The Influencer, page 9
part #10 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
The product described therein was a unisex undergarment equipped with a sort of replaceable filtration system. The executive summary led off with the product name and slogan:
Toot Sweet. Because your freedom ends where someone else’s nose begins.
The company logo was an anthropomorphized can of baked beans, wearing a World War I-style gas mask.
It read exactly like the plans for “Party Pooper” and “Urine Luck.” Structured as the assignment required, and free of spelling and grammar errors. There was no way these plans were written by three different people. And certainly not by the three different people whose names were on the assignments.
I noticed then that the rain had let up. I didn’t have to deal with this right this minute, I thought. A walk would clear my head. I pulled on my shoes, grabbed an umbrella, and started walking uphill. The lush lawns and metal roofs gleamed from the recent downpour, and the air smelled electric. I went all the way to the cul-de-sac at the top of Uakoko Street, then turned around and went back down to the bottom. Feeling energized, I turned right and kept walking until I reached the lava rock marker at the entrance to the cemetery. The vast cemetery lawn was brightened with flower arrangements that families had left for their loved ones. I hadn’t seen another person on the street, and I felt like I had Mahina all to myself. I inhaled deeply. The air was clean and fragrant. I wondered why I didn’t go out walking more often.
And then the rain started to pelt down. I put up my umbrella, only to have a blast of wind immediately blow it inside-out, breaking two of the ribs.
I arrived home drenched and tossed the umbrella in the garbage. I couldn’t put it off anymore. I was dealing with an obvious case of academic dishonesty, and I was going to have to confront it.
Emma came back that evening with a big bag of avocados from her tree. Pat emerged from the guest room, and I set up a quiet dinner for three at the table. Pat told us he’d spent the day researching Tedd Ladd, but didn’t find much other than that his old books of cartoons were abundant and cheap at online second-hand bookstores. He also mentioned that he’d tried to finish reading the manuscript Howdy had handed him.
“Any good dirt?” Emma asked.
“No. It’s a completely self-indulgent sludge of Ladd’s musings on life and on how awesome he is. It manages to be both boring and embarrassing.”
“Maybe if he’s that un-self-aware he’ll let something slip,” I said.
“You know, you’re welcome to read the whole thing for yourself,” Pat said.
“Not tempted at all,” I said. “Emma, where did you go today?”
“There’s that paddler party still going on at my house,” Emma said. “I had to go check on the damage.”
“I didn’t know Jonah was into canoe paddling,” I said.
“He’s not. But him and the guys are all there partying right now. A couple of the paddlers from Kauai got their flights cancelled so they’re stuck here.”
“Kauai’s getting hit hard right now,” Pat said.
“Poor Kauai. Every time. Eh, Molly, you find anything out about those plagiarized assignments?
“I think I got another one.” I told Emma and Pat about Toot Sweet.
“These are actually good ideas,” Emma said. “Toot Sweet, Party Pooper, what was the other one?”
“Urine Luck,” I said. “I can’t just ignore this.”
“So then do the paperwork,” Pat said. “Report them.”
“Have you ever done the paperwork, Pat?” Emma asked.
“Not that I remember.”
“Oh, you’d remember,” I said. “The minute you upload a report, the Student Retention Office is all over your case. ‘Can you prove the student knew he was supposed to turn in original work?’ ‘How can you be 100% sure that she didn’t accidentally turn in the wrong document?’ ‘If you were a more caring teacher, your students wouldn’t feel like they had to cheat.’ They just keep making your life miserable hoping you’ll give up.”
“So don’t do it,” Pat said.
“Oh sure, sounds simple,” Emma said. “Except if you let it go, you could get in trouble anyway. Remember that cheating scandal last year? Our administration was ‘shocked, shocked’ to find that plagiarism was going on. They blamed the faculty for not reporting when they should’ve. Eh, know what I realized? Our administration is exactly like army ants.”
“They can skeletonize a cow in under two minutes?” Pat asked.
“They keep everyone walking around pointlessly in circles till they drop dead.”
“Why do they do that?” I asked. “The ants, I mean.”
“They’re blind, so if they don’t have any direction or leadership, they just follow the ant in front of them. Then more and more of ‘em join in and pretty soon you got a big rotating disk of army ants walking themselves to death. It’s kinda cool and disturbing at the same time. Look up ant mill if you wanna see it for yourself.”
“That is interesting,” I said. “Anyway, can we talk about my plagiarism issue now? I downloaded the three documents and checked the metadata. I didn’t see anything suspicious. But then I noticed that one of the papers had the letters ‘OMH LLC’ in the footer. But only in the bibliography section.”
“Did you look it up?” Pat asked.
“Yeah, I got almost a million results. An office cleaning company, financial services, grocery store, some little video game company. I don’t know what it is.”
“OMH is probably OutsourceMyHomework,” Emma said.
“That’s right,” I said, “you did mention it before, didn’t you?”
“That’s the easy part,” Emma said. “Now you gotta prove it.”
“Speaking of proving things,” Pat said, “what’s Harriet up to? Is she still investigating your neighbors?”
“Oh yeah,” Emma said, “she’s getting inside Ladd’s mind. Pretending to be him.”
“Like method acting?” Pat asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Including an American accent that seems to be payback for whatever Dick Van Dyke did in Mary Poppins.”
“It sounds kinda nuts,” Emma said, “but Harriet seems to know what’s going on. Don’t forget, she’s the one who told us about Ladd getting arrested at the airport before the police did.”
That night, despite the incessant drumming of rain on the metal roof, I managed to drop off to sleep. Only to wake up around midnight. Through the front window I saw the tawny glow of the sodium streetlight reflecting on the wet road. Everything seemed normal, and yet...I grabbed my phone, went out through the sliding doors onto the lanai and tiptoed around to the back of the house. From there I could see across the lawn to the rental unit. I watched it for a few minutes. At first it was dark and still, but then I saw light flickering inside, as if someone were creeping around with a flashlight.
I tapped on the window of the guest room to wake Pat, but he was sleeping soundly.
I remembered I had my phone with me and dialed the Mahina Police Department non-emergency number. It rang and rang without going to voice mail. Then I called 9-1-1. The dispatcher picked up, but unfortunately, I’d connected with someone who was very serious about her responsibility to be frugal in her allocation of the county’s resources. I was unable to convince her that a light in my rental unit constituted an emergency. She advised me to call back after 7:45 the next morning, when the non-emergency receptionist was on duty.
I marched back inside and found Emma was dozing on the living room couch. I shook her awake.
“Someone’s in the rental,” I said. “I can’t wake Pat up. The police don’t think it’s important. I know this is a bad idea, but I think we should go take a look.”
CHAPTER 22
EMMA AND I TIPTOED across the wet lawn and quietly let ourselves into the rental unit. We followed the sound of snoring to the master bedroom.
It was too dark at first to recognize the intruders. But when one of them stirred and the moonlight hit her face, I’m afraid I shrieked in surprise. The man next to her sat bolt upright, clawing at his sleep mask.
“Nigel!” I exclaimed. At the same time, Emma cried, “Harriet!”
“What on earth is going on?” I asked.
Harriet cleared her throat. “Say toots—”
“You don’t have to do the accent,” I interrupted her. “It’s just us. Please tell me what’s going on here.”
“Right.” Harriet groped at the night table for her glasses and slipped them on. “Ah, here we are. Oh I say, Barda, Nakamura, rather an inconvenient hour for a visit, what?”
“Harriet,” I persisted, “Nigel, why are you two sleeping in my tenants’ bed?”
Harriet removed her glasses, examined them, and put them on again. “Nigel didn’t want to be left out of the investigation, you see, and I’ve already taken the role of Edward Ladd. So Nigel’s Jandie Brand, world-famous social media influencer and the center of our little drama.”
“Hashtag-rather-a-cracking-good-adventure,” Nigel said.
“Bit long for a hashtag, darling,” Harriet said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Never better, my murderous little minx.”
Nigel kissed Harriet’s cheek, then jumped up and pulled on a flowered hapi coat that had been hanging on a bedpost.
“Fancy a cuppa, darling?” he asked Harriet.
“Is he wearing Jandie’s robe?” I asked Harriet as Nigel sashayed out of the bedroom.
“He is,” Harriet said. “Surely you don’t want him running about in nothing but a pair of pink leggings.”
“Listen, Harriet, I really do appreciate all the effort you and your husband put into this, and really, thank you for being concerned about my renters, but I wish you’d checked with me before you decided to stay the night here. What if Ladd had come back and found you two asleep here? I mean, we don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“Fair point, Barda.” Harriet threw aside the covers and started to pull on a pair of trousers over her long underwear. “I don’t believe I’d have come to harm, not with Nigel here as protection. Still, I suppose one can’t be too careful in lawless Mahina.”
“Well, you’ve certainly committed to the Method, I’ll give you that. Did you get any insights?”
“Oh yeah, you figure out what that psycho did with Jandie?” Emma asked.
Harriet frowned.
“The experiment was not a success, I’m afraid. Perhaps I’m too fond of Nigel. Committed as I was to the role of homicidal husband, I simply couldn’t stomach the thought of doing away with him. Sounds a bit treacly when one says it out loud, but there it is. I say, is someone at the door?”
“I’ll get it darling,” we heard Nigel call.
Emma and I left Harriet to finish getting dressed and went out to the dining room. We found Nigel sitting at the Ladd’s dining table having tea with Mr. Henriques, the next-door neighbor. The early morning sun slanted through the window, lighting up Nigel’s colorful robe and snowy hair, and cruelly illuminating Mr. Henriques’s bald head beneath his combed-over strands. I was so exhausted, it all felt like a dream. Although in retrospect the scene would have seemed surreal regardless of how well-rested I might have been. Unfortunately, this was my house, and it was up to me to take control of this mad tea party. I would have preferred to walk out and go straight back to bed.
“Mr. Henriques,” I said, “what a surprise. What are you doing here?”
He jumped a little, sloshing his tea, then replaced his cup down carefully in the saucer.
“I was checking on Mr. Ladd’s aquarium.” Henriques said.
“How come?” Emma asked.
“I noticed activity inside the house, and I thought someone might be after the fish.”
We all turned to look at the aquarium. The fish in question flicked back and forth serenely.
“Who would be after the fish?”
“Oh, no one in particular,” Mr. Henriques explained. “But I promised Mr. Ladd I’d take care of his fish for him.”
“How would you have gotten in if Nigel hadn’t been here to answer the door?” I asked.
“Mr. Ladd gave me the key.” Mr. Henriques beamed proudly.
I tried to remember whether there was anything in the rental contract forbidding the renters from sharing the key with someone else. Even if there were, what would be the point in enforcing it? Everyone would be mad at me and I’d probably get stuck taking care of the stupid fish myself.
“You did a good job, you, Mr. Henriques,” Emma said. “The fish look happy.”
“Yes, they’re lovely,” Nigel said. “Bit fiddly I understand, maintaining a saltwater aquarium.”
“Oh yes,” Mr. Henriques said eagerly. “It’s a labor of love.”
“Well I hate to be a buzzkill party pooper,” I said, “but I’m going to ask everyone to clear out. Thank you for feeding the fish, Mr. Henriques.”
“Want some coffee?” Emma asked as we re-entered my own house.
“No. Help yourself to whatever’s there, though. Oh, I forgot you brought avocados. Hey, you can make avocado toast. Or guacamole.”
“Nah, these are your avocados,” Emma said. “Get plenty more at home.”
“I’m too tired to eat right now. I’m going to try to get some sleep. Thanks for helping me clear everyone out and clean up.”
“No worries. You’re running low on cream though. I’ll put a note on the refrigerator, so you don’t forget.”
CHAPTER 23
THE NEXT DAY I SNEAKED regular, nervous peeks at my rental unit. Detective Medeiros had told me to expect Edward Ladd to return after he’d paid his bail. Ladd finally did come back that evening. I knew right away. Not because of my unceasing surveillance, but because he actually came by and knocked on my door. When I opened it and saw him standing there, I practically had a heart attack.
I was alone. Emma and Pat had left to do some grocery shopping and get takeout at Chang’s Pizza Pagoda.
“No offense to Donnie’s cooking,” Emma had said. “But Chang’s Pizza Pagoda got a two for one special on their cheesy kung pao shrimp pizza.”
“I’ll be moving back in, just wanted to let you know,” Ladd said. “So you wouldn’t think there was an intruder and call the police.”
“Heh, call the police...that’s a good one.” I tried to force myself to smile. At that moment I would have been happy to refund the entire amount they’d paid for the lease, just to have Edward Ladd out of my life entirely.
Ladd stood on my porch, waiting. For me to ask him about Jandie? For me to say I was glad to have him back? For me to invite him in?
“Can I...help with anything?” I asked.
“No, I just wondered what you thought of my manuscript.”
Ladd knew we had his book? Were we supposed to have it, or was he trying to trick me into admitting I’d read it? What exactly had Howdy Howell told us? My brain helpfully reminded me that serial killers say the second murder is easier than the first, so I should be careful about what I say to Edward Ladd. Thanks a lot, brain, now how about telling me exactly what I am supposed to say to this guy?
“Your book?” I stalled cleverly, hoping the “master of persuasion” couldn’t also read minds.
“I gave it to Howell,” Ladd said. “He said he was going to give it to everyone he knows. That includes you.”
“Oh, Howdy Howell. The reporter. I’ve only met him a couple of times, but I’ll have to ask him about it next time I see him. A book, you say.”
Misleading, but not an actual lie.
“If you want to assign it to your students, you don’t need to ask permission,” Ladd said. “Just make sure they’re not buying bootleg copies.”
“You have my word,” I said. “I will never encourage my students to buy bootleg copies of your book. By the way, have you heard from Jandie? We’re all really worried about her.”
Ladd shook his head and without a word, turned and walked away.
Harriet came by that night about ten o'clock, with a big bottle of Irish whiskey. Before I could thank her, she told me it was a present for Pat.
“Why Pat?” I asked. “It’s not his birthday or anything.”
“It’s Saint Patrick’s Day,” she said.
“Today’s the eighteenth. St. Patrick’s Day was yesterday.”
“Was it? So easy to lose track during the spring holiday.”
Harriet pulled out a chair and sat down at the dining room table. I joined her there.
“I know,” I said. “I’m not really watching the calendar too closely either, but Pat and Emma went shopping today and came back from Mizuno Mart with a bunch of half-price marshmallow shamrocks and green candy corn.”
“I see. I’m a day late. Can we call it Irish punctuality then? Where’s yer man?”
“Pat’s already asleep,” I said. “It’d be like trying to wake the dead. Besides, he doesn’t drink.”
“Not really? Nakamura told me, but I thought she was taking the Mickey.”
“No, it’s true. Coffee’s Pat’s psychoactive of choice. But it would be a shame to let your generous gift go to waste.”
“So it would.” Harriet unboxed the whiskey. I went to the couch to shake Emma awake.
“So Ladd’s back,” Harriet said, once we were all at the table. “Any news about young Jandie?”
“So creepy, that guy,” Emma said. “Doesn’t even seem to bother him that his wife’s missing. If I’d been here, I woulda said so to his face. I don’t care, I’d take him on.”
“It’s probably better you were out then,” I said. “I don’t think you kicking him in the shins would advance the cause of justice. Also I appreciate all the food you guys brought home, so thanks.”
“Eh, Harriet, this is how narcissistic he is. He asked Molly what she thought of his book.”
“Ladd’s got a book, has he?” Harriet raised her glass. “Any good?”
“No,” Emma and I said at the same time.
“Any idea who the publisher is?”
“None,” I said. “We just have the manuscript, not the final printed version.”
“Hard to find a reliable publisher these days. Nigel’s seems a bit dodgy. I’m not complaining, mind you, we’re quids in, but their paperwork’s a dog’s breakfast. Filing our U.S. taxes is going to be an adventure.”
