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I DROVE BACK DOWN TO Donnie’s place, slipped my shoes off at the front door, and let myself into the empty house. I figured something must have come up at Donnie’s Drive-Inn to keep him working so late. I showered and changed into a comfortable T-shirt and sweatpants, got myself a glass of wine and a murder mystery, and went back to the master bedroom. I slid into the ultra-high-thread-count sheets of Donnie’s platform bed and got comfortable.
I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to the bumping sensation of someone trying to crawl into bed without disturbing me.
“Hey,” came a voice from somewhere in the dark. The rain was making a low roar on the metal roof and blocking out the moonlight. I felt Donnie lean over to give me a minty kiss.
“You were out late,” I groped around for my book, and found it on my chest. I placed it onto the night table, almost knocking over my glass of wine.
“Sorry about waking you up,” Donnie said. “Maybe we should look into getting one of those memory foam mattresses.”
“Your hair’s wet. Did you already shower? I must’ve been fast asleep.”
“It’s nice to come home and find you here.” I sensed Donnie settling into his side of the bed.
“Well that’s sweet,” I said. “I was kind of hoping you’d be home when I got back.”
“I didn’t see Davison. Did he come back with you?”
“You’ll be glad to hear he’s with Crystal Phoenix. She said she’d give him a ride home.”
“Who?”
“Crystal. The one you wanted me to set him up with. You met her at Natural High organic foods when we were buying Davison’s weird food for him. Blonde hippie girl? The one who was flirting with you?”
“Oh, her. Sorry, I didn’t make the connection. She was at your biotech meeting?”
“She actually introduced the speakers. She definitely caught Davison’s eye.”
I heard Donnie sigh.
“You know, we flew him all the way back here from the East Coast so he could spend some time with his parents.”
“Donnie, Davison didn’t want to come back with me. What was I supposed to do? Throw him over my shoulder and carry him back to the car? I think it’s fine. He doesn’t need to spend every waking second with us.”
“I hoped he’d be able to spend a little more time with you.”
“Donnie, is this you lecturing me on how I’m doing everything wrong? Again? You were the one who wanted Davison to find a nice girl his own age, remember? Now you’re mad at me because things worked out exactly the way you wanted?”
“No, Molly, it’s not what I—”
“Anyway, when he was talking with her, it was maybe the first time I’ve really seen him look happy this whole trip. If that means anything to you.”
“I was just trying to—did you get some good research done tonight?”
“Oh, speaking of research. Guess what I found out? The body in Art Lam’s papaya grove? It was Primo Nordmann.”
“Who?”
“My former student? The one who was working at the yoga studio?”
“Oh. The yoga teacher. The one who was so impressed with the way you could put your legs—”
“That’s the one.”
“He’s dead?”
“According to Crystal. He was actually scheduled as one of the panelists tonight, and he didn’t show up. Poor guy. What a horrible way to go.”
“That’s why Ka`imi Medeiros has been asking me so many questions about you,” Donnie said.
“Detective Medeiros? What kind of questions?”
“It’s probably because of your history with the murder victim.”
“My history? Donnie, I do not have a history with Primo Nordmann.”
“Wasn’t he the one with the cheese? He filed a complaint about you, right?”
“Oh. That history. So what, Medeiros thinks I hacked up my former student and a bunch of Art Lam’s papaya trees and then left all the parts strewn around because what? Because I was holding a grudge about that stupid cheese thing?”
“Ka`imi has to be suspicious. It’s part of his job.”
“He doesn’t have to be that suspicious. It’s pathological, if you ask me.”
“Molly, neither one of us has worked in law enforcement. We don’t know what it’s like. Ka`imi sees the worst of human nature every day.”
“That’s what he thinks. He’s never served on a General Education committee. Hey, I met your friend Randy Randolph, from Seed Solutions.”
“What did you think of him?”
“He did not make a good impression on me. He’s like if you took the spoiled rich-boy bully character from every teen ’80s movie and added a couple of decades and a drinking problem. He told me he was disappointed when Mahina wasn’t full of beautiful hula girls. Reducing a centuries-old art form to some trivial erotic diversion.”
“That’s surprising. My impression of him was he plays his cards close. He doesn’t seem to say what he’s really thinking.”
“Yeah, maybe not to you. Lucky me. I got the white person all-access pass to his inner thoughts. So, speaking of meetings, where did you go tonight?”
“Oh, just something I had to go to,” Donnie said.
“No, really. Where were you? I know the Drive-Inn closes at—”
“Molly.”
Donnie moved closer. I smelled toothpaste and shampoo, and his warm, wet skin.
“Seriously, Donnie? You think I won’t notice you’re changing the subject to avoid answering my question?”
“Is it working?”
“Are you going to tell me where you were?”
“I will,” he murmured into my hair. “I promise.”
On the one hand, I was annoyed at Donnie’s evasiveness. On the other hand, we had some privacy with Davison out of the house, and Donnie was rather effectively pressing his suit, as it were.
“You know I’ll find out.” But I had already lost interest in whatever it was we’d been arguing about.