| |
ONCE THEY HAD HOWDY Howell (not his real name, it turns out) in custody, Mahina PD quickly matched him to a man wanted in Michigan for the murder of his wife. Her body had been found in the woods, wrapped in a blanket. It was determined that she had died from blunt force trauma. As of this writing he is serving a 30-year sentence in his home state.
Edward Ladd moved out without saying goodbye. Driving home one day, I had to pull off to the side to let a moving truck make its way down Uakoko Street. I checked the burned-out rental unit when I got home and found it empty. No aquarium, no fake plywood bed, nothing. The rent was prepaid for a few more months, so there were no hard feelings on my part.
Phoenix Desertspring, proprietor of Little Jack Horner’s and employer of first resort for the residents of the sober living facility next door, was called in to testify in front of the County Council. They concluded resident deaths and departures were not always reported promptly and the facility was exceeding its occupancy limits. No one could figure out what had happened to the money that was supposed to be used to convert the cesspool to septic. But people weren’t exactly beating down the doors for the chance to manage a halfway house in Kuewa, and somebody had to do it. So it was soon back to business as usual for Phoenix Desertspring and her business partner, Mercedes Yamashiro, owner of the Cloudforest Bed and Breakfast.
Kaycee Kabua was none the worse for her stint in Mahina lockup. Jandie Brand, apparently feeling a little guilty that Kaycee had been dragged into her drama, gave Kaycee a free spot on her social media feed. Kaycee was a natural. She described how Howdy Howell had tried to frame her by planting the attempted-murder weapon in her carport. But Howdy’s evil plan was doomed to failure, Kaycee explained, because she would never have a bloody shovel lying around. She always kept her tools clean, to prevent transmission of plant diseases such as Rapid ʻŌhiʻa Death. And that, she concluded, is why you can depend on K.C. Landscaping for your home and small business landscaping and maintenance needs.
Pat moved quickly to investigate Jandie’s claim about the true authorship of Tedd Ladd’s cartoons. The culmination of Pat’s research was a feature in the Weekly. In Pat’s telling, Edward Ladd was a self-promoting impostor who had taken credit for the work of his first wife and was now trying to revive his career on the coattails of his second. The story was picked up by other outlets and went nationwide just as Ladd’s book was released. Rhyme and Reason: A Semi-Autobiographical Meditation on Rationality and Art garnered terrible reviews and was jeered into remainder bins all over the nation.
When a particularly scathing review of his book appeared in a major national newspaper, Ladd livestreamed a sweaty tirade (he had apparently spent the past few hours drinking) against book reviewers, ex-wives, and the female sex in general. He quickly gained a small but ardent online following of disaffected young misogynists who call themselves “Tedd’s Ladds” and spend a lot of time agitating for the repeal of the 19th amendment. So Ladd managed to make his way back into the spotlight after all.
Jandie Brand continued to gain followers and fame, as well as a new fiancé. Emma is happy for her brother. She remains fond of her future sister-in-law, albeit increasingly unimpressed with her intellect.
“I love ‘em both,” Emma will confide, after a few glasses of wine. “But no way should those two be allowed to reproduce.”
When Donnie and Francesca returned from their mainland trip, Donnie was surprised to see the rental unit under construction. I hadn’t mentioned the fire to him. I’d wanted him to enjoy a worry-free trip with baby Francesca. So Donnie was a little unnerved when I told him everything that had happened in his absence. He blamed himself for leaving me alone in Mahina. I tried to assure him that none of it was his fault, and in fact it was a good thing baby Francesca was thousands of miles away when all of this unfolded.
One evening, when Donnie and I were relaxing at home (as much as one can relax with a toddler in the house), Micah from the insurance company called me. After weeks of investigating the origin of the fire, the investigators had secured video from a home surveillance camera across the street. It showed a prowler, lurking around the rental unit, peering in the windows, and smoking. Something alarmed the intruder, causing her to drop her lit cigarette by the front door and flee—almost tripping over the tangled leashes of her two little Yorkshire terriers.
Mrs. Aragaki, the owner of the surveillance system, had at first been reluctant to stir up trouble by coming forward with the evidence against Linda Wilson. But when she received a notice (printed on lime-green paper) ordering her to tear up her low-maintenance gravel yard and replace it with grass, Mrs. Aragaki decided it was time to strike a blow against tyranny.
The fire was deemed to be accidental, so no criminal charges would be pursued. Linda Wilson’s insurance would simply have to reimburse my insurance. Since Linda had the same home insurance company Donnie and I did, the case would be wrapped up with minimum fuss.
I hung up and told Donnie what happened. He was playing peekaboo with Francesca.
“Don’t ever start smoking, baby,” Donnie said to Francesca. “Smoking is bad for you. Icky!”
“Smoking!” she exclaimed.
“I bet she’s not even embarrassed about burning our house down.” I picked up Francesca and held her to me. “No smoking, okay?” I murmured.
“Smoking!” she yelled, pushing back from my chest. “I smoking! I smoking!”
Donnie took the baby from me and handed me a brimming glass of wine.
“Molly, it’s a good thing Linda’s not embarrassed. We don’t want her to be upset. No more feuds. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Speaking of landlords. Now that the renovation’s wrapping up we should think about finding renters again. I’m already getting inquiries from these morbid types who want to stay in a Death House. But I don’t think those are the kinds of tenants we want.”
“I found out Davison’s having some relationship issues,” Donnie said. “He talked to me about moving back to Mahina and renting the place from us. Francesca, go give mommy a big hug.”
I sank down onto the couch, not believing what I was hearing. Francesca came toddling over and I absently snatched her into my arms. My awful stepson, living right next door? Having his sketchy friends over there partying noisily at all hours, letting his dogs tear up the lawn and poop everywhere, and no doubt conveniently forgetting to make his rent payments? I’d call Jandie and get the name of her divorce lawyer before I let that happen.
“Donnie, Davison cannot—”
“I told him no,” Donnie said.
“You told him what? Donnie, you did? You told Davison no?”
The only thing Donnie and I had ever really fought about was his son Davison. And now Donnie was actually contemplating not giving Davison everything he wanted? This was a turning point.
“He’s a grown man now, Molly. He and Tiffany have to be there for their son. I told Davison they need to work through whatever issues they’re having. He can’t keep running away from his problems, and I’m not always going to be there to bail him out. Do you think I was too harsh?”
“No! No, you’re right, Donnie. Your advice sounds really sensible.”
I felt a surge of affection and admiration for my wonderful husband. It had taken a few years, but he’d finally stood up to his spoiled son.
A pounding on my door interrupted us. Still holding Francesca, I ran to answer it.
Harriet and Nigel Holmes stood on the porch.
“Oh I say, Barda,” Harriet exclaimed, “this is an uncharacteristically maternal look for you.”
“Hullo, look at the little sprog.” Nigel reached out and chucked Francesca under the chin.
“Spog!” Francesca announced. “I smoking!”
Donnie came up behind me.
“Harriet, Nigel. Would you like to come in? You have time for a glass of wine?”
“Why, Harriet,” Nigel said, “Doesn’t that sound absolutely—”
“Not now, pumpkin,” Harriet interrupted. “Barda, there’s something you need to see.”
“Harriet darling, perhaps they’re busy—”
“Nonsense. I think you need to see this.”