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

like,” I said to Michael.
    “Want to join me? It doesn’t look that strenuous.” He held out a hand to help me up.
    “A month ago I would have,” I said. “But now I think I’d better stay in the audience. You go ahead.”
    Michael seemed to get the hang of the sardana almost immediately and threw himself into it with the same enthusiasm as Señor Mendoza. Rose Noire’s sardana matched their enthusiasm, but you could tell she was merely improvising on the footwork. Mrs. Fenniman was dancing with her ancient black umbrella clutched in one hand, to the peril of anyone nearby. I had no idea whether Mother’s rendition was particularly accurate, but it was certainly elegant.
    I found myself wishing Señor Mendoza would switch circles for a little while. The second circle looked a lot less authentic than the first, and whatever the ragtag third circle was doing certainly wasn’t the sardana. It looked more like a crew of inebriated morris dancers trying to perform a group tango. But maybe I was being too picky. Maybe the important thing with the sardana was not accuracy but the emotion and camaraderie of the dancers.
    Perhaps a good thing I’d stayed out, then. I suddenly realized that I felt rather out of step with all these happy, energetic people. Granted none of them had any particular fondness forDr. Wright, but did they think that made it all right for someone to murder her? Maybe they felt no guilt or sadness, but didn’t any of them feel anything? Not even a little shiver of mingled relief and melancholy at realizing that the Grim Reaper had struck so close by? Or the tiniest inkling of fear that we didn’t yet know who’d been helping the Reaper out?
    But everyone certainly seemed to be having a great time, with the possible exception of Ramon, who was watching the dance with a baleful glare. Somehow I didn’t think much of Señor Mendoza’s chance of adding a sardana to the play. Or was Ramon glaring because Bronwyn had deserted him to dance with Mendoza to her left and the earnest and slightly clumsy Danny Oh on her right? Of course, Danny might not have been so clumsy if he could have taken his eyes off Bronwyn occasionally, to see where his feet were going.
    And there was one other person not joining in the general gaiety: Dr. Blanco. He was sitting on one of the folding chairs, as far from the makeshift stage as possible. His elbows were on his knees, his shoulders were slumped, and he held his cell phone cradled in both hands. Now and then he glanced at it forlornly, as if waiting for a phone call that never came. Or perhaps he was using it as a clock and feeling dismayed at how slowly time was crawling by. Even though his overcoat was tightly buttoned, he looked as if he felt cold.
    I strolled over to him. When he spotted me, he sat up with a look of mingled relief and anxiety. I probably looked much like that at my first school dance—terrified of being a wallflowerand even more terrified that someone would invite me to dance and find out how awful I was at it.
    “How are you doing?” I asked.
    “Fine.” He blinked in surprise. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
    “Well, you seem to be the only one here who really knew the late Dr. Wright very well.”
    “The only one who’s not relieved at her death, you mean.”
    His bluntness was startling and almost refreshing. I couldn’t immediately think what to say next. Luckily a small knot of dancers across the room burst into laughter, drawing our eyes and saving me from having to say anything. When I glanced back at Dr. Blanco, he was frowning, but then the frown dissolved back into a look of gloom.
    “Not their fault,” he said, nodding at the dancers. “I gather there is very strong opposition to some of the standards Dr. Wright was trying to enforce.”
    “Did you agree with her?” I asked.
    He drew back slightly. Did I only imagine the brief gleam of panic in his eye before the bureaucrat in him rallied?
    “I certainly supported her position as she explained it to me,” he said. “Of course, since then I have come to appreciate that there were other points of view that had not been made available to me.”
    “Well weaseled,” I wanted to say. But I didn’t think it would help the drama curriculum’s cause.
    “Will you continue to advocate her position, then?” I asked aloud.
    “No,” he said. “The whole thing’s really an internal English department issue and should be left to the faculty of that department, don’t