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I HUNG UP AND TOLD Emma and Pat about Scott Nixon’s disappearance.
“Weren’t you just talking to Nicole this morning?” Pat asked.
“Let’s go over there now.” Emma stood up from the visitor chair. “Maybe Nicole’s still there.”
“Why should we go over there?” Pat asked.
“Because the police aren’t gonna follow up on this,” Emma said. “They already have their suspect.”
“Emma, badgering Nicole isn’t going to help anything.”
“I do not badger people, Pat.”
“We can just wander over there,” I said. “Under the pretext of admiring Pat’s fabulous hairdryer chairs.”
“Now that’s a convincing reason. Yeah, okay. Let’s go see what we see.”
We walked over to Pat’s building, taking the long way around so we could stay on the covered walkway and avoid getting soaked by the afternoon downpour. The adjuncts’ office door was ajar, as before. I stuck my head in and stopped short. A hulking figure sat next to a sobbing Nicole, holding her hand.
They both looked up.
“Well, this is a coincidence,” Detective Medeiros said.
“Sorry,” I stammered. “We just—”
Pat appeared next to me.
“Nicole, here’s my number. Call if you need anything.”
Pat produced a card and set it on one of the empty desks. Detective Medeiros took it and handed it to Nicole. As antisocial as Pat was, he could really come through when the occasion demanded.
We all backed away from the door and then picked up speed as we made our way down the hallway.
“Did she ever say anything to you about Scott going missing?” I asked Pat.
“Nope. But I don’t really get included in the girl talk.”
“She seemed like she was about to tell me something earlier,” I said. “But then she changed her mind.”
“Do you think she’s in on the murder?” Emma asked. “Hard to imagine. She seems all frail an’ fragile.”
“Fragile,” Pat snorted. “That’s the exact type you have to watch out for. If I was Medeiros I’d get a warrant and go dig up her begonias.”
“Maybe Scott killed Melanie because of the blackmail and then Nicole killed Scott for his infidelity,” I said.
Emma’s eyes were wide. “Ooh, now things are getting interesting.”
“My getting arrested for murder isn’t interesting enough for you?”
“Hey,” Pat asked, “you guys have dinner plans? It’s Trivia Night at the Pair-O-Dice. Half price drinks and free pupus.”
“My social calendar’s empty,” I sighed. “I’ll go.”
I wondered what delicious meal Donnie was making tonight. I contemplated all of the penne puttanesca, veal Milanese, and Caprese salads I would never eat.
Then I imagined having to eat those things with Davison Gonsalves sitting next to me at the dinner table, ruining the meal with his stinky cologne and his horrible manners. No, no regrets. I had made the right decision. I did miss Donnie himself, not just his cooking, but I’d get over him. Eventually.
“How about you, Emma?” Pat asked. “Want to invite Yoshi?”
“He won’t want to come out. He’s got a gig.”
“A gig,” Pat exclaimed. “He’s adjusting pretty well, huh?”
“Knock wood.” Emma rapped on a random office door as we walked past.
Emma’s husband Yoshi had moved to Mahina with her when she landed her tenure-track job in the biology department. And he hated it. It was impossible for a newly-minted Ivy League MBA to signal his status. He complained that after he’d bought a drawerful of designer ties for his job interviews, he’d ended up living someplace where nobody wore ties. (We did have the one math professor who sported a different tie for every day of the week, but those were bow ties.)
Unexpectedly, Yoshi had found two absorbing pastimes: canoe paddling, and art. He still had no regular employment, but he did the odd graphic design job when he wasn’t down at the Bayfront with his canoe paddling buddies.
“Doesn’t he just want to take some time out to eat something?” I asked.
“Nah. This is one of those rare times when his old work ethic resurfaces. I don’t want to break the momentum.”
Emma’s phone rang. She gave it a double take, and then stepped out of earshot. Pat and I walked and talked while she whispered behind us.
Then she came trotting up to Pat.
“The Maritime Club,” she said resolutely. “Let’s have dinner at the Maritime Club. Trivia Night at the Pair-O-Dice is too noisy.”
“Sure.” I liked the Maritime Club, and was happy not to have to go back to my empty house quite yet. I didn’t even have anything decent to eat at home. I’d have to stop off at the convenience store to pick up a forlorn end-of-the-day bento box.
“Why the Maritime Club?” Pat asked. “It’s a longer drive, and more expensive.”
Emma reached up as high as she could to place her hand on Pat’s shoulder. She yanked him down to her level and whispered something in his ear. He glanced at me.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t think she’s gonna—”
“Shh,” Emma hissed.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Emma glanced at her watch. “We can start out now and meet at the Maritime Club. Pat, you drive her.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Save gas,” Pat said.
I shrugged. “Can’t argue with that.”
The only problem I had with riding in Pat’s car was it burned recycled vegetable oil, so it smelled like delicious French fries and always made me ravenous. Since we were already going to dinner, it wouldn’t be a too much of a problem.
The Maritime Club had plenty of tables available. Rainy Thursday evenings aren’t their most popular time.
“Table for four,” Emma instructed the man at the maître d station.
“There are only three of us,” I pointed out.
“It’s the same size table,” she snapped. “Stop nitpicking. Why do you always have to criticize everything?”
We seated ourselves near a window, with the black surf churning below us. It was nearly dark; the outside lights of the Maritime Club illuminated the white foam.
I picked up a menu.
“I don’t see prime rib.”
“They don’t have it today,” Emma said. “It’s not the weekend.”
“Darn. I was looking forward to prime rib. I guess I don’t usually come here on Thursday.”
I was surprised by Emma’s brusque tone. She seemed on edge, waiting for something to happen. Weren’t we supposed to be relaxing?
“I know.” I reached for the wine list. “Why don’t we get a bottle of—?”
“There he is,” Emma interrupted.
Donnie Gonsalves, my ex-fiancé, was walking over to our table.