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EMMA AND I WERE SITTING at the dining table having our morning coffee when we saw a police cruiser driving up the street.
We hopped up and ran through the kitchen, out to the lanai where we could get a good view of the rental unit. We watched two uniformed officers cross the lawn and approach the front door.
Ladd seemed to be expecting them. He followed the two officers right back out without any argument, carrying what looked like an overnight bag.
“Arrested, released, sees his dead wife at the morgue, arrested again,” I said.
“Can they do that?” Emma asked. “Arrest him, let him go, arrest him again?”
“I guess they can,” I said. “They just did.”
Emma and I watched the police car make its way up the narrow street, do an 18-point turn at the dead end, and drive away.
“Wow, the guy can’t catch a break,” I said.
“He doesn’t deserve a break, Molly.”
“You’re right, he doesn’t. Come on, let’s go back inside. I need another coffee. I bet you do, too.”
“Eh Molly, you know what’s weird?”
“He seemed completely unsurprised to be arrested again?”
“Exactly,” Emma said. “I bet he doesn’t mind getting arrested cause it’s making him as famous as his wife.”
When we got back inside, I headed to the kitchen to make coffee. Emma sat down at her laptop, which was already open on the dining table. She typed while I brewed.
“A-ha!” she cried.
“What is it?” I fixed up two coffees, brought them over, and sat in the chair next to her.
“Look at this,” she turned the computer toward me. “Ladd’s cartoon books are so old they’re outta print. There’s only secondhand copies available. Look what they’re going for now.”
“Wow, those are some premium prices. People are really paying that much? But Emma, these are all private sellers. Ladd doesn’t get any of that money.”
“It’s not just the money, Molly. It’s the fame. He killed her cause he wanted her fame for himself and now he’s getting it.”
“What, really? Okay, granted, he only cares about himself. Still, think about it. Would you kill your spouse to boost your used-book sales, if it meant there was a good chance you’d spend the rest of your life in prison? Come on, who would sign up for that deal?”
Emma snapped her laptop shut.
“Molly, you and me, we can’t see into the soul of someone like that. Assuming he has a soul. Maybe it’s worth it to him. You know what Pat always says, about pride and spite being the main things that motivate people?”
“That’s such a bleak view of humanity. I would hate to think Pat’s right about this.”
“Yeah, that’s your pride and spite talking. Eh, let’s talk about this later. I gotta get to class.”
That evening, Emma and I were having an early dinner and discussing the day’s events when Howdy Howell stopped by.
“Say, Professor Barda,” Howell said. “Is Mr. Flanagan here? We were supposed to meet up a little later, but I was in the neighborhood.”
“He’s taking a nap,” I said. “Would you like to come in?”
“Eh Howdy,” Emma called from the dining table, “we’re having leftover green candy corn for dinner. Want some?”
“And wine,” I said. “We were just talking about Edward Ladd getting arrested again. Did you know about it?”
Howdy hesitated, as if unsure how to answer.
“Come in, have a glass of wine,” Emma said.
“Come on,” I urged, “join us.”
He hesitated and looked at his watch, and at me.
“Thanks, Professor Barda. I suppose I can throw a little fuel into the engine.”
For appearance’s sake I quickly assembled a plate of crackers and cheese and placed it in the center of the table. I got a glass and a small plate for Howdy.
“Oh, now you set out the good stuff,” Emma said.
“Emma, if you wanted crackers and cheese, you could’ve said something. You can have whatever you want, you know that. So Howdy, how are you?”
Howdy paused and set down the cracker he was eating.
“I’m okay, Professor Barda. In fact, I’m better than okay. It looks like Jandie’s finally going to get some justice.”
“You wanted Ladd to get arrested?” Emma asked.
Howdy sighed.
“Not at first. It took me a while to come around to reality. But yeah, as disappointing as it is, you gotta face the truth. Kaycee thinks Ladd’s guilty, too.”
“Kaycee Kabua? Our landscaper?” I asked.
Howdy nodded.
“Sure, we’re friends now. Good friends. Professor Barda, I can’t thank you enough for introducing us—”
“You know what, you can just call me Molly,” I said. “Only my students call me Professor Barda.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Professor, thanks all the same. Pat told me I should call you Professor Barda and Professor Nakamura. Especially Professor Nakamura.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Especially Professor Nakamura? How come?”
Howdy rubbed the back of his neck.
“Um, he just, I mean, he said it was what I should do.”
“Pat gave you good advice, Howdy,” I said. “It’s always a good idea to use people’s proper titles, but Emma’s especially sensitive about being talked down to because of her h-e-i-g-h-t.”
“You think I can’t spell?” Emma pushed her chair back and stood up.
“What? Oh, shoot, sorry. I’m used to doing that around Francesca. Emma, I didn’t—”
Emma made a rude hand gesture and stomped off toward the guest room.
“Pat!” she yelled. “What are you saying about me you bald-headed babooze?”
“I see what you mean,” Howdy whispered to me. “She’s kind of touchy, isn’t she?”
“I heard that!” Emma bellowed from down the hallway. “I should come out there and knock that stupid straw hat right off your head.”
“Emma, you’re thinking of Mortimer Snerd,” I called back.
“What?” Howdy said to me.
“What?” I said to Howdy. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”
Howdy brought a quaking glass up to his mouth, splashing wine all over his hand.
“I can’t remember.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes ma’am, I mean, yes, Professor Barda. I’ll just wait here for Mr. Flanagan. I expect his nap is pretty much over.”