Stork Raving Mad by Donna Andrews

suitable for a participant in a murder investigation.
    Michael and his fellow professors reluctantly shuffled back down the hallway. I took the smaller passageway that led to Michael’s office, which the previous owner had called the music room. It occupied the same place at one end of the library that the sunroom did at the other. I was punching the combination into the lock when we heard a disturbance outside in the main hall.
    “What in tarnation?” the chief muttered, as he strode back toward the sounds. I followed more slowly.

Chapter 11
    Outside, about halfway down the long hallway, Dr. Blanco and my grandfather were standing nose to nose, glaring at each other. Well, more like nose to chin, since my grandfather was half a head taller.
    “I insist on talking to the chief,” Dr. Blanco was saying.
    “And I’m telling you, he wants everyone to wait in the kitchen,” Grandfather was saying.
    “What’s going on here?” the chief said.
    Blanco made a quick feint to the left and then broke right, getting past my grandfather and heading for the library door. The chief planted himself in front of the door, feet apart, hands on hips, with a stern look on his face.
    Dr. Blanco pulled up short a few feet from the chief. He was panting heavily and before speaking he paused for a moment to catch his breath, pull a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wipe the sweat from his forehead.
    “I suppose we should be relieved that at least he’s okay,” I murmured.
    “Am I to understand that something has happened to Dr. Wright?” Dr. Blanco asked.
    “Coshed on the head with a bookend,” my grandfather said,before the chief could answer. The chief glared at him. Dr. Blanco’s mouth fell open in shock.
    “It wasn’t a bookend,” I said, momentarily disconcerted by the thought of having a matched set of Tawarets. “There’s only the one of her. Just a statue.”
    “Coshed on the head?” Dr. Blanco repeated. “Are you sure? By whom?”
    “We’re not sure of anything yet,” the chief said. “And by whom is exactly what we’re trying to figure out. Dr. Blake, if you could go back to the kitchen to keep an eye on things?”
    “Roger,” my grandfather said, and strode back down the hall.
    “Oh my,” Dr. Blanco said, as if he’d finally taken the news in. His shoulders slumped and he visibly wilted.
    “I’m sorry you had to learn the news in this way,” the chief said. “But I’m afraid Dr. Wright is dead. We are investigating the possibility of foul play.”
    “I knew he was upset,” Blanco said, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “We knew he wouldn’t take the news well but I would never have expected him to do anything like this.”
    “Who’s that?” the chief asked.
    “Ramon Soto.”
    “Ramon Soto?” The chief glanced at me. “Is this one of the people your grandfather’s got corralled in the kitchen for me?”
    “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