Free Surfing Detective 04 - Hanging Ten in Paris by Chip Hughes Page B

the Fifth Arrondissement—she pronounced it
ah-rhone-dees-mo
—near the Pantheon, that grand domed building.”
    “I see it.” It was in a square called Place du Panthéon.
    “Marie moved into Pierre’s apartment on that square,” Serena said.
    “Is she there now?” I asked.
    “No, she’s traveling around Europe with him,” Serena said. “Anyway, we house our students nearby in a glorious old townhouse divided into flats at forty-four Rue des Écoles.”
    “
Rue des what?”
    “Des Écoles”—she pronounced it
days-eh-coal
—“means, roughly, the street of the schools, because the major centers of learning are there. We rent the third and fourth floors. There is a small lift . . . uh, an elevator . . . that stops only on those two floors. Nobody can ride the lift without an ID card—for the safety and security of our students.”
    “Only your students had cards?”
    “Right. And Russ—Professor Van. And the custodial staff.”
    “So you had seven students on two floors, which only they had access to?”
    “Correct. The floors were also connected by a stairway, but only these two floors. Ryan and Marie both started in single rooms on the third. Until she left, of course.”
    “Convenient,” I said.
    Serena shrugged. “Two other students, Kim and Heather, close friends and English majors from O‘ahu, shared a double on the third floor.
”
    “And on the fourth?
”
    “Three more: Meighan, a French major on scholarship from Michigan, in a single room and Brad and Scooter, business majors and football mates from California, in a double. The two mates weren’t stellar students, but did well in Russ’s French history course, and have since graduated. Actually, all the students did well. I wasn’t surprised. We’ve found studying abroad motivates even less-than-stellar students, and the program tends to draw serious students to begin with. I have Russ’s grade records if you’d like to see for yourself.”
    “Maybe later,” I said. “For now, I’d just like to talk to the professor.”
    “He’s beastly busy right at present, but I’m sure he’ll oblige,” she said. “He’s applying for the Hilo Hattie Chair. It means more money and less teaching. He’s competing against his bitter rival, Professor Blunt from American Studies.” She raised her brows. “High stakes.”
    “I’ll wish Professor Van luck,” I said, but wondered about a teacher who didn’t want to teach.
    “Do me a favor, Kai. When you talk to Russ and the students—and especially to Ryan’s parents—tread lightly. We’ve had enough sadness already.”
    I repeated her admonition: “Tread lightly.”
    We talked about Ryan for a few more minutes. Then I walked back to my car in the blazing summer sun.

two

    From Serena’s office I drove through Waikīkī and saw some nice sets rolling in. Before long I had my board in the water and I was paddling to Pops, or Populars, about a quarter mile offshore from the Sheraton. Pops was cranking—typical of a summer swell. The right-breaking curls seemed to sweep from here to eternity. You can tuck into those curls and ride your cares away.
    Suicide wasn’t my favorite kind of case, especially when the deceased was so young. I didn’t relish the prospect of meeting Ryan’s parents later that afternoon. That’s why I couldn’t pass by Waikīkī. Besides, Serena had mentioned that Pops was Ryan’s favorite spot in town. Could surfing here give me insights into his character? And into the case? I hoped so. The facts I’d been given so far made me doubt I could tell the Songs much more than they already knew.
    A wave on the horizon caught my eye. I stroked into position and took it—a nice one about shoulder high. I tucked into the curl and screamed along.
    Paddling back to the lineup, I thought about Ryan. Serena told me he’d been sweet on Marie since high school and apparently hoped their friendship would blossom into romance in Paris. But a few weeks after they