in both a high-risk lava zone and a tsunami zone. Well, no self-respecting mortgage lender would touch it. I had to finance the sale myself.” She paused and gave us a Mona Lisa smile. “It seems the buyers had gambled their fortune on some kind of currency scheme—call me old-fashioned but I must admit, I never did quite understand it—and unfortunately, they missed a few payments. So as the mortgage-holder, I took possession of the property. I really had no choice.”
“So you got your house back,” Emma said, “plus you got the down payment an’ whatever they paid before their investment thing wen’ all kapakahi. Smart, you.”
“I was simply lucky.” Mrs. Masterman moved the cookie plate aside and lifted a blighted-looking orchid onto the glass-topped coffee table. “And fortunately the couple were not condemned to penury. They simply had to move to one of their other properties, I believe on Kauai. Well. I’m delighted to be back in Mahina, with my beloved garden and all of you wonderful Garden Society members. Oh, before we get started. This was found in the guest bathroom a few meetings ago and I keep forgetting to ask.”
Mrs. Masterman put on her reading glasses, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it out on the coffee table. It was a regular letter-sized sheet, with a few typed words on it.
“Three thousand by Thursday or I tell,” she read.
“It seems to be an extortion,” Iker said.
“Quite so,” Mrs. Masterman agreed. “If this was directed at anyone in this room, I am willing to do whatever I can to help you.”
She lowered her reading glasses and looked around the room, but no one appeared to recognize the note.
“You may contact me privately if you wish.” Mrs. Masterman put her glasses back on. “I have no patience whatsoever with blackmailers. If a deed truly needs to be exposed, why, do the right thing and expose it! Otherwise mind your own business. Now, who can tell me what’s wrong with this poor little girl?”
Mrs. Masterman stroked a leaf of the plant.
“Cymbidium Mosaic Virus,” Fiona said.
“Why, you’re exactly right,” Mrs. Masterman exclaimed, delighted.
For a while, it seemed things were going well. Fiona joined in the ensuing discussion of necrotic lesions and chlorotic rings. Now and then it almost seemed she was enjoying herself.
As we were wrapping up the meeting and getting ready to go, Mrs. Masterman invited Fiona to join her for dinner the following weekend, and to bring her husband.
I was a little envious; Mrs. Masterman had never invited Donnie and me to dine with her. But I was happy to see how quickly Fiona Spencer was getting herself “integrated into the community.” I would have to tell Dan the good news.
“You’re ever so kind to ask,” Fiona replied, “but Emmett’s still out of town. I’ll be sure to ask him about it when he gets back.”
Maureen, the woman who knew Fiona, said,
“But he was at home last night when I called, yeah?”
“Well, I thought I’d heard him come in,” Fiona stammered, “but it seems I was mistaken. He called this morning and said he was delayed.”
Maureen looked like she was about to say something but changed her mind and started gathering her things.
“Tell him to let me know as soon as he’s back, yeah?” Maureen said, “so I can reschedule the parents’ meeting. They’re asking about him, you know.”
“Yes, of course.” Fiona stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder, avoiding eye contact.
Fiona’s obvious discomfort made me feel uneasy. I wandered over to the side table, where Iker Legazpi was refilling his tea. It was warm for November, but Iker Legazpi was wearing his usual long-sleeved shirt and tie.
“How are things at St. Aelred School?” I asked him.
“Very well, thank you,” Iker said.
“One of my students stopped by the other day and told me something about St. Aelred’s. Bryce Kahului.”
“He is an alumnus of St. Aelred,” Iker said. “Mr. Kahului is perhaps not a top scholar, but he is kind and has a good character.”
“He said he had a close friend at the school who was also going to come to Mahina State with him, but he passed away? The friend did, I mean. Do you know anything about it?”
“It was a very sorrowful thing,” Iker said. “A student died by his own hand.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear it.”
“A boy of eighteen,” Iker said. “It would be a tragedy in any event, of course, but in this case, there is the added complication. He is the son of Maureen and Apostol dos Santos.”
Iker nodded in the direction of the newest club member, who was disappearing up the stairs.
“That Maureen?” I whispered. “She’s married to Apostol Dos Santos? The Apostol Dos Santos?”
“Yes. You have heard of her husband, of course.”
“Sure. He’s on our Board of Trustees.”
“Yes. He also serves on the Police Commission, the St. Aelred School Board, the Chambers of Commerce, and the Mayor’s Advisory Board. He is a civic-minded and influential man.”
“You know, I don’t think I would recognize him.
“It is unsurprising. Despite his elevated profile, or perhaps because of it, he does not like to have his photograph taken.”
“I hear dos Santos is someone you don’t want as an enemy,” I said.
“That is also my understanding,” Iker sipped his iced tea. “It is said, you do not want to cross The Rancher.”
“Why do they call him The Rancher?” I picked up a marble-sized tea cake from the cookie platter and popped it into my mouth. Delicious. I took another one.
“Perhaps he owns a ranch,” Iker said. “But I am only speculating.”
“The Rancher? What a missed opportunity. His name is Apostol Dos Santos. An apostle and two saints. He should definitely be called The Saint.”
Iker looked at me quizzically.
“No?”
“But he is called The Rancher,” Iker said.
I picked up a little square cocktail napkin and dabbed the powdered sugar from the corners of my mouth.
“Okay, fine. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened, exactly? With the son?”
“It is said Trevor Dos Santos was a volatile and troubled young man.”
“And?” I prodded.
“It seems the younger Mr. Dos Santos found a loaded firearm in the headmaster’s desk and fatally shot himself.”
“The headmaster meaning Fiona’s husband?” I whispered.
Iker nodded.
“Fiona’s husband left a loaded gun lying around in an unlocked desk?” I looked around but no one was close enough to listen. Mrs. Masterman was clearing away the tea things, and Fiona was on her phone. “Are you saying a student—Dos Santos’s son, no less—got into the office and found a loaded gun? That’s... I mean, I’m not a lawyer, but that sounds like criminal negligence or something, doesn’t it? How does he still have a job there?”
“The weapon was purchased as a defense against what we call our helicopter parents,” Iker said. “It is something of a paradox. The duller and more indolent the son, the more zealous and aggressive are the boy’s mother and father. They cajole; they bribe; when those things do not work, they resort to threats. Mr. Spencer feared them.”
“He should have bought a taser or something,” I said. “At least that’s not designed to kill people.”
“It was a tragic error in judgement, yes. One he very much regrets now, of course. There was talk of lawsuits and firing. Mr. Spencer is fortunate to have kept his employment.”
“Wow. Poor Maureen. At least she doesn’t seem to be holding it against Fiona.”
“Indeed,” Iker said. “It was Maureen Dos Santos who found the boy.”
“No! Where?”
“In Emmett Spencer’s private office. He took his last breath in front of the headmaster’s desk. The very desk that held the loaded weapon.”
I glanced over at Fiona, who was standing just outside with her back to us. She wasn’t taking in the view of the Hanakoa River gorge. She was hunched over and looked like she was typing something on her phone.
“Why was Maureen in the headmaster’s office?”
“It is her place of work. She is the secretary to the headmaster.”
“Ohhh. Right. I see. That’s how she knows Fiona. How horrible for her.”
“So you see, Molly, it is incumbent upon us to show kindness to our colleague.”
“You’re talking about Fiona? I am kind to her. I’m super kind. I brought her to the meeting today. I’ve been driving her everywhere.”
“These events, I am certain, have caused her much unhappiness and uncertainty.”
“If anything, I think people should try to be nice to Maureen,” I said. “She’s the one who lost her son to suicide.”
“Of course. We must take every opportunity to show kindness.”
“I guess,” I said, “Well, thank you for filling me in on the background, Iker. It explains a lot. You’re right. I really should try to be nicer to Fiona Spencer. I mean, I’m already as nice as I can be in my actions, but in my mind, I’ve been maybe not so charitable.”
Iker gave me a solemn nod.
“You will never regret showing kindness,” he said.
Demonstrably untrue, I thought. But I guess it sounds nice.
Fiona: A Good Deed
IT WAS A PLEASANT SURPRISE to see Maureen at the garden society meeting, Fiona mused as she followed Molly back out to the car. Bit of a shock to see that Emma woman again. Although things turned out alright in the end. Emma didn’t harass anyone, Iker from accounting was lovely, and Mrs. Masterman gave her a little potted orchid as a welcome gift.
In fact, the meeting had gone rather well overall, certainly better than Fiona had expected. The blackmail note business was entertaining, reminiscent of one of those murder mystery parties. Mrs. Masterman had obviously concocted it for the amusement of her guests, but she was quite an actress and Fiona found herself nearly believing the note was real.
