Surfing Detective 04 - Hanging Ten in Paris

He really didn’t want to talk about it.”
    “Did you talk with him again?”
    “No—” Van hesitated. “Well, he did come to see me a few days later. But not about Marie. About something else.”
    “What?”
    “It was unrelated. So I didn’t even mention it to the police.” Van rocked back uneasily in his chair. “He said he wanted to discuss the next exam.”
    “Was he worried about his grade?”
    “I doubt it. He was carrying an A-minus. Anyway, I’ll never know. I was on my way to a lecture on the medieval French
ballade
when he came in. I told Ryan I’d be back in an hour, but he didn’t return. The next time I saw him was on that awful morning.”
    “Would you mind telling me what you saw?”
    “When I got there all the students—except Marie, of course—were standing outside Ryan’s door. He was hanging very still.”
    “How did the students react?”
    “Meighan was crying. But the others just looked dumbstruck.”
    “Is that what you expected?”
    “When you take these island kids to a place like Paris, you don’t know what to expect.” He arched his woolly brows. “For many, it’s their first time away from Hawai‘i. Some handle it, others don’t.”
    “Did they handle it?”
    “For the most part. All seven took my French history course, which included excursions to the Bastille, Versailles
,
et cetera. So I got to know them fairly well. I usually teach the course as a large lecture with standardized exams. But this was a small, intimate group. To keep the course on par I used the same exams, but otherwise I ran it like a seminar.”
    “Did Ryan spend time with anybody besides Marie?”
    “Sometimes with Meighan. Sometimes with Kim and Heather.”
    “What about Brad and Scooter?”
    “I was told the guys went to the
Folies Bergère
together. But Brad and Scooter’s appetite—and budget—for cabarets apparently exceeded Ryan’s. Not to mention Brad’s appetite for the dancers.”
    “The two guys partied
and
got good grades?”
    “When you’re twenty you can do things us older folks can’t.” Van rocked forward in his chair.
    “And Marie—what was she like?”
    “One of my best students ever. An A-plus. I rarely give those.”
    “I never saw one,” I said. “But, if I care to see hers, Serena said I could look at your grade records.”
    “Don’t bother. They won’t tell you anything about Ryan you don’t already know.” The professor frowned. “I’ll never teach in Paris again. What happened there ruined it for me. I haven’t slept well since, even with the little pills my doctor gave me. Best to stay here and finish my book, anyway.”
    “To help your chances for the Hilo Hattie Chair? To help you defeat your bitter rival, Professor Blunt?”
    Van looked surprised. “How did you know?”
    “Serena told me.” I stood and thanked him. “Good luck winning that Chair, sir.”
    He let out a breath as I left his office, seeming relieved the interview was over. Why? Whatever could make the professor anxious if he were so sure Ryan had taken his own life?

six

    From Paradise College I stopped by the Waikīkī Edgewater and sent identical emails to the five students I planned to interview on O‘ahu. I sent a different email to Marie, who Serena had said was traveling in Europe. The email to Marie contained questions; the emails to the others contained a request to meet.
    Moments later, a reply arrived from [email protected]: “I’m still very sad about Ryan but will try to talk with you. Call me. Meighan McMannis.”
    She had been first to find Ryan hanging, according to Serena, so it seemed apropos to interview her first.
    I called Meighan and arranged to meet her at a Starbucks near Ward Centre. She said she was taking a summer course in French and would stop by after class.
    I was sipping a decaf when the green-eyed Michigan blonde stepped in, toting her French textbook. She was no frail flower, but a solid, sturdy young woman who looked as if she could endure those frigid Midwestern winters. She ordered a large latte and joined me. The animated conversations going on around us assured me we wouldn’t be overheard.
    “Ryan was a sweet guy.” Meighan fixed her green eyes on me and sipped her latte. “I loved him.”
    I said nothing. Just waited.
    “I mean, it’s not like that.” She seemed surprised at what she had said. “He was just a good, gentle soul.”
    “You said in your statement that you were the first to find Ryan. Can you tell