Stork Raving Mad (11 page)

“Probably,” I said.

The chief pulled out his cell phone, peered over his glasses at it, and punched a few numbers.

“Sammy? Make sure there’s a Ramon Soto there. Uh-huh.
No, just make sure he’s there and stays put like the rest of them.”

The chief hung up and turned back to Dr. Blanco.

“I’d like to hear more about why you suspect this Mr. Soto,” he said. “But we’re still processing the crime scene so for right now, I’d like you to wait in the kitchen.”

“With the rest of the suspects,” Dr. Blanco said. “You suspect me of harming Dr. Wright? She was a colleague!”

Colleague? That was fairly tepid. He could at least have said friend.

Blanco must have realized how weak it sounded.

“A trusted colleague,” he added. “We worked very closely together on a number of difficult projects.”

Better.

“In fact,” he added, “I may have been the closest friend she had at the college.”

I got the curious impression that he was mentally totting up his own social circle, to reassure himself that he wasn’t as isolated as his colleague.

“You have my condolences,” the chief said. “I was about to ask if you could wait in the kitchen with the rest of the good people who have had the bad luck to be here when Dr. Wright met her unfortunate end.”

“I see,” Dr. Blanco said. He sounded somewhat mollified. “I will, as instructed, proceed to the kitchen to await my turn to be interviewed.”

He turned and started down the hall.

Just then two figures appeared at the far end. Randall Shiffley, accompanied by Deputy Sammy.

“Chief,” Randall called. “We’ve got a delivery truck outside—some of the stuff Mrs. Langslow ordered for the nursery.”

“Oh, bother,” I muttered. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall.

“If we don’t let ’em deliver it, I’m not sure when we can get the stuff back. Is it okay if we—you! What are you doing here, you miserable rat?”

I opened my eyes to see Randall Shiffley and Dr. Blanco looking at each other from opposite ends of the hall. Randall was glaring fiercely, and Blanco was hunching again.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding when I try to reach you,” Randall went on. He began striding down the hall toward us.

“I’ve been completely available by cell phone at all times,” Blanco said. “I’m not hiding. But I choose not to respond to abusive, harassing phone calls.”

“I’ve been calling to demand the money that’s due to me,” Randall said. “Is that what you call abusive?”

“That check was sent weeks ago—” Blanco began.

“And never got to me, so just cancel the damned thing—” Randall shouted back. Apparently it was his turn to stand chin to nose with Blanco. I glanced at the chief. He was simply listening quietly. I decided to follow suit.

“And the college is not paying you another dime until you deal with the heating plant!” Blanco snapped back. He was probably aiming to appear stern and fierce, but only looked as if he had indigestion.

“Deal with it? Deal with it? I’ve been trying, you miserable cheat!”

I winced as the two kept shouting at each other. No, Randall was shouting. Blanco was merely speaking a little louder than usual. And he was leaning slightly away from Randall, shoulders hunched defensively, looking more like a turtle than ever.

But if Randall thought he could beat a bureaucrat solely with decibels, he was naïve. Even if he won the current battle by shouting, Blanco could retire to his office, issue a few memoranda, and win the war. I knew that Caerphilly College was a major source of revenue for the Shiffley Construction Company, as it was for all the contractors in the county. Did Randall really mean to antagonize someone who probably had the ear of the college president, and thus a lot of influence on which vendors were chosen?

Was he calm enough even to think that way?

And why was the chief letting this go on? Didn’t he have better things to do? Like investigate the murder?

“Quiet!” I shouted. They both stopped talking immediately and looked at me. Randall looked calm and expectant. Blanco, the ingrate, looked as if he resented the interruption.

“This is of no concern of yours,” he said, and pursed his lips again.

“It damn well is if it’s about to make you come to blows in our house,” I said. “Not to mention the fact that you’re upsetting my unborn kids.”

“I think it’s very much Meg’s business,” Randall said. “Since,
like most of the good people in this town, she’s dealing with the consequences. Blanco’s been going around blaming us for the problems with the college heating plant.”

He pronounced it Blank-o, with a flat, American “A.” Why did I suspect it was deliberate?

“I hardly think it’s unreasonable to blame you, since your company has failed to complete the repairs for weeks now,” Blanco said.

“We’d be happy to complete it anytime you like,” Randall said. “But either the college has to order the part, or you have to pay some of our back invoices so we can afford to order it.”

“Parts and materials are to be supplied by the vendor,” Blanco said. His tone was mechanical, as if parroting an often-quoted sentence from a contract.

“And the customer’s supposed to pay the vendors on time,” Randall said. “Some of our invoices are six months past due.”

“I explained the problem we were having in accounts payable,” Blanco began.

“Stupid problem to have,” Randall said. “If a woman’s going out on maternity leave, you can usually spot that problem far enough in advance to arrange for someone else to take over.”

“The unfortunate logjam has been resolved,” Blanco said. “And your check has been mailed.”

“The check’s in the mail,” Randall said. “Been hearing that for six weeks. Meanwhile, I’m getting hounded by my suppliers for what I owe them on parts and materials we used on your jobs eight or nine months ago. I’ve got payroll, I’ve got overhead—I can’t afford to keep carrying this.”

“You have to—” Blanco began.

“Hold it,” the chief said. “Is this why there’s no heat at the college?”

Blanco pursed his lips. Randall nodded.

“Blanko’s right about one thing,” Randall said. “The main boiler’s been in pieces on the floor for weeks now. What he doesn’t ever mention is that the reason it’s been in pieces is that we can’t afford to fix it. College owes us nigh onto half a million dollars in back invoices.”

“Which you’ll have as soon as you find the check we sent you,” Blanco repeated.

Randall shot him an angry glance and continued.

“I can’t fix the boiler without a piece that costs nearly a hundred grand, and thanks to Blanko there, I’m so far in the hole I can’t afford to buy a hammer at the hardware store. If I don’t get what’s due me soon, I’m going to go under.”

“The check has been issued,” Blanco repeated.

“And it hasn’t been received, so cancel it and issue another one,” Randall said. “People do it all the time. You don’t know how, the bank can walk you through it. And if you give me a call, I’ll pick it up myself and save you the postage.”

“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Blanco said. “There’s a lot of paperwork involved in canceling a check, and a fee, and if you’d only—”

“Damn the fee!” Randall shouted.

“I agree,” I said. “You mean the heat has been off for a month now because you’re too cheap to pay a stop-check fee? How much is it? I’d be happy to donate that much to the cause.”

“It’s not that simple,” Blanco said. “But I’ll look into it.”

He scuttled down the hall. Sammy followed, presumably to see that he went to the kitchen as instructed.

“Not that simple?” I repeated. “Is the man an idiot?”

“Just incompetent,” Randall said.

“Interesting,” the chief said.

“I’ve been hearing that sniveling liar make excuses for six months,” Randall said. “You know what I’m starting to think? Maybe the college is having a cash-flow problem. Maybe they’re not paying me because they can’t.”

My stomach churned at the thought. Cash-flow problems at the college? Right now, with me unable to work at my blacksmithing because of my pregnancy, Michael’s paycheck from the college was our only reliable source of income. I had a brief, melodramatic mental image of myself like a character out of Dickens, wearing rags, struggling through snowdrifts, carrying a swaddled infant in each arm, begging for alms.

Hormones again. I took a deep breath, banished the image, and focused on Randall’s problem.

“You need a lawyer,” I said. I reached into my pocket for my notebook, pulled it out, and tore out a blank page. Then I flipped to the section in the back where I kept names and addresses and wrote down the names of two attorneys.

“Here,” I said. “Cousins of mine. Call one of them, say I sent you, and they should do a good job for you.”

“Thanks,” Randall said. He was about to put the sheet of paper in his pocket, then seemed to change his mind and
pulled out his cell phone. “You recommend one over another?”

“Victor’s nicer,” I said. “Hermione’s a shark.”

“I want Hermione then,” he said. “Thanks.”

He strolled away, already dialing.

I winced slightly. I wouldn’t have minded siccing my cousin Hermione on someone I didn’t like. The late Dr. Wright, for example. But Blanco? He might be spineless and ineffectual, but I suddenly began to feel sorry for him.

“That was interesting,” the chief said.

“Do you think it has anything to do with the murder?” I asked. “Oh, never mind. I should know better than to ask that.”

“Could Dr. Wright have had something to do with Randall’s problem?” he asked.

“Seems unlikely,” I said. “Blanco’s in administrative services—they deal with facilities. But Wright’s a dean in the English department. I can’t imagine what she could have to do with the boiler.”

“We’ll look into it,” the chief said. “Meanwhile, Sammy?”

“Yes, sir,” the deputy replied. He was still lurking cautiously at the other end of the hall.

“Guard the door to my crime scene,” the chief said. “When Horace Hollingsworth gets here, let him in. No one else.”

“Yes, sir,” Sammy said. He began striding toward the library door. His gangly frame and awkward, jerky way of walking made you overlook the fact that he could move quite rapidly when he wanted to.

“Chief?” Randall again, sticking his head around the corner at the far end of the hall. “About that delivery . . .”

“Can we have them put it in the barn for now?” I suggested. “Whatever it is.”

The chief nodded. Randall disappeared.

“Now, Ms. Langslow, if you don’t mind.”

I led the chief into Michael’s office.

“I’m taking the desk chair for now,” I said, as I plopped down in Michael’s huge leather chair. “You can have it when I leave, but right now, I’m sitting for three.”

“That’s fine,” he said.

“And you might not want to sit there,” I said, as he pulled up one of Michael’s four guest chairs.

“Why not?” he asked, glancing down at the chair as if expecting to find something dangerous in the seat.

“They may look comfy—in fact, for the first five minutes, they aren’t too bad. But they’re next to impossible to get out of,” I said. “I’ve seen able-bodied people take two or three tries, and for anyone with weak knees or low upper-body strength, forget it.”

“I’ll save them for any witnesses I want to be sure of holding onto,” the chief said. He pulled up a nearby book box and sat on that instead. “Now tell me what the devil’s been happening around here.”

I took a deep breath and dived in.

I’d gotten as far as telling the chief about the confrontation between Ramon Soto and the prunes when someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” the chief snapped, in a tone of voice clearly intended to make casual curiosity seekers flee.

Sammy stuck his head in.

“We appear to have found the murder weapon,” he said.

He held up the pregnant hippopotamus statue in one gloved hand.

“What the hell is that?” the chief asked.

“She’s the Egyptian goddess of pregnancy and childbirth,” I said.

The chief studied the statue with a look of vague distaste on his face.

“This thing belongs to you?” he asked.

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “It was a present.”

“Who the dickens would give a pregnant woman a thing like that?”

“Rose Noire. It’s supposed to protect me and the kids from demons. And if you want to know how I felt about it—well, there’s a reason I exiled it to the library.”

The chief shook his head.

“There seems to be hair on the hippo,” Sammy said. “Human hair, I mean. And if you ask me, the dent in the victim’s skull matches the hippo’s snout.”

“We’ll have Horace look at the hair when he gets here,” the chief said.

“He’s already here,” Sammy said. “He wouldn’t let me bring this to show you till he took about a million photos of it lying there on the floor.”

“Good,” the chief said. “Give that nasty thing back to him. I’m sure he and the medical examiner will want to do some tests to confirm the match to the wound. But from the look of things, I expect you’re right.”

“Does this mean you’ll have to confiscate the statue?” I asked. I tried not to sound too cheerful.

“I’m sorry,” the chief said. “I’m afraid so.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I’d be absolutely thrilled if you ended up having to keep it indefinitely.”

“That shouldn’t be necessary,” the chief said. He turned back to Sammy. “Where did you find this?”

“Lying there right by the body,” Sammy said. “Like whoever did it just hit her and dropped the hippo right away.”

“Show me,” the chief said. “If you don’t mind,” he added to me.

“I’m not going anywhere until Starsky and Hutch decide to show up,” I said. The chief looked blank for a moment, so I patted my stomach.

“You’re not having labor pains, are you?” he asked, looking anxious. “If you think you’re going to need to go to the hospital soon, we could finish our interview now.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “If the shock of finding a dead body didn’t send me into labor, I think I can manage to hold off a few minutes while Sammy shows you where he found the murder weapon. But there’s just one thing,” I said to his back.