Stork Raving Mad

by Donna Andrews

  “Was Dr. Wright at the college back then, pulling the same kind of stunts?”

  He nodded.

  “I suppose that gives Kathy a motive,” I said.

  He frowned.

  “I suppose it does,” he said. “Especially since her academic career ended due to an accusation of plagiarism on a paper she wrote for one of Dr. Wright’s classes.”

  “Plagiarism? Kathy?”

  He nodded.

  “You were unaware of the incident?” he asked.

  “Completely,” I said. “And it was before Michael’s time, but Art and Abe were here ten years ago. If they thought she had committed plagiarism, I doubt they’d let her work in the department.”

  “I suspected as much,” the chief said. “I’ll be asking them about it. I wondered if it was generally known.”

  “No,” I said. “And I’ll bet anything it was a frame. And I don’t believe she was the killer either.”

  “I’m not happy about it myself,” he said. “Blessed if I can explain why. Maybe because I see it’s going to be a long haul proving for sure she did it and an even longer one getting a conviction, with all these people running around confusing the case. Or maybe because she seems like a nice lady.”

  “A nice lady who just happened to commit a murder?”

  “A nice lady who should have known murder wouldn’t solve anyone’s problems.”

  Except in this case maybe it had. There were probably other English professors who hated the drama department, but none who’d dared to persecute them as blatantly. Even Ramon’s and Bronwyn’s problems might have been solved by Dr. Wright’s death if they hadn’t tried to kill her themselves.

  “You heading down to interrogate Kathy and Danny?” I asked.

  The chief shook his head.

  “Their attorneys will probably want us to wait till morning,” he said. “And that’s fine with me. Been a long day. Though I am going to stick around long enough to watch this rehearsal everyone’s so fired up about.”

  “Are you really interested in watching the rehearsal or do you just want to keep an eye on the rest of your suspects?” I asked.

  “A little of both,” he said. “I’m curious to see the play that’s caused such problems. And did I hear correctly that the college president is here to watch the rehearsal and make a decision about whether the show opens tomorrow night?”

  “That’s the plan,” I said.

  “Figure I’d better stick around, then,” he said. “I suspect neither Mr. Soto nor Ms. Jones will try to flee the jurisdiction with their play coming up, but if the president cancels it, I wouldn’t be surprised if one or both of them tried to pull a bunk. I think I should be here to see what he decides.”

  “He won’t necessarily announce his decision tonight,” I said. “He’ll probably take the night to think it over. Or to consult with whoever actually makes decisions for him.”

  “If they’re still in suspense, that’s fine,” he said. “Although I’m probably going to leave at least one deputy here to keep an eye on things, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fine with me,” I said. “We still don’t know for sure one of them isn’t the killer, so the more deputies the better as far as I’m concerned.”

  “See you at the rehearsal, then.”

  “Actually, no,” I said. “I’m going to bed. This time for real. It’s been way too long a day for me already.”

  “Smart decision,” he said. “Good night.”

  He strolled out the back door.

  I sat down and browsed through Danny’s finds. I started with Dr. Blanco’s information, since it consisted of only half a dozen sheets of paper. No surprises there. According to his CV, he’d graduated from a small Midwestern college that I’d never heard of. Apparently Danny hadn’t either—he included a page about it from a college ranking site. A small but respectable liberal arts college in a small town. Did Blanco grow up in the area? And if not, why had he gone so far from home to such a small college? It didn’t seem like a place where you’d find a lot of ethnic diversity, so in either case, maybe I was looking at the reason for Blanco’s lack of enthusiasm for Latino culture.

  The packet wasn’t very informative, though. Neither was the larger wad about Dr. Wright. She, too, went to smaller schools, though in her case they were institutions I’d actually heard of. After a few years in an associate professor position at a large state institution, she’d come to Caerphilly twenty years ago, achieved tenure thirteen years ago, and made dean five years after that. None of which shed any kind of light on why she was murdered and who did it. I found myself yawning several times as I leafed through the file and was very close to giving up on the whole thing. Or perhaps saving it for some evening when I was suffering from acute insomnia.

  And then the last few pages made the whole effort worthwhile. At first I was puzzled when I found a review of a college production of The Importance of Being Earnest. Not, according to the reviewer, a very able production. Of course he sounded like one of those reviewers who adored reviewing flawed shows, the better to show off his own wit and erudition.

  I’d have given up after the first snide, gloating paragraph if I hadn’t been curious to find out why this was in Danny’s file of information on Dr. Wright.

  Aha! “Possibly the worst performance came from Jean Wright, woefully miscast as Cecily Cardew.” The reviewer went on to eviscerate her performance for another lengthy paragraph. I found myself wondering if the reviewer was perhaps a jilted boyfriend.

  The next six pages contained more reviews, each of a play in which Dr. Wright had a part. The best of her reviews was lukewarm, and several other times she was singled out for particularly harsh treatment. And not always by the same person—two other reviewers also panned her performances. The reviews covered a three-year period corresponding to her freshman, sophomore, and junior years in college. In her senior year, she’d either given up acting or stopped being cast. I scanned the reviews again. In the earlier ones, she’d had fairly large roles; in the later ones, she’d sometimes had roles so small that she had to have been pretty awful to be noticed at all, much less singled out for criticism.

  “So now we know why she was so down on the drama students,” I murmured aloud. “She was jealous.”

  A pity Kathy hadn’t uncovered these reviews. I suspected they might have worked far better for intimidating Dr. Wright than any of the material Kathy had collected about harsh treatment of Caerphilly students.

  I tucked the papers under my arm. I’d show them to Michael later. Tomorrow, most probably. Time for me to get to sleep.

  “You should be in bed, dear,” came a voice from behind me.

  “That’s just where I’m heading, Mother,” I said.

  “Good.” I turned to see that she was wearing a heavy but elegant coat and hat and pulling on her gloves.

  “Going to see the show?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “After all, ‘The play’s the thing/wherein we’ll catch the conscience of the king.’ ”

  “Are you implying that the play has something to do with the murder?” I asked. “Or will have something to do with solving it?”

  “Half the suspects are in it, aren’t they?” she said. “And the other half will be watching. If Chief Burke or your father leaps up in the middle of the second act and announces that he’s just solved the murder, I don’t want to miss it. What happened in here, anyway?”

  She was indicating, with a sweeping arm gesture, the whole cluttered, untidy kitchen. I had my failings as a housekeeper, although keeping a messy kitchen wasn’t normally one of them. But under the circumstances . . .

  “We’ve got several dozen extra people living here,” I said. “Puts a strain on the kitchen facilities, even if half of the students survive on pizza and Snickers bars. Pretty depressing, isn’t it?”

  “I could organize those students to come in and clean up,” she said. I had to smile. Yes, she probably could. The students wouldn’t know what had
hit them.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “They’re busy, and this is actually better than usual.”

  Mother took a long, slow look around the room and shuddered.

  “You mean it’s usually worse?” she asked.

  “Yes, but usually it doesn’t really bother me,” I said. “For some reason, today it does. For the last day or two, actually.”

  “You’re probably getting close to having the babies,” Mother said, nodding.

  “Well, we knew that,” I said, glancing down at the inescapable evidence.

  “Very close,” she said. “The nesting instinct has kicked in. You should have seen me the three days before you were born. I couldn’t live unless I cleaned the house from top to bottom.”

  “All by yourself?” I asked. Mother’s contribution to household cleaning was usually supervisory.

  “Of course not,” she said. “I had a sudden surge of energy, and you’d be amazed at how much I did, but I couldn’t possibly have done it all by myself. Some of the cousins helped.”

  “Ah.” I nodded. That sounded more in character. Mother had always had a curious ability to enlist the members of her large extended family to carry out projects for her. I could envision several dozen aunts and cousins swarming over the house until it was ready for a white-glove inspection while Mother performed the truly challenging tasks like doing the floral arrangements for the dining room and choosing the objets d’art on the coffee table.

  “We should probably do the same for your house,” she said. “If you don’t think the students would be cooperative, I’m sure the family can help out. Let me make a few calls.”

  She was reaching into her pocket for her cell phone.

  “Not tonight,” I said. “Just the thought of having more people in the house exhausts me, even if they would be helping out. And even tomorrow would be too soon. Chief Burke would probably rather we wait until his investigation is over before we turn the house upside down.”

  “But wouldn’t it be nice to bring the babies home to a beautifully clean house?” she asked, still holding her cell phone at the ready.

  “Yes, just as it would be nice to bring them home to a house that contained nothing but family,” I said. “But I’m not going to throw the students out on their ears, so that’s not going to happen, either. Rose Noire promised that as soon as I leave for the hospital, she’ll get the master bedroom, the master bath, and the nursery in perfect shape. It’s not as if I’ll be spending much time anywhere else for the first few weeks. If you think some cousins would like to help, you and she can call them when I head off to the hospital. Or recruit them for a grand cleanup once the students finally leave.”

  “Or both.” Mother kissed me on the cheek and turned toward the back door. “I’ll talk to Rose Noire, dear. You get some rest.”

  “That’s my plan,” I said, as she left.

  I picked up my Tupperware doggie container and turned out the light as I left the kitchen.

  I found Sammy sitting in one of the dining room chairs in the front hall, with his chin in his hands.

  “Good news,” I said. “Grandfather’s happy to fund the canine DNA tests.”

  “Good,” he said. “Of course, we have to catch the guy first. And the way it’s going, I won’t even be able to start till tomorrow. The chief wants me to stay around and keep an eye on things here.”

  “So you’re on duty?”

  He nodded.

  I had a brainstorm. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the police station. Debbie Anne, the dispatcher, answered as usual.

  “Hey, Meg,” she said. “How’s things there?”

  “You waiting around to help process the suspects the chief’s sending down?” I asked.

  “You guessed it,” she said.

  “Can you do something for Sammy while you’re waiting?”

  “Sure thing,” she said.

  “You know that list of vehicles the chief had you get from the DMV? Could you send it to our fax number?”

  Sammy sat up with an eager look on his face.

  “I can’t exactly share that with a civilian, Meg.”

  “I know that,” I said. “But in about five minutes, Sammy will be calling you from Michael’s office to confirm that he and only he is standing there, ready to pull the pages out of the machine.”

  “I get it,” she said. “Give me the number.”

  I did, thanked her, and hung up.

  “Meg, thanks,” Sammy said as he headed for the hallway to the office. “I can start studying the list and planning how to tackle them.”

  “Just don’t get so caught up in the list that you let any of our suspects escape,” I said to his back.

  I continued on up the stairs.

  In our bedroom, I found Abe, Art, and Michael.

  “You’re going to miss the play,” I said as I poked my head in.

  “We just wanted to have a quick powwow before the rehearsal begins,” Abe said.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I said.

  “I would object if you didn’t interrupt,” Art said. He stood up, and the others followed suit. “You need rest.”

  “Finish your conference,” I said.

  “And you’ll want to get dressed for bed,” Abe said.

  “I can do that later,” I said. “I’m going to read for a while first.”

  Michael hurried to take the leftovers out of my hands and help me onto the bed.

  “We’re just having a quick conference on how to handle The Face,” he said. “We figure now’s the time to strike.”

  “Yes,” I said. “From what I can see, Blanco doesn’t really have it in for the drama students. He was just trying to please Dr. Wright. So he might be lying low and staying neutral until he sees which way the wind is blowing.”

  “That’s what we think,” Abe said. “And we need to do as much as possible to see that it’s blowing in our direction.”

  “You might want to use this,” I said. I handed him the wad of papers I’d received from Danny Oh, the thick file folder Kathy had given me, and finally, on top, the paper Josh had given me. Michael and Art came to peek over his shoulders.

  “You see!” Michael said, snatching up the copy of Dr. Wright’s e-mail. “He did get permission.”

  “Think what a lot of bother it would have saved if the young fool had kept that e-mail handy,” Abe said, shaking his head.

  “What’s the rest of this?” Art asked.

  “Some documents Kathy gave me,” I said. “And some stuff from Danny Oh.”

  I leaned back and uttered a sigh of contentment.

  “You’re tired,” Art said. “You want us to leave? We could find someplace else to do this.”

  “There isn’t anyplace else, and I’m fine,” I said. “As long as I’m awake, you’re good company, and when I’m ready to sleep, you could clog dance on the dresser and it wouldn’t bother me. Just poke me if I snore loud enough to drown out your discussion.”

  I picked up my bedside book as if I were planning to read, to reassure them that they weren’t keeping me up. Michael came over, pulled an afghan over me, and gave me a quick kiss before returning to join Art and Abe.

  After a few moments, I let the book fall on my chest. I did the yoga breathing exercises Rose Noire had taught me. I wondered what time it was, but I couldn’t muster the energy to turn my head toward the alarm clock. Hansel and Gretel were squirming enough to keep me from falling asleep, but with luck they’d settle down eventually. And in the meantime, it was peaceful, lying there on our nice, warm bed, listening to the faint rustle as Michael and his colleagues turned pages.

  Eventually, though, the rustle of pages began to be accompanied by muffled exclamations and sharp intakes of breath.

  “Good God,” Abe said finally, in a low tone. “We knew we had a problem, with some of our best performers not wanting to become drama majors.”

  “And the fact that not a single graduate student has actually completed a degree in the las
t three years,” Michael added.

  “I thought we could get around it by helping them select English classes with teachers who weren’t in on it,” Art said.

  “It’s gone past that,” Abe said.

  “We knew it was bad,” Art said.

  “But not this bad,” Abe added.

  “Why didn’t the students come to us?” Michael said.

  “Because you’d have tried to do something,” I said without opening my eyes. “And they know that, and they were afraid you’d all try to do something and end up getting hurt.”

  A few moments of silence.

  “They were trying to protect us?” Michael said.

  “And we should have been protecting them,” Abe put in.

  Something that had been bothering me all day popped back in my mind and I sat up.

  “Answer me one question,” I said. “If everyone knows Dr. Wright hated drama students so much and did everything she could to torpedo their academic careers, why didn’t they just avoid taking her classes?”

  “They did, as far as possible,” Abe said. “At least after we all realized what she was doing and began steering them away from her classes. But last year she managed to have one of her classes made a degree requirement.”

  “ ‘Literature and Popular Culture,’ ” Art said. “A semester’s worth of listening to Dr. Wright rant about everything she hated about the modern world.”

  “She got Blanco to do it for her,” Michael said.

  “For years, she and a couple of other English professors have been doing what they could to make life miserable for the drama students,” Abe said. “But it wasn’t till Blanco started helping them that things got really bad.”

  “And now we’ll never know just why she hated the theater so much,” Art said, shaking his head.

  “Yes we will,” I said. “She was a frustrated actress.”

  “No way,” Michael said.

  “Way,” I said. “Check the stuff Danny found. Bottom of the stack.”

  The three of them bent their heads over the photocopies. I settled back under the afghan and listened again to the rustling paper and their muted exclamations.