The Case of the Defunct Adjunct

Chapter One

It was another beautiful Mahina morning. A pale mist veiled the lawn; dewdrops glittered on the hibiscus hedges along the walkway; the tall palms by the library building swayed and bounced in the wind. I barely noticed any of it. I had one minute to make it to the old Health Building, way out on the edge of campus. I felt so harried and damp that I was tempted to skip class and go home. Unfortunately, as the professor, I didn't really have the option.

A fat raindrop hit me in the eye as I reached the shelter of the Language Building. A cluster of students chanted their "Mele Kāhea," the sung request for permission to enter the classroom. As I hurried by, the kumu opened the door to let the students file in one by one. Class was starting. I abandoned my dignity and broke into a sprint.

My business communication students had dispersed themselves around the room like gas molecules, expanding to fill their allotted container. The only two who sat near each other were the twins. In the back row, as far as possible from everyone else, was Bret Lampson. As usual, Bret stared through me, focusing on something far beyond the walls of the classroom. From the first day of class, Bret had tripped my internal danger alarm. The Student Retention Office had been unmoved by my concerns, reminding me that it was my job to honor each student's unique learning style.

"Apologies for being late." I placed my stack of papers on the desk and smoothed my skirt, trying not to let on how winded my hundred yard dash had left me. The air tasted sour and musty. I hoped I wasn't breathing in asbestos particles and black mold.

"No worries, professor." The round young man in the front row pushed up the brim of his red baseball cap. "We all human. Anyway, we can't leave until you're more than fifteen minutes late."

"Well, I certainly hope I never keep you waiting for fifteen minutes." I couldn't imagine getting to the point where I was as cavalier about deadlines and due dates as some of my senior colleagues. I felt bad enough about having ruined my perfect on-time record, even if it was only by ninety seconds.

"Professor Harrison's always late," the girl twin volunteered. "Last semester he kept forgetting we had class. Someone hadda go get 'im from his office." Her brother nodded agreement. They looked like characters from a Japanese comic book, with pale skin, big dark eyes, and spiky black hair.

"Well," I said quickly. "Let's get started."

As instructive as it might have been to listen to my students dish my fellow faculty members, I had to nip this conversation in the bud. My class would happily spend the entire period complaining to me about their other professors. Just as they complained—I was certain of it—about me when I wasn't around.

"Everyone brought in their first-draft elevator pitch? We're going to—yes? Is there a question?"

"Today your birthday, Miss?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You could take the day off," the boy twin said. "No need work on your birthday."

"Actually, my birthday is tomorrow, not today. Right now there's nowhere I'd rather be than here in class, with all of you. Okay, let's see what you have." I started collecting papers, heartened that everyone seemed to have something to hand in. I glanced at the boy twin's paper as he handed it to me. "Elevator pitch," I whispered to him.

His sister shoved him triumphantly.

"Told you, babooz. No such thing as a escalator pitch."

The young man in the red baseball cap twisted around in his chair.

"Eh Professor, you going out wit' Professor Park for your birthday?"

"Oh yah, Miss," a young woman exclaimed. "You gotta get 'im to take you to Gavin's down on Mamo Street."

"Tomorrow is Tuesday," someone else chimed in. "That's when they get all you can eat prime rib night. Like Vegas."

"I'll take it under advisement. Thank you. Now, does everyone remember why it's called an elevator pitch?"

The classroom fell silent.

"Anyone? No? Okay, we did talk about this last time, but just as a reminder." I kept talking as I moved from desk to desk collecting papers. "It's called an elevator pitch because in a tall office building, you may run into someone important on the elevator. You have their attention for about thirty seconds. Only thirty seconds to convince that person to hire you, or invest in your business, or even—"

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the girl twin shoving her brother again. He pushed her back, and I shot them a look before they escalated to a full-on slap fight.

I had one more paper to collect. Bret Lampson stared through me as I approached the back row.

"Bret." I spoke as gently as if I were waking him from surgery. "Do you have your assignment?"

He blinked, focused, and shook his head no.

"Couldn't put it on paper."

"Well, if it's a matter of computer access, some students prefer to handwrite—"

"'Cause of those people who want my ideas. I already told you."

I lowered my voice to a whisper, aware that the rest of the class was watching us. "Remember what we talked about before? If you want to keep your best idea to yourself, then just give me your second-best idea."

"It's not that easy. I have to, I have to..."

Now he was staring right at me. I stepped back.

"Bret." My hand was shielding my neck. "Do you have anything for me?"

"Uh-huh." Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he reached down into his backpack and pulled his hand out. He held something that gleamed dully under the fluorescent light. It took me a few seconds to figure out what it was—a leiomano, a vicious-looking polished wooden club studded with sharks' teeth. Behind me, students were rising out of their seats and crowding through the single door in the front of the classroom.

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