The Fever Cabinet

Author: Frankie Bow
Series: The Professor Molly Mysteries, Book 10
Genre: Mystery
Tags: Campus, College, Hawaii, Parenthood, Workplace

In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.

~Oscar Wilde

 

Through no fault of her own, Professor Molly just got promoted to department chair at Mahina State University ("Where Your Future Begins Tomorrow") in Mahina, Hawai`i. The Student Retention Office has her buried in paperwork. The college has just relocated to a former asylum, which is undergoing noisy renovations. Molly's dean has directed her to mentor the department's new star, the prickly Fiona Spencer, and to do whatever it takes to keep Fiona happy. At least nothing else can go wrong. And then Fiona finds a body in her office.

 

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I don’t
usually look forward to budget meetings, but today I welcomed the break. I was drenched
in sweat after spending most of the day in my un-air-conditioned top-floor
office, and hours of grading freshman writing had made me cross-eyed. At a
quarter till, I locked up my office and went down the four flights of stairs
and across the utility road to the main hospital building.

Our meeting
was scheduled in the dining room on the ground floor. It’s a gorgeous space,
the same room where they held the donor banquet when the university first took
over the old hospital complex. You’d think it was originally a grand ballroom,
with its lofty stamped-tin ceilings and its tall French doors leading out to
the terrace. In fact it had been a tuberculosis ward, before the discovery of
antibiotics, when the state-of-the-art treatment was healthful quantities of
sunlight and fresh air. With the French doors propped open to let in the trade
winds, the temperature was actually tolerable.

Serena, the
dean’s secretary, was the only other person there. She was setting up the room,
so I jumped in to help, shoving tables out of the way and unfolding metal
chairs.

“This is so
much nicer than our old building,” I said.

“Hm,” Serena
said. “If you ask me, the university should’ve asked a few more questions before
they moved us in here. Sorry, that’s just my opinion.”

“Why?” I
asked. “Is there something wrong with the new space?”

“No,” she
said offhandedly. “Unless you mind your workplace being haunted.”

“You mean the
ghost of Constance Brigham?” The Brigham family heiress was rumored to roam the
old hospital complex, occasionally tossing people out of windows or off
balconies.

“Nah, not
that,” Serena said. “The thing about Constance Brigham was made up in the
seventies to scare tourists. I’m talking about the baby’s cry.”

“The what?” I
asked.

“If you’re on
the hospital property and you hear the baby’s cry, it means something’s gonna
happen to you. You only hear it if you did something bad, though. You should
look it up.”

Two of the
marketing professors came in, and Serena put them to work unfolding metal
chairs.

By the time
the meeting started, everyone in the management department was present—except Fiona
Spencer. It’s not like she’d get lost in the crowd. We only had a couple dozen
faculty in the College of Commerce, and only a few women. I started to get concerned.

Worried for
Fiona, of course; while she seemed to have gone off on the motorcycle willingly,
it was no guarantee she was safe. But I was also concerned for myself, which I
realize sounds a little selfish. I was afraid Dan Watanabe, my dean, would
blame me for Fiona’s absence. Not only was I Fiona’s department chair, I was
her assigned mentor, and the first in my college to participate in the new campus
wide Encompassing Mentoring Initiative. Which meant I was singlehandedly
responsible for cultivating Fiona’s Sense of Community and Belonging at Mahina
State University. And also in a position to embarrass the whole College of
Commerce if I failed.

It’s not
false humility to say when Dan chose me as Fiona’s mentor, he couldn’t have
picked a worse candidate. I have such a low tolerance for unstructured social
interaction that on Sundays I time my arrival at Mass to avoid the Passing of
the Peace.

But Dan didn’t
have many alternatives. I’m the only woman in the management department, and
I’m also apparently the only one Dan can trust to take on extra work and do it
properly. So I’m the one who gets to check in daily with Fiona to make sure she
is feeling Fully Integrated into the Life of the College.

Fortunately
for me, Dan Watanabe seemed to have more important things to do today than hassle
me about the Encompassing Mentoring Initiative. Dan always looked kind of gray,
with his graying hair, silver-framed glasses, and gray-and-beige reverse-print
aloha shirts. But today he looked like his own ghost.

“Thank you
for coming, everyone.” Dan’s weary voice rang and echoed in the great room.
“You may have heard the rumors about an unexpectedly large budget cut coming
down. Well, the rumors are true.”

He looked
around to make sure he had everyone’s attention. He did.

“It seems,”
he went on, “the construction on this building has cost more than anticipated.”

Outraged
grumbling arose from the assembled faculty.

“This was entirely predictable, Dan.” Hanson Harrison stood to speak. Hanson, one of the management department’s senior members, was from old New England money. He looked the part: Tall, with patrician posture and silver hair. “You may recall before the county ‘gifted’ the old Mahina Memorial Hospital site to the university, the Mahina State faculty senate budget committee passed a resolution asking for a detailed estimate of the costs required to bring the buildings up to code. It was sent up to the chancellor’s office, where, like all resolutions from the Faculty Senate, it sank without a trace.”

“This is exactly why the county dumped it on us,” Larry Schneider added. Larry was the other senior member of the management department. Unlike Hanson, he was slight and tenacious, and hailed from an unfashionable borough. If someone ever decided to make a movie about the College of Commerce starring dogs, Hanson Harrison would be a Weimaraner, and Larry Schneider would be a terrier mix. “They didn’t want to pay for the remodeling. This place is still unfit for use, and all we’re doing is lining the pockets of Konishi Construction, not to mention—”

“Thank you
for your comments, Larry,” Dan interrupted. “And Hanson. I understand the
procurement process isn’t always as transparent as we’d like. That’s exactly
what I’m here to talk about.”

I sensed my
colleagues settling down a bit. Despite being a dean, Dan Watanabe had for the
most part managed to retain his integrity. We didn’t always like his decisions,
but we could count on him to be honest with us.

“Now, I’m
going off the record here. It seems parts of these old buildings are valuable to
collectors and restorers. Doorknobs, pieces of molding, even some of the old
medical equipment. Konishi Construction’s just throwing it out as they go,
and…nobody write this down, please.”

Serena, Dan’s
secretary, set down her pen. As did Iker Legazpi, from the accounting
department, who always diligently took notes for his own edification.

“I’m not saying
I officially approve of this,” Dan continued, “in fact, I don’t. But if we all
work together, we can figure out a way to at least buy enough copy paper and
toner cartridges to get us through the end of the fiscal year. Not through the
university budget system, of course. But the Finance Club has agreed to help us
out, in exchange for a small percentage.”

“Are you saying
we have to sell off pieces of our building simply in order to do our jobs?” Hanson
demanded.

“Meanwhile
our crappy football team spends two million dollars a year traveling to the
mainland to get their butts kicked,” Larry grumbled.

“What’s the alternative?” Dan asked them. “Just keep an eye out for anything that looks unusual or collectible and bring it in to the dean’s office. If it’s too big to move, let Serena know.”

I guiltily
recalled the silver absinthe spoon I’d found in the unmarked space adjoining my
office. The hidden room wasn’t on any of our building plans. Neither Facilities
nor Konishi Construction seemed to know about it.

I might turn
in the spoon. But I wasn’t going to breathe a word to anyone about my secret
room. The extra space would only be confiscated and used for storage, or given
to some favored administrator. They certainly wouldn’t allow me to stay there.

“We need to
get the word out to all our faculty and staff,” Dan went on. “Is anyone
missing?”

Serena, Dan’s
secretary, said

“Fiona
Spencer. Management department.”

Fiona was the
only one who didn’t show up? Even Rodge Cowper was here? Yes, there he was, by
the window. Playing some game on his phone by the looks of it, but physically
present.

“Molly?” Dan
asked me. “Where is Fiona? Did you tell her about the meeting?”

“Yes, I did.”
I tried my best not to sound defensive. “I emailed the department, of course,
and I phoned Fiona earlier today to remind her. She said she’d be here, but it
seems something came up. I can let her know what we discussed.”

I felt the
resentful stares of my colleagues. Thanks to the latest round of budget cuts,
the College of Commerce only got one new hire this year. The management
department—my department—had landed the coveted faculty line.

And now, almost
as soon as we hired Fiona Spencer, we’d gone and misplaced her.

“This is why
we can’t have nice things,” one of the marketing professors quipped.

“That’s not
necessary,” Dan admonished him. “Molly, I understand. You can’t force Fiona to
attend. Just make sure she comes to the next meeting.”

“I’ll do my
best.”

I braced for
what was coming next:

“Remember,” Dan
said, “it’s our responsibility to ensure our junior faculty are fully
integrated into the life of the college.”

By this time
I could say it along with him, although I didn’t, of course.