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

Blanco,” she went on. With that, she followed Ramon out, though at least she closed the front door more quietly.
    I stared at the closed door, frowning. Bronwyn had been studying Dr. Blanco’s CV. And so far, Danny, who was supposed to be my researcher, hadn’t brought me a single bit ofinformation. Granted, he probably hadn’t had much time at his computer, given the murder investigation.
    Still, he’d found time to talk to Bronwyn. He’d told her about seeing Ramon put something in Dr. Wright’s tea. And he’d promised not to tell anyone.
    I needed to talk to Danny. And possibly do a little online research of my own.
    Time to visit the basement again.

Chapter 15
     
    I had to pass through the kitchen on my way to the basement. I stopped for a few moments to look around. Only a lingering hint of the paella smell remained, and that seemed to be coming from the remarkable mountain of dirty dishes in and around the sink. The room was empty, and peering out the back windows, I could see why. A few people were milling about outside the barn, and bright light spilled out of the door as someone slid it open to go inside. I could see Señor Mendoza and my grandfather inside, laughing in the center of a group of people. I saw a couple of students turn to the door, no doubt to complain about the arctic air coming into the warmer interior of the barn. The people outside hurried to enter and slid the door closed again.
    I realized I felt ever so slightly lonely. When the students had first arrived, I’d felt the occasional twinge of resentment, feeling that they were spoiling the last few weeks Michael and I would ever have together as just a couple. But I’d gotten used to having them around day and night. When they were gone, it would probably feel downright peaceful and cozy with only Michael, the twins, and Rob and Rose Noire underfoot.
    Of course that sounded rather like a half-remembered jokeof Rob’s, about a man hitting himself over the head with a two by four because it felt so good when he stopped. Still, to my surprise, I realized I’d miss the students.
    I peered down into the basement. The TV was on again, and I could hear melodramatic music.
    Danny might not be at his computer, but even if he wasn’t, I could use his computer—or one of the other computers down there—to do a little Googling.
    I began to descend, slowly and carefully.
    “The neck’s broken,” came a voice from the television. “The brain is useless. We must find another brain.”
    Was this some kind of omen? Warning me to watch my step so I didn’t break my neck?
    More likely, if it was an omen, it was warning me that I’d made the wrong choice of researchers. I needed another brain—one that wasn’t obsessed with the beautiful but potentially untrustworthy Bronwyn.
    I breathed a sigh of relief when I stepped down safely onto the basement floor. I began looking around, trying to remember which computer Danny had been sitting at. It wasn’t easy. All the makeshift tables were liberally strewn with desk kibble, those random bits of flotsam and jetsam that seem to accumulate within five minutes after you sit a human being down at a desk. Instead of the kids’ pictures, award plaques, and vacation souvenirs you’d find in a typical office, the students seemed to have accumulated rather a lot of action figures, signs with incomprehensible slogans, and pictures of buxom female anime figures. The desks probably seemed incredibly personal to theirowners, redolent with the flavor of their unique talents and interests, but they all blended into one to me. And I realized with a pang that I couldn’t even tell if their displays were cool or lame; I was the wrong gender and generation.
    “Just let me find Danny’s desk,” I muttered.
    As I was still pondering, I heard voices above.
    “Bron? We need to talk.”
    Danny Oh.
    “Not so loud,” Bronwyn said. “Someone could come in.”
    “There’s nobody here,” he said. “But we could go in the basement.”
    “Good idea,” she said. “More private.”
    She was using her flirtatious voice, the one that subtly suggested she had more in mind than a private conversation. Just force of habit, or was the lovely Bron two-timing Ramon?
    I quickly ducked into the laundry room and hid myself behind the door, turning the light off but leaving the door open so I could overhear.
    Steps sounded on the stairway. I glanced down and realized that while I might be well hidden, Holmes and