I sat back down.

  “Donnie, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I sat in the dark living room, nursing the baby. Donnie had finally gone to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. (This was fine with the baby, who was awake and hungry.)

  I had assumed that Donnie had been nowhere near Stephen that night.

  According to Donnie, I was wrong.

  Donnie told me he had been bothered by Stephen’s waspish comments, but felt he couldn’t say anything because he didn’t want to make a scene. When I left the table for the second time, only Donnie and Bee remained; Stephen had already gone out for a smoke. Then someone Bee knew came over to chat with her. No longer obliged to make conversation with Bee, Donnie had gone outside to confront Stephen.

  “But as soon as I stepped out there I said to myself, this is crazy,” Donnie told me. “I went back inside right away.”

  “Did you see Stephen out there?” I asked.

  “I didn’t see anything. It was dark.”

  I told myself I believed Donnie. I accepted his story the way I accept that radio waves can travel through empty space. Even though I can’t get my mind around the idea that a wave motion can travel through a vacuum when there’s nothing there to move.

  But at the same time, I could understand why the police might not have been so credulous.

  Stephen had been especially unpleasant that evening. There was his usual snide banter about my being a bourgeois business-school sellout, but that had been going on for years. It had started back when The County Courier was still doing actual reporting, and they’d published the salaries of Mahina State’s employees. Stephen discovered I out-earned him, and never forgave me for it. Like it was my fault the business school paid better than the theater department.

  Then there was the needling about my being complicit in The Patriarchy by getting married and having a baby. After Stephen ditched me for his teenage student I guess he expected me to sit around lighting candles in front of his picture or something. Instead I moved on and married Donnie. Which was also unforgiveable in his book.

  But something had been different this time. Stephen hadn’t blunted his poison barbs with his characteristic “just kidding” smirk. He scowled the whole time, as if it literally pained him to share a table with me. A few times he even rubbed the back of his neck (we get it, Stephen. Having to sit with us is a pain in the neck, so clever).

  I didn’t blame Donnie for wanting to have a word with Stephen. I could have pushed him over that railing myself. Not that I would share these thoughts with Detective Medeiros.

  My phone jangled, startling the baby in the middle of her meal (ouch). I answered it as quickly as I could.

  It was my mother. A woman with years of top-notch medical training and experience, who still didn’t get the concept of time zones.

  “Mom. Is everything okay? It’s so early.”

  “It’s seven-thirty, Molly. How late do you usually sleep?”

  “It’s four-thirty in Hawaii.”

  “AM or PM?”

  “AM. If it were four-thirty in the afternoon, I wouldn’t have said it was early.”

  “Well, you sound alert. It seems I didn’t wake you up.” This was as close to an apology as I would get.

  “No, but the ringing phone scared the baby. Don’t worry about me. Who needs two nipples?”

  “Molly, that Stephen Park’s parents called me. What on earth is going on over there?”

  “Stephen’s parents…right, well there has been some unfortunate news, but I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you—”

  “They told me Stephen is dead. Is it true?”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  Why was I apologizing? I didn’t kill him.

  I tried to predict what I was going to get scolded about next. Either my mother was going to ask why she didn’t hear it from me first and make me feel guilty about keeping her in the dark, or she’d take the opportunity to warn me about lurking dangers in my life that I couldn’t be trusted to navigate and that were also somehow, vaguely, my fault.

  “I must say the news rather caught me flat-footed. Stephen’s parents seemed to assume that you had already told me, which of course you didn’t.”

  “Well, this whole thing just happened, and things have been a little hectic—”

  “It seems your university does a terrible job of maintaining their buildings. They’re very unsafe. Are you sure your building is safe? Remember, you’re a mother now, with a helpless little human depending on you. You can’t just live for yourself anymore.”

  So one from column A, one from column B.

  “Mom, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you and Dad to worry. Hi Dad.”

  “Hiya sweet pea. How’d you know I was here?”

  “Lucky guess.” Whenever my mom calls, my dad is lurking cheerfully in the background. Always.

  “How’s little Frankie?” he asked.

  I looked down at Francesca, who had recovered from the interruption and was once again happily chowing down. Her eyes were closed, but her cheeks were pulsating furiously.

  “That’s not really her nickname, Dad. We just call her The Baby.” I disliked the name Frankie, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  “She’s right dear,” My mother said. “It’s not very feminine.”

  “The Baby just fits her better,” I said. “Although I guess it’ll only work until we have another one. If you have two babies you can’t just call one The Baby.”

  “Molly, your optimism is wonderful, but let’s stick to reality, shall we? You were just under the wire with this one. It would be madness to try again at your age.”

  “Thank you for the tactful reminder, Mom. But we could always adopt like you guys did.”

  “Oh, no, I would never recommend adoption,” my mother said. “Not if you have other options. It’s like buying a pig in a poke. You have no idea what you’re going to get.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

  “Just do your best for little Fanny. Oh, and send a card or something to Stephen’s parents. I don’t want them to think we’ve raised a boor.”

  “I’m sure that’s their main concern right now. Don’t worry, I won’t forget. And her name isn’t Fanny either.”

  It wasn’t long before Donnie was up and getting ready to go to work. He fixed himself a coffee and sat down at the counter. I put the sleeping baby down in her crib and came back out to join him.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” I asked.

  He pulled me close and kissed my forehead.

  “Better. I got in touch with Honey Akiona. I’m thinking of asking her to represent me. If it’s okay with you.”

  “Yes, of course it’s okay with me. Why wouldn’t it be? You should have a great defense lawyer.”

  I had known Honey Akiona since before she went off to law school and returned to become one of Mahina’s most prominent criminal defense attorneys. She had taken an introductory business class from me years ago. Even back then she had been smart, fearless, and not particularly concerned about coloring inside the lines.

  “It’s going to cost some money,” Donnie said.

  “Donnie, what is money for if not to influence the criminal justice system in one’s own favor? Besides, you hired Honey to represent me that time I was in a wee spot of trouble. Don’t you remember?”

  Donnie smiled a little.

  “How could I forget? But we weren’t married yet. It was just my money then. Now it’s our money. That’s right, you were in pretty deep—”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t mean to rehash all that old news right now, but my point is, even though this is a silly misunderstanding, it’s best to hire someone who can help us get through it as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

  “Okay.” Donnie gulped the rest of his coffee and stood. “I need to get going. I’ll see you two this afternoon. Hopefully there won’t be any more surprises between now and then.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  By midmorning the household was back to its usual routine. Margaret was reading accounting rules to Francesca, and I was neck-deep in Student Retention Office paperwork, when the phone rang.

  It was Betty Jackson calling.

  I wondered whether she knew what Margaret had told me, about her daughter Verna being involved with Stephen Park. Should I tell Betty? I’d want to know if it were my daughter. On the other hand, I didn’t want to be the one to deliver the news.

  “Molly,” Betty said, “I heard about Donnie’s arrest. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, just a minute.”

  I took the phone out onto the front porch, where the reception was better. I had long gotten over any worries about my neighbors seeing me in sweat pants and a ratty t-shirt. I felt too jumpy to sit, so I paced.

  “Thank you for asking,” I said. “I’m doing as well as can be expected when one’s husband’s been arrested for murdering one’s ex-boyfriend.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” she said. “Is this a good time to call? I didn’t even ask.”

  “No, it’s nice to be interrupted. I was just trying to figure out how to do a particular data query for one of my Student Retention Office reports.”

  “Do I want to know?” Betty asked.

  “No, but I’ll tell you anyway. I’m supposed to show that students have greater success in classes with ‘engaged’ professors. Regardless of class size, student preparation, or whether the professor is part-time or tenure-track.”

  “They tell you what conclusion they want, and you’re supposed to find it? Oh lordy.”

  “They tell me what conclusion the foundation wants, and if we find it, we keep our grant funding for another year.”

  Betty Jackson is a psychometrician. She specializes in measuring things like student success, and is a coauthor of one of the field’s most popular textbooks. Her name was even on the original grant application that funded the Student Retention Office. I don’t know the whole history, but I do know that nowadays the Student Retention Office won’t even let her see their data.

  “Just out of morbid curiosity,” Betty said. “How are they measuring student success?”

  “By the student’s final grade in the class.”

  “And how do you know which professors are ‘engaged’?”

  “Easy. They’re the ones who give out the highest grades.”

  “Uh huh. And they’re going to use your results to...?”

  “To show that handing out those tablets with the proprietary software increases faculty engagement and student success.”

  “I thought the Student Retention Office gave those tablets to everyone.”

  “They did.”

  “So there’s no comparison group.”

  “Nope. Because if you had a comparison group, you might find out that your groundbreaking innovation doesn’t make a difference. And that would be an unacceptable result.”

  “Oh, don’t I know it. Look on the bright side, Molly. It’s not every day you find such a perfect real-life example of ‘begging the question.’ You still like being department chair?”

  “Hate it.”

  “Okay.”

  “But if I step down, Rodge Cowper becomes chair and that would be even worse. How did you hear about Donnie’s arrest by the way? Was it in the paper already?”

  “The online police blotter on Island Confidential. Didn’t you see it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Molly, I thought you of all people would have kept up with Island Confidential. You and Pat haven’t had a falling out, have you?”

  “I guess when the baby came I got out of the habit of reading it. I wanted to avoid bad news. Wow, I haven’t talked to Pat Flanagan in ages, come to think of it. Not since the baby was born.”

  “It happens when you have kids,” Betty said. “It’s easy to drift away from your friends.”

  From the back side of the house I heard the revving of a distant lawnmower. They were mowing the graveyard.

  “I should call Pat,” I said.

  “You should, Molly. He’s on good terms with Mahina PD and can give you the scoops, so to say, on Donnie’s case. But I called for another reason. Do you remember my daughter Verna?”

  What would I say when she asked me what I knew about her daughter and Stephen? I wasn’t even certain it was true. I’d let Betty tell me, and then I’d try to act surprised.

  “Uh, yes. She was one of the servers at the dinner, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, she was. Verna is working part-time at a catering company. That quarter-million-dollar liberal-arts degree sure is paying off. Anyway. Since then, she did a dinner event at the Maritime Club. Dean Gunderson, have you met our new Arts & Sciences dean?”

  “I talked to him at the dinner,” I said. “He seems nice.”

  “Yes, doesn’t he? Well. He happened to be sitting with Ray Pang.”

  “The prosecutor?”

  “M-hm. I will repeat to you what Verna claims she overheard. I do not vouch for its authenticity or truthfulness, and I will deny having told you any of this.”

  “Disclaimer noted.” I tried to sound calm, but I noticed my pacing had picked up speed.

  “It seems that Gunderson was lobbying the prosecutor to put Stephen’s death down to murder, rather than accident.”

  I peeked in the window to make sure Margaret wasn’t listening in. She wasn’t. She was sitting on the couch, reading to Francesca from her CPA exam flashcards.

  “Why would they want to do that?” I asked.

  “I have my own theory. But I’d like to hear what you think.”

  I considered it for a moment.

  “They want Stephen’s death to be a murder. Hmm. Because if they can pin Stephen’s death on the jealous husband of his victim’s ex, then they’re not liable and they don’t have to pay anything to the bereaved parents?”

  “Bingo,” Betty said. “Do you have another call coming in?”

  I did.

  “Dan Watanabe,” I said. “I’ll swipe it to voice mail.”

  “Your dean? You’re not on duty over the summer, are you?”

  “No. He’s probably trying to get me to serve on some committee for free. I’m going to ignore him and let him call the next sucker. I’m already spending too much time on these stupid Student Retention Office reports.”

  “Good plan.”

  “Betty, thank you for telling me about this. What do you think I should do? Should I tell Stephen’s parents?”

  “Well, that’s up to you,” Betty said. “I’m just passing it along because I thought you’d want to know. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”

  Dang it.

  “Um, Betty? I was actually going to call you. To tell you something I’d heard. I have no idea whether it’s true or not, but, you know, just like you told me, and I appreciated it…”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “It’s about Verna.”

  “Ah. Does it have to do with the late Stephen Park?”

  “Kind of. Someone told me they were romantically involved.”

  “Yes. I knew about that.”

  “You did?”

  “But thank you for telling me.”

  “Does your daughter know you know?”

  “She’s never said anything to me. But if I didn’t know before, I’d have to ask myself why she was so interested in listening in on a conversation about Stephen Park.”

  “Well, he did die. I guess that makes it interesting.”

  “What I don’t understand is, why arrest Donnie of all people?” Betty said. “Donnie is the most level-headed person I’ve ever met. Niall and I have as much of a motive as anyone, Stephen breaking our little girl’s heart like he did. And I was there at the dinner. Why didn’t anyone arrest me?”

  “Donnie admits he followed Stephen out onto the terrace,” I said.

  “Oh my. That is unfortunate.”

  That evening, after dinner, I told Donnie what Betty had told me. His arrest was a deliberate act of misdirection, I said. The university just wanted to avoid paying for Stephen’s death.

  He sat and rocked the baby and nodded as if he were listening, but it seemed like he wasn’t really processing it.

  “Donnie,” I persisted, “I know it’s second- or third-hand information, but this is ‘Pay-to-play Ray.’ The prosecutor who made our chancellor’s DUIs magically disappear. It’s not like it’s out of character for him to go along with something like this. Maybe you want to tell your lawyer about it? That the university is looking for a fall guy so they’re not liable?”

  Donnie shook his head.

  “I can call her myself,” I offered. “That might be even better. You might not remember all the details.”

  “Please, Molly, don’t…let’s just let her do her job. She’s going to be getting in touch with you anyway to take your statement. I’m going to bed.”

  “Donnie, it’s not even eight o’clock.”

  I took Francesca from him.

  “Thanks,” he said, without looking at me. He stood up and headed down the hallway to our bedroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I didn’t take action until the next day. Donnie had left, and Margaret was supervising the baby’s tummy time. Francesca was supposed to sleep face-up, but not spend all of her time that way lest she develop a weak back and a flat head. Francesca didn’t particularly enjoy tummy time. She struggled to lift her head (which, admittedly, was massive compared to the rest of her). Francesca always seemed relieved when her exercise sessions were over. In this way she was truly her mother’s daughter.

  I set down my coffee cup and found my purse.

  “Margaret?” I said.

  “Francesca, look up here at Aunty Margaret. Good job, baby! Sorry, what?”

  “I’m going out for a few minutes.”

  “Oh. Okay. Baby’s doing a good job with tummy time, yes she is.”

  I went to the garage, started up the Thunderbird, and dug around until I found the business card I was looking for.

 

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