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I DON’T KNOW WHAT WOKE me up at two in the morning. Maybe it was the smoky smell. Or the glow outside my window, too early and too orange to be sunrise.
I grabbed my phone and ran out onto the lanai, around to the corner where I had a view of the rental house. Orange light flickered behind the pebbled glass jalousies. After what seemed like minutes of fumbling, I managed to dial 9-1-1.
While I was panic-shouting at the dispatcher I ran back through my bedroom and into the living room where Emma was sleeping. I shook her awake. We both went and pounded on the guest room door to wake Pat.
We had a fire extinguisher in the pantry. I finally found it on the floor, lying sideways behind a stack of toilet paper.
By the time the three of us got outside, the rental unit was engulfed in flames and the air smelled like a rained-on campfire. The little fire extinguisher wouldn’t have helped, even if we could safely get close enough to use it. The blaze lit up the lawn and the cemetery. We could hear the sirens coming up the short drive from downtown.
The yellow fire truck pulled up and firefighters jumped out. I wanted to watch them but a tap on the shoulder distracted me. Detective Medeiros was standing behind me.
“Professor. You got a minute?”
I realized I was standing out on the street wearing nothing but my fleece bathrobe. The grass was wet and cold. I thought of squirmy creatures under my bare feet.
“Of course,” I said. “Should we go inside?”
Medeiros shook his head.
“Your house might’ve been targeted as well. Safest not to go back in for now.”
“Targeted?” I repeated. “Me?”
I’d like you to come down to the station to make a statement.”
“Can I just grab some slippers from the front porch?” Medeiros glanced at my bare feet and nodded. I dashed up and grabbed a pair of Donnie’s slippers, or flip-flops as they’re called outside of Hawaii. They were ugly blue plastic and way too big for me. They made loud comical slapping noises when I walked. But at least I wasn’t going to the police station in bare feet. My car was in the garage—also not safe, and possibly wired to blow up for all I knew—so I hopped into the back of Medeiros’s big SUV for the short drive downtown.
“Where are Pat and Emma?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Pat Flanagan? Emma Nakamura?”
“Oh. Don’t know,” he said.
For a wonder, Medeiros didn’t treat me like a suspect. Instead of the bare, uncomfortable interview room (which I was familiar with by now, unfortunately), he let me sit in a chair in his office like a regular visitor. Wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and my husband’s giant slippers, but still.
“First thing, Professor, you got any idea who did this?”
“No. Believe me, this was a surprise. Although now I think of it, Linda Wilson, the head of my homeowners’ association, had a grudge against me. I think she wanted the celebrity renters and resented our getting them first.”
When I said it out loud, it sounded silly. Linda Wilson was spiteful and underhanded, but a literal arsonist? Well, maybe, but I couldn’t prove it.
“You heard of Justice for Jandie?” Medeiros asked.
“No. You mean, justice for Jandie Brand?”
“Yeah. It’s a trending hashtag. Might be her fans, might be someone who got a beef with the current prosecutor, might be people with too much time on their hands. Or could be something else. You never heard of it?”
“No. I try to avoid social media. For my own peace of mind.” I pulled my robe tight around me. Why did they have to keep it so cold in the police station? “Why would these people burn our house down? What would it accomplish?”
“We think it may have to do with your tenant Edward Ladd.”
“What about Kaycee Kabua? Has anyone targeted her? I heard a rumor about Kaycee and Tedd Ladd conspiring together. I hope she’s not a target.”
“I don’t know, Professor. We’re trying to gather up the facts.”
“I sure wish I could be more helpful. Detective, I really appreciate your letting me know all this. My experience with Mahina PD...you guys haven’t always been so forthcoming.”
Medeiros picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk.
“I’ve found it’s best to be open with people. You don’t tell ‘em stuff, they fill in the blanks themselves. So I’m gonna tell you something else now and I want you to tell me what you know about it.”
“Okay.”
“Ladd says his wife is still alive,” Medeiros said.
“What? But he identified her in the morgue. He said it was Jandie. Remember? When he was talking about how it was a shame, she was so beautiful, which I thought was kind of creepy, honestly. Does he think unattractive people deserve to die?”
Medeiros lifted his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair.
“How do you know what Mr. Ladd said? I don’t believe we released the transcript to the public.”
Whoops.
“Mr. Ladd talked to me about it,” I said, which was true.
“And at the time you discussed it with him, did he seem to believe the deceased woman was his wife?”
“I think so? It was an uncomfortable conversation. He and I are not particularly chummy.”
Medeiros leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk.
“Mr. Ladd is claiming he was mistaken. He says now the dead woman is not his wife. He says the whole thing was a publicity stunt that got out of hand.”
“Can’t you do DNA tests or something?”
“Sure. DNA can tell us a lot. But it’s not like on TV, where you always get a clean sample and then the lab sends you results instantly. And even when you do have results, it’s not always so clear what they’re telling you.”
A percussive noise behind me made me turn around. It was Emma, knocking on the door frame. She wore black leggings and a red Cornell sweatshirt. Like me, she was wearing what she’d been sleeping in. But her ensemble seemed more dignified than my fuzzy bathrobe and ill-fitting slippers.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Emma said. “Eh, howzit Detective.”
“Professor Nakamura.” Medeiros pushed his chair back from his desk.
“You done with her?” Emma asked. “I’m gonna take her home now, if can.”
Medeiros held up a finger and made a phone call. He listened and nodded.
“Yeah, they swept the house. It’s okay to go back in. Please let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary.”
I pulled my fuzzy robe tight around me and followed Emma out to the parking lot, keeping my eyes focused on her back. I tried to ignore the loud slapping sounds of my oversized slippers. I hoped none of the characters sitting around the Mahina police station at this hour were my current or former students.
“So?” Emma said as she drove me home.
“Have you ever heard of something called Justice for Jandie?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. It’s a big movement online. They want whoever killed Jandie to face the consequences. I mean, I do too. Don’t you?”
“Could wanting ‘Justice for Jandie’ be a motive for someone setting fire to the house? To get back at Jandie’s husband? Some unhinged fan who took things a little too far?”
“Nah, no way they’d burn it down. Jandie lived there. That house would be a shrine to them.”
“I guess that’s reassuring. But also disturbing. A shrine?”
By the time we were back home the sun was coming up. I fell into bed and pulled the covers tight around me, feeling I had burned through every last drop of adrenaline my body could eke out.