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HARRIET PERSUADED US to walk up the street and give her our opinions on the house she was considering. The rain had started up again, so I handed out umbrellas from the spare-umbrella basket we keep by the front door. Emma and Pat each took one, but Harriet chose to walk under Pat’s instead of taking one for herself.
The house Harriet was interested in looked very much like the other early twentieth-century plantation houses on the street. It had dark green vertical plank siding, white trim, and a corrugated red metal roof. It was on the same side of the street as my house, and like mine, it overlooked the cemetery. The drop-off from the backyard was a steep fifteen or twenty feet. We walked to the low retaining wall and looked out over the rolling lawn. It was vibrant green—no sprinklers required in Mahina—and dotted with glistening gravestones.
I caught a whiff of smoke. Harriet was puffing away on her pipe. I moved away to avoid breathing too much of it in. The smoke didn’t seem to bother Pat, who was still sharing an umbrella with her. They were talking about something, but I couldn’t hear over the sound of the rain pattering on my own umbrella.
I sidled back in close enough to hear the conversation.
“Easier to plant a hedge or something,” Emma said. “You could do it yourself.”
“Yeah, a landlord springing for an actual safety improvement?” Pat said. “What was I thinking?”
“Hey now,” I said. “We’re not all evil exploiters. Some of us try to take good care of our renters. Are you guys talking about the retaining wall?”
“Nigel and I won’t be out here dancing on the precipice,” Harriet assured us. “We’ve loads of space in the screened-in lanai.”
“Ooh, screened-in lanai sounds nice,” I said. “Imagine sitting outside without having to douse yourself in bug spray first.”
“I never get bitten when I’m at your house,” Emma said.
“Yeah, me neither,” Pat added.
“That’s because I’m there,” I said, “and they’re biting me and not you. Next time you guys can try sitting out there by yourselves.”
“You must be giving off loads of carbon dioxide, Barda,” Harriet said. “Best we keep moving then.”
We followed Harriet and her trail of pipe smoke around the side of the house. Pat, who was by far the tallest member of our little party, tried to use his phone flashlight to peer into the windows, but the glass jalousies had a pebbled texture that made it impossible to see inside.
“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.”