Stork Raving Mad

by Donna Andrews

  “Move!” he said.

  “Move where?”

  “None of your business. You’ll find out when you drive me there.”

  Like hell was I driving him anywhere. I looked around for a weapon. Nothing but the chair farm and the forest of coatracks and coat trees, all of them draped with wraps. Could I throw a coat over him and smother him to death? Or at least immobilize him long enough to get my hands around his throat?

  “My coat’s upstairs,” I said. “I should—”

  “Just borrow someone’s,” he said.

  “If I can find one to fit me,” I said, grumbling. I pretended to consider and discard a couple of coats on one of the racks. “Maybe Rose Noire’s cape.”

  I moved on to a large, ornate Victorian coat tree, as if expecting to find the cape there. As my hand touched the sturdy oak upright portion of the tree, I faked another contraction. I figured I knew what the real thing was like now and could do a better job of faking. I grabbed the coat tree as if for support, and as I pretended to hunch over in agony, I turned so I was facing Blanco. I could see through my not-quite-closed eyes that he was flinching a bit. Maybe he was reconsidering the wisdom of taking a hostage who was about to turn into three hostages.

  Another wave of laughter from the barn. His eyes flicked toward it, distracted for just a second.

  I grabbed the coat tree by the shaft, heaved its base into the air, and lunged at Blanco, holding it under one arm like a lance.

  “Take that!” I shouted, as it slammed into his solar plexus.

  He doubled over and fell back, landing so hard in one of Michael’s exiled office chairs that it skidded across the polished floor and hit the wall with a thud. No use trying to run away, as slow as I was, so I charged after him, dropping the coat tree on the way.

  He tried to stand up and failed, of course. No one had yet succeeded in escaping the comfy chairs without a strong push with both arms, and he was still holding the gun in one hand and his precious envelope in the other.

  By the time he fell back in surprise, I had grabbed his gun arm and was twisting it, as hard as I could, trying to take the gun away. I slipped, landing hard on his lap, knocking the breath out of him.

  “No!” he wheezed. He began pulling the trigger over and over, but I had a good grip on his arm, and the shots fired harmlessly away from us.

  Well, not quite harmlessly. A couple of the students’ coats would probably have holes in them, and one bullet knocked down a big chunk of the plaster we’d recently paid good money for the Shiffleys to repair and paint.

  As soon as I heard the gun click empty, I heaved myself up again.

  Blanco was still struggling to rise, and having trouble because he was still holding the gun. If he dropped it and used both arms, or worse, reloaded, I could be in trouble. Surely someone would have heard the shots by now.

  I fumbled in my pocket. Aha! My flashlight. I grabbed his hand with one of mine and beat on it with the flashlight until his fingers opened and the gun fell out.

  I snagged the gun and stood up, holding it in my right hand and the flashlight in my left. I began backing away, trying to decide if I should run for it. Probably better to find a way to keep him in the chair, since in my current condition I’d have trouble outrunning an elderly snail.

  “Meg? Are you all right?”

  Help was on the way. Deputy Sammy. I could hear his footsteps running up the front walk.

  I pointed the gun at Blanco.

  “That’s stupid,” he said, still a little breathless. “I emptied it while you were attacking me.”

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  I pulled the trigger.

  He flinched as the gun clicked uselessly.

  “Ah, well,” I said.

  Just then the front door burst open, and Sammy strode in, holding his gun at the ready.

  “Stand back, Meg,” he said. “I’ve got this covered.”

  I dropped the now-useless weapon and put a well-stocked coatrack between me and the comfy chair Blanco was still trying to get out of.

  “Are you Dr. Enrique Blanco?” Sammy asked.

  “Yes,” Blanco wheezed. “How dare you point that gun at me?”

  “Are you the owner of a dark blue Escalade?” Sammy asked, and he rattled off a license number and a VIN number.

  Blanco blinked in surprise. Clearly this wasn’t what he was expecting to hear.

  “Yes,” he said.

  It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear either.

  “Arrest him, Sammy,” I said. “He’s the one who killed Dr. Wright, and he tried to kidnap me.”

  “And ran over my puppy with his horrible SUV,” Sammy said. “Horace is out there taking forensic samples. You’ll do time for this, you jerk!”

  I heard voices and footsteps coming from the kitchen.

  “Meg! Are you all right?” Michael.

  “Ms. Langslow?” The chief.

  “I’m fine,” I called. “And Sammy has your murderer.”

  Chapter 29

  Michael and the chief burst into the hallway in a dead heat. The chief skidded to a stop to draw his weapon and back Sammy up. Michael hurried to my side. Behind the chief, Art, Abe, The Face, Dad, and an assorted crowd of students were jostling in the hallway, trying to see.

  “Are you okay?” Michael asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “We need to—”

  “She hit me with a piece of furniture,” Blanco said.

  “That’s because he was attempting to kidnap me,” I said.

  “I can’t believe the SUV that hit Hawkeye was parked right outside all day,” Sammy said. “If only I’d had a chance to patrol the grounds earlier.”

  “Sammy!” Horace burst through the front door. “He’s got suitcases in his car! He was about to flee the jurisdiction.”

  “You might want to search the suitcases for wads of cash, or bearer bonds, or whatever absconding embezzlers like to pack these days,” I said.

  “No, he’s probably just taking clothes.” Josh pushed through the crowd, carrying a laptop under one arm. “I just figured out a little while ago that he sent a whole bunch of wire transfers this morning to his off shore banking accounts. The college would have been fifty million dollars poorer if he’d gotten away with it.”

  “Fifty million dollars!” The Face yelped.

  “Would have been?” the chief echoed.

  “I fixed it,” Josh said, punching the air with his fingers as if imitating their rapid flight over the keys of his computer. “The money’s all back in his U.S. accounts now. Easier to reclaim.”

  “No wonder he wasn’t paying the damned bills.” Randall Shiffley’s voice came from the crowd behind the chief.

  “His real name’s Henry White,” I said. “Dr. Wright found out he was pretending to be Hispanic and she was blackmailing him into helping her persecute drama students. He killed her.”

  “You’ll never prove it!” Blanco said.

  “We’ll see about that,” the chief said. “Now, Ms. Langslow, if you could tell me just what—”

  “Later,” I shouted as another cramp hit me. “Call Dr. Waldron. Take me to the hospital!”

  “Breathe,” Michael ordered, and he began doing the hee-hee-hee-hoo breathing.

  It wasn’t just him. I looked up to see not only Michael, but also Art, Abe, and Rose Noire, all hovered over me, going hee-hee-hee-hoo. Dad was checking my pulse. The chief was looking anxiously from me to the coaching squad, as if not sure whether to hee-hoo or not.

  “Enough already,” I said. “Save it for the next contraction. I need to talk to him.”

  I pointed to The Face, who started, making his normally handsome features look just a little like those of an anxious sheep. Everyone else turned to stare at him, visibly puzzled.

  “Now!” I said. “And give us some privacy,” I added. “Everybody out but Michael, Art, and Abe!”

  “And me,” the chief said.

  “I’m staying,” Dad said.

/>   “Whatever,” I said. “But I need air. Get the rest of these people out of here.”

  “Everybody out!” the chief said. “Right now!”

  People streamed out of the hall in every direction.

  “Aren’t you going to read me my rights?” Blanco asked.

  “You hush up a moment,” the chief said. “Your time will come. This could be important.”

  The Face shuffled cautiously nearer. Just as he reached my side, another contraction hit. I hee-hee-hee-HOO’d though it and when I turned my attention back to The Face, he was wide-eyed with terror.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “I’ll make this quick. When the chief and his men finish sorting through Dr. Blanco’s and Dr. Wright’s offices, I think they’ll find that in addition to Blanco’s fiscal misdeeds, the two of them have been up to a great many things that you don’t approve of.” At least I hoped Blanco had been pulling the wool over his boss’s eyes, not carrying out his policies. If The Face was in on it, Caerphilly was in more trouble than I wanted to imagine.

  “Oh, yes, definitely!” The Face said. He was almost babbling. “I can’t tell you how dismayed I am. He seemed quite reliable, of course. Unfortunately that led to his being given a great deal of independence. I’m afraid most of his recent actions and decisions will have to be very carefully reviewed by the appropriate administrative entities. There may need to be changes.”

  “Yes,” I said. “For example, you may want to rethink his attempt to cancel the performance of a play by one of Spain’s most distinguished living dramatists.” Michael coughed slightly at that, but I pressed on. “Think of the international incident that would occur if the play isn’t performed. And if the press found out that it was canceled at the behest of a cold-blooded murderer . . .”

  “Oh, I’m sure there’s no problem with the play going on,” The Face said. “It’s a little risqué, of course, but then so is Shakespeare at times. I’ve been quite enjoying the rehearsal. The play can definitely proceed. Is that all?”

  “Not quite,” I said. “Did you know that my grandfather has been trying to give the college a building?” I asked.

  “A building?” The Face liked the sound of that. He assumed the unctuous look he usually reserved for large donors. “What building?”

  “A new state-of-the art theater,” I said. “Unfortunately, it looks as if Dr. Blanco was trying to get his hands on the money Grandfather was planning to donate and abscond with it.”

  The Face frowned—a rare expression, and one that could only have been evoked by the idea of someone extracting money from the college coffers rather than adding to them.

  “Fortunately, the chief has foiled his plot,” I said. “And the donation can go forward. Of course, it comes with a few strings.”

  The Face sighed. He was probably all too familiar with the kind of strings donors thought up.

  “He’s taken a dislike to the English department,” I said. “Doesn’t want to give them a building. Can’t blame him, given all the revelations we’ve had about Dr. Wright’s dirty tricks. But if there were an independent drama department to take charge of it . . .”

  “Is that possible?” The Face asked.

  I glanced at Art and Abe.

  “I think you’ll find we’ve already worked out a feasible structure for the change,” Abe said. He took The Face by one elbow. Art closed in on the other side, ready to steer him away and close the deal. Abe gave me a thumbs-up sign behind The Face’s back.

  “Good work,” Michael said.

  “Once the department’s independent, I think you should talk Kathy Borgstrom into reapplying for the Ph.D. program,” I said.

  “That’s a great idea,” he said. “But right now we need to head for the hospital.”

  “One more thing,” I said. “Where’s Grandfather?”

  “Right here!” He stumped in from the living room. “I overheard you talking to that bureaucrat. You think I’ll get my building?”

  “Odds are good,” I said. “Meanwhile, I’d really like to come home to a house empty of students.”

  “I hear you,” he said. “I’d like to move back to the Caerphilly Inn, but fat chance of that, either. No offense, but your guest room doesn’t quite match a five-star hotel. Still, it’ll have to do till they fix the heating plant.”

  “Randall!”

  Randall Shiffley loped into the room.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Looks like we’ve solved the mystery of why that jerk wasn’t paying me. Maybe I won’t go broke after all.”

  “If someone were willing to front you the money to buy that part for the heating plant, how fast could you get the damned thing working?” I asked.

  Randall and my grandfather looked at each other.

  “I’m not sure we could have it done by the time you get home,” Randall said. “They kick new mothers out of the hospital awfully soon these days. But I’ll do my damnedest.”

  “How much money do you need?” my grandfather said.

  “Go talk about it somewhere else,” Michael said as he helped me to my feet. “We have a rendezvous with an obstetrician.”

  “Meg, can I have the gun now?” Horace asked.

  “Okay, Dr. Blanco,” the chief said. “You’re under arrest. Sammy, read him his rights.”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Sammy began.

  “I’ll give my statement later,” I said as Michael opened the door.

  “Hey,” Randall called. “You still haven’t told us what you’re having. Boys, girls, or a mixed set?”

  “Wait and see,” Michael and I said in unison.