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THE NEXT MORNING, EMMA and Pat came by my office, as they often do. I’d like to say it was because they enjoyed my company, but I think it had more to do with my fancy coffee machine than with my engaging personality. And of course, I had enough chairs for everyone to sit down.
Budget cuts had eliminated funding for faculty office furniture, so we all had to pay for our own desks and chairs. When Tatsuya’s Moderne Beauty went out of business, Pat bought a set of attached hot pink vinyl hairdryer chairs for twenty-five dollars. They took up half his office and would have been reasonably comfortable had the chrome hairdryer bonnets not still been attached.
Emma’s office was even less welcoming than Pat’s. Emma refused to spend her own money to buy work furniture, so her office had no place for visitors to sit. The rare student who got up the nerve to visit her in her office had to stand and stare at the brain in a jar she had sitting on her file cabinet.
Emma pushed into my office first. She claimed my more comfortable chair (which I’d scrounged from one of the Student Retention Office’s remodels) and handed me her coffee mug. It bore the logo of a well-known and widely vilified chemical company.
“You carrying this around just to annoy the anti-biotech people?” I brewed a dose of coffee into the mug.
“What? I got it at a conference. I’m supposed to turn down free stuff now?”
Pat unfolded the metal chair I had leaning against my wall.
“So what’s the latest?” he asked as I took his mug, the big one with the C-Span logo.
“Oh, this is huge. Right after you two left the biotech forum, I found out the body in the papaya field was Primo Nordmann.”
“Oh yeah,” Emma said. “I knew that.
“What? How did you know?”
“Pat told me,”
“Pat, you knew?”
“Not a hundred percent. But I knew the police had been asking around at the yoga studio. Primo Nordmann was the only instructor there who hadn’t shown up for his classes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Pat?”
“They actually warned me not to say anything to you.”
“Who is They? And why not?”
“Medeiros guys,” Emma said.
“Et tu, Emma? What, the stupid cheese incident again?”
Pat shrugged. So it was the stupid cheese incident.
“What do they think happened? What exactly is their working hypothesis here?”
“They’re just being cautious,” Pat said.
“It’s not like you’re a suspect, exactly,” Emma added.
“Exactly? I shouldn’t be a suspect at all. What is wrong with people? I can’t believe Medeiros doesn’t trust me. I’ve been nothing but helpful and law-abiding. When have I ever caused him any trouble?”
“What about when you had to be rescued this summer?” Emma asked.
“Oh, yeah.” Pat chuckled. “He was telling me they had to divert most of the island’s emergency vehicles—”
“That could’ve happened to anyone.”
I handed Pat’s mug back to him and finally set my own onto the platform, impatiently watching the stream thin and peter out as my cup filled.
“So what are the facts so far? You two go out to Art Lam’s farm to do research on attitudes toward biotech. You show up, not knowing Art has conveniently been called away to testify at the Ledge, of which he has video proof.”
“I bet one of those enviro-nuts killed Primo Nordmann,” Emma said.
“But Primo was one of those ‘enviro-nuts,’ Emma. He was scheduled to speak on the anti-biotech side at the forum, remember? Now, if the victim had been Randy Randolph from Seed Solutions, you’d have a point. But who would want to get rid of Primo Nordmann?”
“So in other words, we have bupkis,” Emma said.
“What scares me is whoever did it is still out there,” I said. “And there’s no logic to it. No one’s claimed responsibility.”
“I’m not worried,” Emma said. “The police are on it, and better yet, so is Pat. If the Mahina PD don’t catch the guy right away, Island Confidential is gonna get to the bottom of it.”
“Please be careful, Pat,” I said.
“Sure.” Pat didn’t look at either of us.
“Pat?” Emma asked. “You’re going to follow this story, aren’t you? You’re not gonna let the murderers get away, are you?”
“You’re not doing the story?” I stared. “Did Detective Medeiros tell you to back off?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with Medeiros.” Pat folded his arms and leaned back in the metal chair. “I’ve decided to take the job.”
“What do you mean take the job?” Emma demanded.
“With the Mahina State University marketing department.”
“Oy,” Emma exclaimed. “The marketing department yet. What a sellout.”
“What did they tempt you with?” I asked. “Immortality? Unimaginable wealth?”
“I’d be completely in charge of our social media strategy.”
“Listen to Mister Big Shot,” Emma scoffed. “Our social media strategy, he says.”
“Do they know about Island Confidential, with all of those scathing exposes about our university administration?” I asked. “Do they know it’s you?”
“Oh yeah. Your article about the library workers? If they ever find out you’re behind the story, you’re gonna be out on your tochas so fast.”
“They know about Island Confidential. They’re okay with it.”
“Who’s they exactly?” I asked. “To whom are you reporting?”
“Victor Santiago from Dixon’s office.”
“You’re working for Torquemada?” Emma crossed her arms. “You’re dead to me.”
“He said I’d done a great job of building Island Confidential’s brand. They wanted to infuse that edgy spirit into their social media outreach.”
“I thought you hated words like branding and edgy and infuse,” I said. “Anyway, are you sure you’ll have enough time for Island Confidential if you take this on?”
“Molly, I’m getting full health, vision, and dental. And five times what I’m making now teaching intro comp.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Emma said. “I see your point. Pat, you should totally take the marketing job.”
“What about Island Confidential?” I persisted.
“Well, that’s the catch. I’ll have to suspend publication.”
“You have to stop publishing Island Confidential?” I exclaimed. “Pat, this is classic co-optation. That’s what this is about. The administration doesn’t want a social media manager. They want to shut down Island Confidential. They’ve decided that your investigative reporting is a threat. They’re neutralizing you.”
“That’s a great insight, Molly, coming from a well-compensated, tenure-track professor with a cushy benefits package and a nice pension.”
“I’m not saying you don’t deserve a living wage, Pat, but are you sure you want to—”
“Maybe they want to hire me because they think I’ll do a good job. Did that ever occur to you?”
“Of course you’d do a good job. You’d be great at it. But Pat, think about it. When has actual competence ever mattered to these people?”
“I have to go. I’m going to be late to class.” Pat stood and left.
“I didn’t mean to insult him,” I said to Emma.
“And yet, you managed to.”
“Emma, I think someone in the administration doesn’t want Pat looking into this murder.”
“You think it’s because of the murder?” She emptied her cup. “It’s not all he was working on, you know. What about his column on how our Student Retention Office is spending its Foundation grant? Or the series about the chancellor’s research trips to Cancun? Or that new campus network that redirects our private emails onto the scrolling LED display in the Compliance Office?”
“He wasn’t able to verify the thing about the scrolling display. But you just confirmed my point. The administration has a lot of reasons to shut him down.”
“I know you’ve seen all those emails from the chancellor,” Emma said, “About how we need to attract and retain more students to keep those tuition dollars coming in. Maybe the administration thinks this social media thing will help. And they know Pat will do a good job.”
“Of course he will. You’re right. Maybe I’m being too suspicious. It’s just sometimes I get the feeling that the administration is watching our every—”
My office phone rang.
“What is it?” Emma asked when I’d hung up.
“That was Marshall Dixon’s secretary. Vice President Marshall Dixon wants us to report to her office.”
“When?”
“Now.”