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I CLICKED THE LINKS in Scott Nixon’s paper to follow the plagiarized content to its source. It was a student assignment from Mahina State University, dated two years earlier. Scott Nixon had apparently taken the work of one of his students, changed a few details, and published it as his own.
No wonder Melanie thought she had a shot at the full-time job in the English department. She had the goods on the department chair. If word of this got out, his career would be over.
Maybe Melanie threatened Scott with exposure but promised to keep quiet if she got the full-time position, the one Scott’s wife Nicole wanted. Scott might have found out in casual conversation with Nicole that Melanie would be attending the Pua Kala garden society meeting.
It seemed plausible.
Scott secretly followed Nicole to the Brewster House, watched as his wife and the other aspiring gardeners went inside and downstairs, then entered the house himself through the unlocked front door. He hid in the house and waited for Melanie to come back inside.
But how did he know Melanie would come back inside?
Her overactive bladder, of course. Scott Nixon had probably noticed Melanie’s obsessive hydration habits. Who wouldn’t? All he had to do was wait. Maybe he had slipped on latex gloves to avoid leaving prints. He might have grabbed her, only to see her experience an allergic reaction to the latex. It would have been a happy surprise for him. Now all he had to do was carry the limp Melanie into the master bedroom, throw her over the balcony, toss her cell phone out into the river, and scram, taking the gloves with him.
I picked up my office phone and called Honey Akiona. As I waited for her to answer, I took a screenshot of the plagiarism report. I emailed it to Honey, with a copy to myself. That way, if Melanie’s account got wiped, I would still have the evidence.
To my surprise, Honey didn’t accept my theory uncritically.
“You expect them to believe the chair of the English department planned and committed a murder?” she asked.
“Well, I’m the chair of the management department. Don’t they already think I planned and committed the murder?”
“Yeah, you got a point. I guess no one expects business professors to have a moral compass, that’s why. Okay, I’ll follow up on this. I’m still waiting on the browser search history and the phone records. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
I browsed through the rest of the papers in Melanie’s plagiarism checker, but there were no further bombshells awaiting me.
I sent an email to Atticus in the IT department: Thanks for the advice. It was very useful. Best, Molly.
It was nice to have a friend in the IT department.
I was wondering whether to call Pat or Emma next, when they both pushed into my office.
“Is the coast clear?” Pat asked.
“We saw you guys go up for coffee,” Emma added. “Girl, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It was like he found the woman of his dreams or something.”
“Does he know you’re a murder suspect?” Pat asked.
“Strangely enough, he does. Were you guys spying on me the whole time?”
“We were at the burrito place,” Emma said. “Right across from the cafe. So I guess you’re not in trouble after all, yeah?”
“I think he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t up to anything nefarious. He said he didn’t mind if I looked at Melanie’s accounts before they delete them. In fact, I was just looking at Melanie’s LMS account. And guess what I found.”
I told them about Scott Nixon’s plagiarized paper and my theory of Melanie’s murder.
“It’s a little far-fetched,” Pat said.
“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “You really think anyone’s gonna believe the chair of the English department committed a murder?”
“So” Pat said, “does Groovy McHipsterbeard have a name?”
“Atticus Marx.”
“At least you’re not wasting any time pining over Donnie,” Pat said.
“No. I’m not. In fact, I dropped off his key yesterday.”
“I dunno, Molly,” Emma said. “One argument about his dimwit son and you’re ready to give up and run off with the computer guy? Maybe you should talk to him first.”
“It was more than just an argument about Davison. Guess who I ran into at Donnie’s house? Sherry Di Napoli. Fresh out of the shower.”
“Ouch! Must’ve been awkward,” Pat chuckled.
Emma shook her head. “I like Sherry. But that woman does not make good life choices.”
“In a way, I can’t really blame her. I mean, you have to admit. On paper, he looks pretty good. And he is awfully handsome.”
“Really?” Emma gave me a funny look. “You think so?”
“You know, when I saw Sherry walking out in her bathrobe? I mean, it was obvious what had been going on. And I have to admit, I was thinking, it could’ve been me. Why did I bother to be such a goody two shoes? Why didn’t I take the opportunity when I had it?”
Emma looked horrified; she probably wasn’t used to my speaking so frankly.
“If you’re through with the locker room talk,” Pat interrupted, “We have something much more important to discuss. Namely, how are we going to keep Molly off death row? Any more clues?”
“Have you guys been reading Melanie’s files?”
Pat and Emma looked at each other.
“I’ve been busy with my book,” Pat said.
“I couldn’t do it,” Emma said. “I had to stop. Her writing was so junk. It was killing my brain cells to read it.”
“Well Honey just told me it looks like Melanie was after the Brewster House.”
“Melanie wanted the Brewster house?” Emma asked.
“It was probably only because Molly liked it,” Pat said. “Did you ask your real estate agent about it?”
“I did. She wouldn’t tell me, because she prides herself on her discretion, apparently. But she didn’t deny it, which in my opinion probably means yes.”
“Does knowing Melanie wanted the Brewster House get us any closer to finding out what happened?” Pat asked.
“Doubt it,” Emma said. “Unless someone else wanted it bad enough to kill for it.”
My phone rang. I answered it.
“Honey. Any good news for me?”
“Maybe it is good news. So Scott Nixon, ah?”
“The police are going to bring him in for questioning?” I asked hopefully.
“They are interested in talking to him.”
“Finally.”
“One problem. No one knows where he is.”