| |
THE INSURANCE AGENT’S representative arrived promptly at 9 on Monday morning. I was waiting for him by the rental’s burned-out front door. As he sauntered down the sloping lawn, clipboard in hand, I realized the round-faced young man looked familiar.
“Micah?” I exclaimed. It was nice to see a familiar face. I used to feel awkward running into my former students, but by now I was used to it. College of Commerce graduates (and dropouts) have popped up at my doctor’s office, my credit union, and most of the places I shop. If you don’t like the idea of your former students knowing your bank balance, your wine-buying habits, or your age, weight, and current prescriptions, all I can say is don’t pursue a teaching career in Mahina.
Micah closed in quickly and gave me a big hug before I knew what was happening.
“Professor Molly, good to see you! Tough break, ah? No worries, we’ll get everything straightened out for you.”
“Well this is a surprise,” I gasped as he released me. Micah always had a high level of energy and enthusiasm, and apparently upper-body strength to match. The local practice of greeting acquaintances with hugs instead of handshakes was something I was still trying to get used to. “You’re with the insurance company? I thought you were working down at the Maritime Club.”
“Yeah, I’m still there, nights an’ weekends. It’s good tips, an’ nice people. But this has benefits, and I’m using my College of Commerce degree. You still teaching at the college?”
“They haven’t fired me yet.”
I had intended to be humorous, but Micah simply nodded and said,
“Lucky. Okay, let’s see what we got here.”
Instead of walking straight in through the front door opening, he went around the left side of the house, into the carport. I followed him up the steps to the side door. It was unlocked. Micah went ahead of me into the laundry room.
“How does it look?” I immediately realized what a dumb question it was. “I mean, you can’t see any damage here. The smoky smell is everywhere though.”
“I’m just here to do the preliminary. Depending on what I find, I might have to call in the arson people.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I said.
“Anyone been in here since the fire?” Micah poised his pen over his clipboard.
“Me,” I said. “I know I shouldn’t have come in, but I wanted to see for myself what kind of damage there was.”
“Anything of value in here that you know of?”
“There’s a saltwater aquarium,” I said. “It didn’t look like it was affected by the fire, but I don’t really know. Does the aquarium count as valuable?”
“Oh yeah,” Micah said. “Aquarium fish are big business. One of our commercial clients over on the west side, pet store owner, just got hit with a five thousand dollar fine for illegally collecting aquatic life. He thought we’d cover it as a business expense. I had to tell him his policy doesn’t cover illegal acts. We do sell policies like that, you know. But the premiums are higher.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Should you be telling me this? About one of your clients?”
“We keep our client’s details in strictest confidence,” Micah said proudly. “You notice I never said the name, yeah?”
From what Micah had just told me, I could hop online and find the man’s identity in five seconds. Which, I calculated, was about as long as it was going to take for the coconut wireless to be humming with the news of my own situation.
Micah and I emerged into the kitchen. I was glad to see it was tidy, with no dirty dishes or food sitting out. The aquarium was still bubbling away on the counter. Brightly-colored fish darted around the undulating green fronds. A few paces beyond the aquarium was the burned-out hole where the front door used to be. The yellow “X” of tape still held in place.
“I’ve never seen the tank from this side,” I said. “I’ve only ever come in through the front door. I guess it’s a creative way to separate the kitchen from the living and dining room, as long as you don’t need the counter space.”
“This is a nice one,” Micah said. “It looks like the ones in those fancy kine Chinese restaurants in Honolulu.” Micah walked around the counter to the dining room side and stopped short, his eyes fixed on the floor.
I came up behind him and saw what he was looking at: A man was sprawled face-down on the laminate floor. I recognized his palaka shirt and the combed-over black strands of hair clinging to his moon-like head.
Micah took a step back, right onto my foot, and nearly took us both down.
“Someone should check for a pulse,” Micah said.
“Someone?”
We looked at each other.
I’m not particularly brave about this kind of thing, but I happened to know Micah was even worse in these kinds of situations than I was.
“Okay. I’ll do it. Excuse me.” I set down my bag on one of the barstools and took out my hand mirror. I knelt down next to Mr. Henriques. His face was turned away, toward the base of the counter. I placed the mirror in front of his mouth to see whether he’d fog it. My wrist touched the side of his face.
I dropped the mirror and scooted back, knocking Micah off-balance.
“Is he alive?” Micah asked as soon as we’d both righted ourselves.
“No. He didn’t fog the mirror. And he’s cold.”
“How long has he been...da kine?”
“Well, he was here yesterday. Alive. He was here, and alive. We should leave. No, we should call for help. Then we should...”
I turned around to see Micah was already gone. I was alone with the late Mr. Henriques.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Henriques.” I could barely hear my own voice over the sound of the aquarium bubbling overhead. “I’m going to call Detective Medeiros. Whoever did this to you, they won’t get away with it.”
l dialed Medeiros’s direct number and walked out the front of the house, ducking under the tape. I found Micah leaning against the side of my house, hands braced on his knees, still panting from his short sprint across the lawn.
“I’m calling the police right now,” I said. “Micah. You look...why don’t you come inside and sit down?”
Micah followed me into the living room and sank down onto the couch.
I left a message on Medeiros’s voice mail, hung up, and called 9-1-1. I explained the situation to the dispatcher.
“Someone is on their way,” she said. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
“Me? Okay? No, not really. I was just talking to a dead body inside my burned-out house.”
“I see. And was the dead body talking back, ma’am?”
“No. It was just me talking. It was poor Mr. Henriques. He was my neighbor. He—”
“Ma’am, get yourself a glass of water and try to relax. Someone will be there very soon.”
Micah and I were sitting side-by-side on the couch drinking from matching glasses of tap water when Pat came strolling in.
“Oh hey, Micah. You guys waiting for the insurance company people?”
“Howzit, Mr. Flanagan,” Micah said weakly.
“Call me Pat.”
“Micah is the insurance company people,” I said. “You’re a claims adjuster, right?”
“Administrative assistant to the claims adjuster.”
“Isn’t that great? Good for you, Micah. Anyway, Pat, come sit down.”
“What?”
“Sit down,” I insisted. “I need to tell you something.”
Pat pulled over a chair and sat.
“Mr. Henriques is over there in the rental unit,” I said. “I called the police and they’re on their way.”
“He won’t leave? I can talk to him.”
“No. No, Pat, he’s dead. Mr. Henriques is dead.”
“Does he have a pulse?” Pat asked.
“Does who have a pulse, the man who’s dead?”
“I mean, did you check for a pulse? Maybe he’s just unconscious.”
“He didn’t fog a mirror, Pat. He’s cold.”
“Oh. Man, that’s terrible.”
We sat uncomfortably for a few moments.
“Pat, you’re fidgeting. Go ahead and get up. I just didn’t want to throw the news at you out of the blue.”
Pat sprang up and headed to the coffee machine.
“I wonder if it has something to do with Jandie Brand,” he called from the kitchen.
“I heard she faked her death, you know,” Micah said.
“Oh that’s right,” I said, “I forgot your cousin works at the police station. What have you heard?”
“The husband is saying it was a publicity stunt gone wrong. I don’t know what she needed to do that for. She’s already famous.”
“I imagine he’d like some publicity for his book,” I said.
“Jandie’s husband wrote a book?” Micah’s eyes widened. “Is it about Jandie?”
“No, it’s about him. What was the title of it, Pat? I Am Very Smart, or something.”
“Rhyme and Reason,” Pat came back holding a coffee mug. “Sorry, did you guys want coffee?”
“No thank you,” I said. “We were instructed to drink water. So that’s what we’re doing.”
“So Micah, what do you think?” Pat eased back into the chair. “Do you think Ladd’s telling the truth now?”
“I don’t think so,” Micah said. “Cause if Jandie’s alive, how come no one’s seen her? And if the dead girl isn’t Jandie, how come there’s no missing persons report matching the girl’s description?”
“Good points,” Pat said.
“There’s something else too,” Micah said. “I’m not supposed to say nothing about it, but the husband, yeah? He says there’s a reporter who can back up his story. But the police went and talked to the guy—”
“A reporter?” Pat interrupted. “Is it Howdy Howell? Red-haired guy?”
Micah shrugged.
“I dunno the name.”
“Sorry for interrupting,” Pat said. “Go ahead, Micah.”
Micah leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Here’s how come I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Cause the police went and talked to the reporter, and the reporter guy told ‘em Ladd’s lying, but he’s not gonna say anything about it in public cause he’s scared of Ladd.”
Pat stood up.
“I should call Howdy.”
“Don’t tell him what I told you,” Micah pleaded. “I wasn’t supposed to say nothing.”
“No, I know, Micah.” Pat ambled into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. “I’m just going to check in, see how he’s doing.”