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BY MONDAY MORNING, I’d managed (with some effort) to stop obsessing over the contents of the box. I had more urgent matters to work out with Emma, anyway. We needed to decide what to do about continuing with our research, in light of the grisly murder on Art Lam’s property, and Art Lam’s subsequent vow of silence. I walked with Emma to her morning class, up the wide, covered concrete walkway that cut through the center of campus.
“I still don’t think the murder has anything to do with us,” Emma said. “If someone wanted to stop us, wouldn’t they have sent us some kind of message? No one’s even claimed responsibility.”
“Seems like leaving a hacked-up body for us to see was supposed to send someone a message. But you’re right. There’s not really anything to connect it to us. On the other hand, should we just ignore that we found a hacked-up body?”
We were in the ten minutes between class periods, and Emma and I were pushing upstream through a tide of students. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke, cloying perfume, and the sour body odor born of warm, humid days and line-dried laundry.
“We don’t even know who the guy was,” Emma said. “Obviously wasn’t Art Lam.”
“Unless someone impersonated Art Lam on my phone messages.”
“Who wouldn’t want us to study attitudes toward biotech?” Emma asked. “How could anyone object? What kind of smoking gun do they think we’ll dig up?”
“You don’t dig up a smoking gun. It’s not how the metaphor works.”
“Fine. What kind of smoking gun do they think we’ll unearth? Is that better?”
“You know, Donnie’s right. This grant is great and everything, but it isn’t worth my life. Or my career.”
“Don’t you dare think about quitting.” Emma stopped walking and turned to me, tiny hands on her sturdy hips.
“Well, what are we supposed to do? We can’t interview Art Lam. He said his lawyer won’t let him talk to anyone, including us.”
She sighed and resumed walking.
“So we write about what happened down at Art’s place,” Emma said. “It’s qualitative data, right? You and me were eyewitnesses.”
“There’s not going to be much to our eyewitness account. We didn’t really see anything. Come to think of it, are we even sure it was a man? We assumed it was because we thought it was Art. The police aren’t revealing the name of the victim pending notification of next of kin, whom they can’t find. I was hoping Art Lam would be the start of our snowball sample. I thought he’d introduce us to other people we should talk to. But now we’re at a dead end—”
Emma and I saw it at the same time. Among the posters taped to the concrete wall along the walkway was a flyer printed on fluorescent yellow paper. It was an announcement for an upcoming community forum on biotechnology.
“This Wednesday,” Emma said. “Let’s go.”
“Do you think it’s safe?”
“Look, it’s sponsored by Students for a Better World and the Ag Club. How dangerous could it be? Molly, come on, don’t be a wimp.”
“It would be good for me to get out of the house for an evening. I’m sure Donnie would like to spend some quality time with his son. Without me there.”
“That’s the spirit. Okay, I gotta get to class. We’re going to this event, yeah? Don’t chicken out.”
“I won’t. In fact, I’ll call Pat. He’ll probably want to go.”
“Good idea,” Emma called back.
Donnie had made liver for dinner. It tasted pretty good, considering it was liver. He’d sliced it thin and fried it crisp, then topped it with browned onions and bacon slices. He served it with a side of some nutrient-dense leafy green thing that tasted like a chopped-up houseplant. It was certainly an improvement over that piña colada gizzard stew or whatever we had the first night Davison was back.
“Donnie, you’ve done a great job with these ingredients.”
“It could be better,” he said. “I’m working on it.”
Davison was in a mood, making dinner glum for all three of us.
“So eating like this is going to make us healthier?” I asked, simply to make conversation. I was already healthy enough, and I wasn’t particularly interested in adopting Davison’s fun-free diet for the long term.
“It’s not gonna work if you both keep drinking so much,” Davison said.
“Davison.” Donnie glared at him.
“No point in eating healthy if you’re going to be grumpy and stressed-out all the time. Cheers.” I raised my wine glass and took a big gulp.
“So you get in touch with your friends?” Donnie asked.
Davison shrugged. “Hardly anyone left. Everyone’s gone to the mainland for work, or like Curtis, got kids already an’ too busy to do anything. Only ones is Baron and Boyboy.”
“Are the Balusteros brothers doing anything productive with their lives now?” Donnie asked.
“Both working at Strongman.”
“What’s Strongman?” I asked.
“Gym,” Davison said. “The one downtown, used to be called Iron Island.”
“Oh Donnie, there’s a meeting I was going to attend with Emma. Two of the student groups are sponsoring a debate on biotech. I thought it would be interesting.”
“Is that the community forum with Randy Randolph?” Donnie asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t know who Randy Randolph is.”
“He’s the new community liaison for Seed Solutions.”
“Well if you’re interested, it’s on Wednesday night.”
“I have something Wednesday,” Donnie said. “Davison, maybe you’d like to go. You might learn something new.”
“I dunno,” Davison said.
“Oh, it’s just going to be a long, boring debate about biotechnology. I don’t think you’ll want to sit through it, Davison. The only reason Emma and I are going is for work.”
“Is Pat going to be there?” Donnie asked.
“Fifty/fifty. Pat told me he might not be able to make it.”
“Davison, you should go with them,” Donnie said.
“What? Don’t force him. Davison, if you’re bored, you can stay home and read a book.”
Was that my mother’s voice coming out of my mouth? It sure sounded like it.
“I have some good murder mysteries,” I offered. “They’re in the drawer of the coffee table in the living room.”
That was another reason Donnie’s place didn’t feel like home to me. If I was going to live here, we were going to need some bookshelves.
“Molly,” Donnie interjected. “After what happened at Art Lam’s place, you and Emma shouldn’t be going out at night by yourself to this thing. Davison, you go with Molly and Emma. Make sure they don’t get into trouble.”
“Donnie, we don’t need a babysitter.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. But this is a nighttime event, and I want you to be safe.”
“What if he doesn’t want to go? I’m not going to force him.”
“What if he does want to go?”
Both of us looked at Davison, who was pushing greens around on his plate.
“If he wants to go,” I said, “of course he’s welcome.”
Donnie had a point, although I was loath to admit it. I didn’t know who was going to show up at that meeting. The campus was dark at night, and security was thin on the ground. I was average-sized at best, and Emma was tiny, at least in the vertical dimension. Davison was a big kid and carried himself with the chest-out, chip-on-the-shoulder posture of someone who punches first and asks questions later. Maybe with Davison lurking around, people would think twice about messing with us.
“Sounds like a plan,” Donnie said. “Davison, you good with it?”
“Yeah, I’ll go. Nothing better to do.”