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

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.
    He turned around and frowned.
    “You might want to tell Horace that where he found it may not be precisely where the killer left it,” I said. “I rememberstumbling over the thing as I was backing away from the body. Sorry,” I added, seeing the slight frown on his face.
    “Not exactly your fault,” he said. “Did you pick it up?”
    “No.” I shook my head vigorously. “I knew better. I left it where it landed. I don’t think it moved much, if that helps.”
    He nodded and disappeared.
    I leaned back, closed my eyes, and hoped he took a good long time examining the scene.
    “Meg, dear.”
    I winced involuntarily, then opened my eyes to see my mother standing in the open doorway of the office.
    “Meg, would you like to see the plans for the nursery?”
    I was opening my mouth to shriek, “Not now, Mother.” But I stifled the urge and counted to ten before saying anything.
    “Maybe later,” I said finally. “Has Michael seen them?”
    “He thinks they’re fine,” she said. “But I would feel better if you saw them before we get started, and we need to do that soon if—”
    “Right now, I’m not sure Chief Burke will even let you do any decorating,” I said. “He might consider the whole house part of the crime scene.”
    “Crime scene?” Mother asked. Her hand flew to her throat in a characteristic gesture of genteel astonishment. I sighed. I’d forgotten that the rest of the household might not have heard about Dr. Wright. Mother, for example, had probably been too busy with her decorating plans to notice.
    “We’ve had a suspicious death,” I said. “Probably no one youknow,” I added, to quell the growing alarm on her face. “A Dr. Wright from the English department.”
    “Oh, dear,” Mother said. “The English department? Is this apt to have any unfortunate effect on, well, circumstances?”
    “You mean on Michael’s tenure prospects?” I’ve never been noted for subtlety. “If anything, this should improve them, since it would be hard to find anyone in the English department who hated him more than Dr. Wright.”
    “I see,” Mother said. I could tell she disapproved of my bluntness at the same time as she appreciated the information. And I hoped she wasn’t about to say anything about a silver lining.
    “Of course, this means Michael is a suspect,” I said. “We all are.”
    “I’m sure that the chief will sort everything out,” Mother said. “Such a nice man. Where is he? I’ll just make sure he’s comfortable with our continuing the work on the nursery.”
    “He’s in the library,” I said. “With the body.”
    She sailed off. I wondered if Mother’s current positive opinion of the chief would survive if he vetoed her plan to redecorate the nursery, or worse, blasted her for interrupting his investigation.
    Not my problem.
    I heard them talking out in the hall for a few minutes. I felt curiously indifferent to the outcome of their conversation. If I’d known this morning that Mother was planning a kamikaze decorating raid, I’d have reacted with angst and anger. But now? I found it hard to care.
    “Sorry to keep you waiting,” the chief said. I opened my eyes to see him seating himself in one of Michael’s guest chairs. Had he forgotten my warning, or did he think I was exaggerating? He’d find out. “Now, let’s—hang on a second.”
    Something beeped, and he reached in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He flipped it open and frowned at the screen.
    “Text message,” he said. “I hate text messages.” He peered over his glasses at the phone, tentatively punched a few keys, and then frowned more deeply and continued staring at his cell phone as if expecting it to turn into an adder and bite him.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “I called Dr. Smoot,” the chief said. “And I left a message for him to call me back ASAP on police business. Does that seem unreasonable?”
    “No,” I