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CHAPTER SIX

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MY FIRST CHALLENGE was to keep my borrowed swim shorts from falling down, which I accomplished by combining intermittent waistband-hitching with a long cowboy stride. I stepped into the foaming waves with knees akimbo, as five other women and I pushed the four-hundred-pound, six-seat fiberglass canoe out into the bay. I was immediately submerged to my knees, then to my waist, and soon we were hanging onto the sides of the canoe and treading water. I tried not to think about the contents of Mahina Bay churning around inside my shorts.

Once we were all chest-deep in the foaming surf, our next task was to get ourselves inside the boat. I grasped the undulating canoe and hooked one leg over the side. This brief triumph was followed by several minutes of me clinging to the side, one leg still dangling in the water.

“Just roll in,” Emma shouted at me. “Roll!” Powerful hands gripped my upper arms and I felt myself being hoisted up into the canoe. Someone handed me a paddle.

A cut on my shin poured watery blood, but I was otherwise unharmed, and managed to get into position on the narrow bench seat. Emma was the steersman, in seat six, right behind me. She would be able to scrutinize me at close range and criticize all of my mistakes afterwards.

“Ma Kau Kau!” Emma called.

“Ai!” the crew shouted in response.

I held the paddle as Emma had instructed, hands at a distance from the blade to maximize leverage.

“Huki!” Emma bellowed, at a volume that made my eardrums rattle. It was our signal to start paddling. I dug my paddle into the water to the rhythm of the caller, counting twelve strokes on one side before she yelled Hut, Hoe! and we moved our paddles to the other side. To my amazement, I did not drop my borrowed paddle into the ocean and lose it forever beneath the churning waves.

We skimmed rapidly over the water. The ocean horizon was on our right; Mahina’s Bayfront, with its pastel storefronts and glittering cars, lay to our left. With six of us paddling in sync, the four hundred pound canoe felt weightless.

It was actually kind of fun. Only the incessant stinging of my lacerated shin kept me tethered to reality. After what seemed like mere minutes, it was time to paddle back to shore, hop out into the brackish water, push the heavy boat back up onto the beach and put it away.

“That was a real experience,” I said to Emma, as we were hosing down the canoe. “I can see how it could be really appealing for people.”

Emma looked me up and down.

“So should I call Sherry?” she asked.

“Yeah. You should probably do that.”

“You don’t have a lot of upper body strength, do you? Hey, wanna come to the Pair-O-Dice with us?”

“Thanks anyway. I think I’ll go back to my office.”

“Your leg’s still bleeding. You should wash the cut so it doesn’t get infected. Here.” She aimed the hose at my wounded shin. It hurt like blazes, but she did get all the blood rinsed off.

“The cut’s tiny,” I exclaimed. “Why was there so much blood?”

“Yeah, shins bleed a lot. It’s one of our most common newbie injuries.”

I was not expecting to find a large man sitting on the yoga ball behind my desk when I limped back into my office. He was silhouetted by the light coming through the window behind him, so it took me a moment to recognize him.

“Detective Medeiros?”

“Your secretary let me in.” He launched himself up to a standing position. A loud clang sounded through the tiny room as he banged his knee on the underside of my desk.

“I don’t have a personal secretary. It must have been Serena. She’s the dean’s secretary. Maybe you’d prefer the visitor chair?”

“Sounds good,” he wheezed, limping out from behind my desk. “What’s the ball for?”

“My office chair broke.” I traded places with him, making my way behind my desk and lowering myself onto the still-warm yoga ball. “Our university doesn’t have a budget for replacement furniture. Anyway, these are supposed to be good for toning your core muscles, and it was pretty inexpensive. The chair you’re sitting in? I managed to grab it when the Student Retention Office remodeled to match the new school colors.”

“Red, gold and green,” Medeiros said.

“As decided by student vote. Yes. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve been talking to some of your old band mates, Professor.”

“Oh. Why don’t we close the door? It’s okay. The Rodge Cowper Rule only applies when we have students in our offices.”

“The what rule?”

“We have to keep our doors open when we have students in our office.”

“Rodge Cowper, the professor next office over, ah?”

“The very same, yes.”

Medeiros was able to reach out and close my door without even getting up. He produced his tiny notepad from his shirt pocket.

“Just double checking. The name of your band. The one you played in with the deceased. Over in California. You remember?”

“I, uh, it was a long time ago.”

He checked his notes. “Phallus in Wonderland?”

“I can explain. It was Melanie’s idea. She was really into Lacan at the time. I don’t think she actually understood Lacan, but she liked working phalluses into the conversation at every possible opportunity. Anyway, I didn’t vote for that name.”

“I understand your most popular song was called Judy Butler Did It. The words didn’t make no sense cause it’s all about the performance.”

“Performativity,” I corrected him.

Medeiros half-smiled.

“Yeah. Performativity. I like Judy Butler.”

“You do?”

“Her da kine, about gender. Gender is a stylish repetition of actions. Makes sense, ah? Like when we pick up da kine, downtown, walking up an’ down Ala Koa Street, look jus’ like wahine, ah? Like real ladies. That’s where you see it in action, the thing, the stylish repetition of actions.”

I nodded. I didn’t generally frequent that part of town at night, but I knew what he was talking about.

“The humanities are very valuable.” Medeiros tapped my desk with a beefy finger. “Shame nowadays everyone just wants to get their business degree. No offense, ah?”

“None taken. In fact, my Ph.D. happens to be in literature and—”

“Professor, you read fiction?”

“Of course.” I hoped he wouldn’t ask me what I was reading at the moment—a lightweight and undemanding murder mystery.

“Me too. People say reading books is a waste of time, but I disagree. Reading fiction has been shown to increase empathy and improve theory of mind. Very valuable in my line of work.”

Something on Medeiros’ person buzzed, probably a phone or a pager. He had been stalling, I realized, keeping me in conversation while he was waiting for this message.

“Excuse me.” He stood up and stepped out of my office. I took the opportunity to brew myself a cup of coffee as I waited. My espresso machine had been expensive, but as far as impact on my quality of life, it was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. I’ve never regretted it. I wish I could say the same thing about my literature degree.

Detective Medeiros came back in looking discouraged. Whoever had just called hadn’t delivered good news. That much I could tell.

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

“No time. If you wanna make one phone call, you can do it now.”

“A phone call? Why?”

“Amalia Barda, you’re under arrest. For the murder of Melanie Polewski.”