Stork Raving Mad: A Meg Langslow Mystery (A Meg Lanslow Mystery)

from the faint odor of her annoying perfume.
    I stepped inside and spotted her sitting at one of the work tables at the far end, near the doors to the sunroom, with her head down on the tabletop.
    “Dr. Wright? Are you okay?”
    She didn’t move. As I picked my way across the room toward her, I fished a tissue out of my pocket and held it to my nose to keep her perfume from setting off sneezes. Thus armed, I leaned over and put my hand on her shoulder, intending to shake her gently awake if she didn’t respond to my touch. But when I touched her, she slumped sideways out of the chair and fell to the floor. Her eyes were wide and staring, and there was a bloody gash on the left side of her head.
    “Oh, no.” I backed away. I wanted to sit down or maybe run away. It was probably just the sudden jump in my heart rate, but both P and non-P began wriggling frantically.
    “Quiet down, kids,” I said, patting my stomach. “Mommy’s busy right now.” In what was probably a bad omen for the future, they paid no attention and went on thrashing as I pulled my cell phone out and punched the key that would speed dial Dad’s cell phone.
    “Dad, where are you?” I said. “I need your help.”
    “Ah!” Dad exclaimed. “Are we having a blessed event?”
    “No, we seem to be having a murder,” I said. “Someone coshed one of the nasty visiting professors over the head.”
    “With what?” Dad asked.
    “How should I know?” I asked. “Does it really matter? Justcome quick. She looks pretty dead to me, but what do I know? Maybe she’s still alive.”
    Even as I said it, I didn’t believe it. And I realized that maybe calling Dad wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Maybe I should have called 911.
    “I’m already on my way,” Dad said. “Just pulling out of Clarence’s parking lot.”
    Good. Clarence Rutledge’s veterinary office was only five miles away.
    “It’s a pity you didn’t call a few minutes ago,” he said. “I’ve been sitting next to the chief in Clarence’s waiting room. You could call their office and have them put him on.”
    “That’s nice,” I said. “That means the chief can get here soon, too. But he’d probably rather not advertise the murder to everyone in the waiting room. I’m going to hang up now and call 911.”
    “About that weapon . . .” Dad said.
    “I have to call the police,” I said.
    “Just don’t let anyone in until we figure out what it is.”
    Good point. I glanced around. I didn’t see a lot of potential blunt instruments in the room. Then I took another step and my ankle connected with something.
    “Oh, no,” I said.
    “What’s wrong?” Dad asked.
    “I think I tripped over the murder weapon,” I said.
    “What is it?”
    “I’ll show you when you get here,” I said.
    I hung up and looked down at where the statue of Tawaretlay near my feet. The strands of Dr. Wright’s brown hair stuck in the statue’s overlarge hippo teeth did not improve her appearance.
    “Chief Burke isn’t going to like you,” I told her.
    I sighed and called 911.

Chapter 10
     
    “Meg? Is something wrong? Do you need an ambulance?” Debbie Anne, the dispatcher, was normally unflappable, but she sounded distinctly rattled now.
    “Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “At least not with me.”
    “I can have the ambulance out there in—”
    “No ambulance,” I said. “I’m not in labor. I just called to report a murder.”
    “Are you serious?” Debbie Anne asked.
    “I’m standing here by a dead body!” I snapped. “Just tell Chief Burke!”
    “Hang on for a second,” she said. The line went silent, and I mentally kicked myself for shouting at Debbie Anne. I’d have to remember to apologize to her later. Then I heard the chief’s voice.
    “Yes, Ms. Langslow?”
    “I’m standing here by a dead body,” I said, this time more calmly. “I think she’s been murdered.”
    “Where’s here and who’s she?”
    “Our library, and she’s Dr. Wright of the college English department. I’m sorry, I can’t remember her first name right now.”
    “Never mind that,” he said. “What happened?”
    I gave him the CliffsNotes version of Dr. Wright’s arrival and her ill-fated stay in our house. As I spoke, I found myself staring at her hands to avoid those unnerving open eyes.
    “Are you sure she’s dead?” the chief asked.
    “Pretty sure,” I said. “But Dad’s on his way. I called him first, in case she was actually alive. I’ll let him check her