Formula for Murder by JUDITH MEHL

frightened instantly, but his joking about the hallowed corridor set her at ease.
    “How are you? I just heard about Maria recently. I thought she’d been on a leave of absence. Off to one of her islands during more research. I’m so sorry. Is she doing better now?”
    His body twitched and he looked away evasively. When he turned back his eyes had become dark and forbidding. “She’s OK,” he mumbled.
    “What’s the prognosis?”
    “We’re not sure.”
    He shifted his hands in and out of his pockets. Shuffled his feet a little. He seemed inclined to stay, despite his unease with the topic, which puzzled Kat. She glanced up at the nearest painting, the one of the founding father near the end of the corridor. Was the chill she felt coming off the ancient paintings encased in the dark gold-leafed frames? Or was it coming from Carlos’s suddenly malicious expression?
    She switched topics. “I hear you were awarded a terrific grant from the Newburg Foundation. Great job!”
    Carlos rallied some and his expression cleared. His reluctance to answer disappeared. His response was almost congenial. “Yes, that was a coup of sorts. The foundation cut its grant money almost in half this year but I received the amount requested.
    “Anything in particular clinch it for us?”
    “Actually I think it was the way we plan so many interactive courses,” he explained. “The curriculum committee made a conscious effort to blend math and science, and even sciences and arts. The foundation people liked that.”
    Two faculty members, heads together over a book as they walked, rounded the corner and out the door.
    Before Kat could excuse herself, Carlos made an oblique reference to Charlie’s murder and Kat’s continual questioning around campus. “You should be more careful with your interrogations. The killer may take offense. He may think you know who he is. You don’t do you?”
    Kat’s eyes veered to the left looking down the hall, searching for any signs of faculty or students. Carlos was frightening her but she didn’t know why. No one was around. She looked back at him.
    “No, Carlos. I don’t know who it is.”
    “Well, asking all those questions could be dangerous!”
    Carlos turned and left abruptly.
    Kat swallowed her insincere farewell and walked slowly, a chill following her down the hall to Dr. Kornich’s office. She turned to see Carlos standing squarely at the end of the corridor, hands again in his pockets, staring after her. His gloomy look had reappeared.
     
    The lone woman hurried down the deserted corridor of McAfee Hall. Before heading outdoors she halted momentarily to wrap the paisley scarf around her head and throat, partially covering her wavy blond hair. It was a feeble attempt to ward off the chill brought on by the misty evening. She was grateful for the warmth of the gray wool coat she’d donned that morning despite the sunshine.
    It had been an exhausting day. Her part in organizing the American Red Cross blood drive on campus drained her more than the twenty-minute pipeline depleting her blood reserves. As an organizer she felt it essential to contribute blood herself. The rows and rows of folding donor tables had been full most of the day. The huge room full of people generated only a low hush, like a hospital emergency room, and the blood flowed, drop after drop, into one bag after another throughout the day. Students and faculty had turned out in force, more than making her efforts worthwhile.
    Eager to head home for the night, she lowered her head to peer into her pocketbook and fumbled around searching for her keys as she raced down the stairs. Her heels echoed hollowly on the concrete as she rounded the corner of the building, working her way toward the parking lot.
    The thought of helping all those people in need of blood buoyed her spirits, but her body was weak. Each year the process was time-consuming and the day hectic, but she would never quit. Each year she also met new