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

offices, which means all the rest of the faculty have to be farmed out to even more cramped offices in other, less convenient buildings, thus making everyone’s rank in the hierarchy blatantly apparent. I could think of a few more reasons, but those should be enough.”
    “Hmph,” my grandfather said. “Maybe that blasted Blanco is trying to lead me on, then.”
    “Lead you on how?”
    “Well, according to him, the biology department would love to have a new building but there’s some kind of complicated financial arrangement he wants me to go through to get it done, and it just doesn’t make sense. Instead of just handing them a check, he wants me to put the money in some kind of trust fund that will disburse the money to the college in a different tax year. Sounds overly complicated. Makes me wonder if he’s up to something.”
    I pondered this for a few moments.
    “Have you tried talking to an accountant about it?” I said. “Or a tax attorney? The college has a whole lot of foundations and funds and things designed to make sure that they and their donors get maximum advantage from every dollar donated.”
    “My foundation’s got a small army of accountants and tax lawyers,” he said. “And they don’t like it either. The way they read the documents, I’d have no guarantee of how the money is used—they could use it for general operating expenses or to fund some project that’s an environmental menace. Hell, until we get some kind of proof that this Caerphilly Philanthropic Foundation really is affiliated with the college, we’d have no proof Blanco wasn’t using it to fund a trip to the Caymans. So if you asked Blanco, he’d probably say it’s my people holding up the transaction. Which is nonsense. No one’s going to give the college that kind of money without appropriate due diligence. He’s the roadblock.”
    “It might not be his fault,” I said. “Did you read the editorial The Fa—the college president wrote in the last alumni bulletin?”
    “I’m not a Caephilly alumnus, dammit!”
    “Sorry,” I said. “Anyway, it was all about what a pain it was when people gave money with so many restrictions that the college could in theory have millions in endowments and not have enough cash to pay the light bill. The Face is big on non-restricted donations. Maybe Blanco’s just trying to please his boss.”
    “Hmph!” my grandfather said. “Then he should grow a backbone.”
    With that he strode off. But toward the kitchen, not out the front door, so apparently venting to me had cooled his temper some.
    “Come on out to the barn,” he called over his shoulder. “Your mother’s doing a buffet out there before the dress rehearsal.”
    A buffet in our barn? Trust Mother to treat a murder investigation as yet another social occasion. She probably knew exactly what wines went with forensics and interrogation. Or was the rehearsal the reason for the festivity?
    If Grandfather had waited a few seconds I could have asked him to send someone back to the house with a plate for me.
    I could always wait until someone came back to the house.
    My stomach rumbled.
    I rummaged through the racks until I found the loosely cut coat I’d been wearing this winter, and then through the baskets until I found a hat, scarf, and gloves that at least lookedlike mine. I caught sight of myself in the hall mirror. Did I look more like an arctic explorer or an overcoat-clad walrus?
    I deferred the question and headed for the back door.
    But I couldn’t help thinking about Grandfather’s diatribe. Was Blanco really trying to keep him from giving the college the money for a building? I doubted it. More likely, Blanco was trying to get Grandfather’s money for the college with as few strings as possible attached.
    Unless he was scrambling to cover up something worse. Like the college really not having enough money to pay its bills. Or its payroll. What if the whole problem with Randall Shiffley’s check was not Blanco’s inconsiderateness or inefficiency but his desperate attempts to juggle until he could find enough money to cover the check? If that was the case—
    I didn’t want to think about it right now. I shoved the door open and stepped onto the back stoop.

Chapter 19
     
    Outside it was getting dark already. The sun hadn’t quite set, but it was hidden behind thick clouds. The air was cold, but with no wind at least it was a bearable cold.
    I picked my way carefully down the back steps and