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VICE PRESIDENT MARSHALL Dixon was located in the new Student Retention Office Complex, a gleaming edifice of glass and steel, as out of place on our shabby little campus as a spaceship. Emma and I made our way through the vast, chilly lobby, our footsteps ringing on the hard floor, to where the receptionist sat hunched against the cold.
She stood and pulled her puffy white sweater tight around her as we approached, and rubbed her arms for warmth.
“Right through here, Professors.” Her voice echoed off the glass walls and metal girders. She led us down a series of hallways to Marshall Dixon’s office, quickly announced us, and scurried away.
Vice President Marshall Dixon presided over a sleek, clutter-free koa desk. A separate conversation area featured a couch and two upholstered chairs arranged around a low coffee table. The decor was like Marshall Dixon’s outfits—expensive, beige, and understated to the point of being utterly forgettable. Coco Chanel would approve.
Already seated in one of the chairs was a compact, wiry man, whom I recognized as Victor Santiago, the new marketing director. (His actual title was something else, much longer than “marketing director” and impossible for me to remember.).
Emma and I hovered uncertainly in front of the couch until Marshall nodded an invitation to seat ourselves. We sat down right next to each other, like two naughty little girls who were about to get a scolding.
“First of all, congratulations again to both of you on bringing in that grant,” Marshall said. “With our reduced appropriations from the legislature, returned overhead is crucial to our operations.”
Emma and I mumbled thanks. I was certain Marshall didn’t call an urgent meeting just to say nice things about our grant. There was a “but” on the way.
“But a sensitive issue has come up,” she continued. “Do you know Victor Santiago, our new Associate Vice President in Charge of Student Outreach and Community Relations?”
Santiago’s red aloha shirt with yellow hibiscus shapes looked similar to one Donnie had. It must have been from the same local designer. If the vivid pattern was intended to make the glowering Victor look any less menacing, it failed. The too-cheery colors made his island version of business casual look like an unconvincing disguise.
Emma and I exchanged handshakes and murmured nice-to-meet-yous with the Associate Vice President in Charge of Student Outreach and Community Relations. Victor Santiago’s stiff attempt at a smile only made him look more villainous.
“Are you the one who did the cash register ad?” Emma asked.
“Oh, I’ve seen that one,” I added. It was the nicest thing I could think of to say and still be truthful.
I had been watching the evening news with Donnie when the ad came on. MAHINA STATE: A GREAT VALUE. A crudely drawn cash register wearing a mortarboard cap danced on a white background as dollar signs popped out in sync with tacky music. A local radio announcer provided a voiceover trumpeting our bargain-basement tuition rates and Mahina’s low cost of living.
Donnie had thought the cheesy commercial was funny. I was mortified.
“We’ve discontinued the campaign.” Victor said it with such finality it sounded like the person responsible for it had been “discontinued” as well.
“Our research shows our target customer sees college as a luxury good. Like a designer handbag. Anyway, Marshall, should I go ahead with...”
She nodded.
“So, as Marshall said, we appreciate you professors who bring in outside funding. We are very aware of the role your research plays in raising the profile of the university. Unfortunately, high visibility is a two-edged sword. The incident at Art Lam’s farm has become a concern.”
Emma winced at the phrase “two-edged sword.” I didn’t think it was the best choice of words either, under the circumstances.
“The victim was a student here,” Marshall said. “Harold Nordmann.”
“Harold?” Emma said.
“He sometimes went by Primo,” Marshall added.
“I thought they hadn’t released the name of the victim,” I said.
“Not publicly,” Victor said. “Molly, Harold Nordmann was enrolled in your business planning class. In the seventh week of the semester he filed, and later withdrew, a harassment complaint against you. Now you happen to be first on the scene when his body is discovered.”
“That wasn’t public knowledge either,” I protested.
“No one is accusing you of anything,” Marshall interjected. “But we do need to know any relevant information so we’re not blindsided. What can you tell us about the cheese incident?”
I stared at my folded hands. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Marshall Dixon and Victor Santiago were making me feel like a criminal.
“I’d missed lunch that day.” I heard a scratching sound and looked up to see Victor taking notes on a yellow pad. “It wasn’t even during my posted office hours. I usually leave my office door propped open for airflow, because the air conditioning doesn’t work well. So, Primo saw my open door, came in, saw me eating a piece of string cheese, and—”
“Freaked out,” Emma interrupted.
“He took it personally,” I interrupted back. “As if I were eating my cheese at him, when really I was just hungry.”
“How did you get him to withdraw the complaint?” Victor asked.
“I think someone in administration told him it wouldn’t go anywhere. It was when the owner of Malama Dairy was on our board of trustees.”
“He remained enrolled in your class,” Victor said. “And you gave him a passing grade in the end.”
“He earned a passing grade.”
“Did you have any other contact with him?” Victor asked.
“After he left Mahina State, I didn’t see him for a long time until I happened to run into him at the yoga studio in town.”
“Did he remember you?” Victor asked.
“Yes. And he was perfectly friendly. No hard feelings, apparently.”
“He was very friendly,” Emma said. “You should ask Molly’s husband about it.”
I glared at Emma, but fortunately, Marshall was already moving on.
“There’s another issue here,” Marshall said. “Harold, or Primo if you prefer, had become very active in the anti-biotech movement.”
“And you have a biotech grant,” Victor added.
“It’s a grant to investigate attitudes toward biotech,” Emma said. “We’re not taking a position on it.”
“But you understand this creates a perception issue,” Marshall said. “Especially with Mr. Nordmann’s high profile.”
“High profile?” I said.
“His blog,” Victor said.
“Now, no one is trying to tell either of you how to do your research,” Marshall said. “At Mahina State, academic freedom is sacrosanct.”
I nodded, thinking how much “academic freedom is sacrosanct” sounded like “people are our most important asset,” “we respect your privacy,” and similar corporate eyewash.
“However,” she continued, “what’s at stake is not just the reputation of the university. Your personal safety and the security of our physical plant are our immediate concerns.”
“Our personal safety?” I said.
“You think someone’s gonna try bomb my lab or what?” Emma said.
“We can’t rule it out,” Victor said. “There have been incidents at other institutions.”
Emma and I looked at each other.
“What should we do?” I asked.
“You don’t want us to give the grant back, do you?” Emma said.
Giving the money back didn’t seem like such a bad idea now. Not after all this talk of physical safety and lab bombings.
“Returning the grant won’t be necessary,” Marshall Dixon said.
“But we think both of you should keep a low profile for the time being,” Victor said. “With your permission, we’re going to announce you’ve suspended work on the grant for the time being out of respect for the deceased. Hopefully, it’ll make you less of a target. We’ve just hired a new social media director, so he’ll start spreading the word right away.”
“I believe you know him,” Marshall said. “Patrick Flanagan. We’re excited about what he can bring to the table.”
“Now, in the meantime,” Victor said, “we don’t want you to go into hiding.”
“I don’t mind hiding,” I said.
“Our development office will be having a dinner for a few of our most important prospects,” Marshall said. “Some of them are very interested in getting to know our faculty. When we were working on our seating plans, both of your names came up. We trust you’ll make time in your busy schedules for this important event.”
“You are both assets to Mahina State at this point in time,” Victor said. “The fact that your research program has been halted by tragedy makes you both seem very relatable and sympathetic.”
“Seem?” Emma said.
“We’ll be there. At the donor dinner. No problem. Right Emma?”
As we left Marshall’s office, I caught a glimpse of Victor leaning over to Marshall and whispering into her ear. Emma saw it too. We waited until we were outside, in the hazy afternoon sunshine, before we dared to speak.
“Isn’t she married?” Emma asked. “Marshall Dixon?”
“I know she was married,” I said. “But I heard she’s divorced now. I think.”
“Interesting.”