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

occasionally by a gentle tapping noise. I took a deep breath, stepped inside, and looked around.
    It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Not yet, anyway. The walls had been painted a soft bluish-lavender, and Randall, on an eight-foot ladder, was applying a foot-deep wallpaper border with a twining leaf pattern along the top. One of Randall’s cousins was assembling the second of two matching cribs. The first stood already assembled, its white painted wood gleaming, its mattress already covered with a lavender sheet. The lavender walls matched the sheets so exactly that I knew Mother had givensomeone down at the hardware store fits perfecting the paint color match.
    “If you’re looking for your mother, she just left,” Randall said, from atop his ladder. “Brought us some plates from the buffet.”
    “That’s good,” I said. “I was hoping to sneak a peek without her around.”
    “Not too bad, is it?”
    “No, it’s lovely,” I said. “Though unnecessary. Even if either of the kids inherits Mother’s decorating gene, it’ll be a few years before they’re old enough to appreciate elegant nursery design.”
    “And by the time they are, they’ll have knocked the dickens out of it and it won’t be quite so elegant,” Randall said with a chuckle. “Hope you don’t mind that we took the job.”
    “You needed the money,” I said. “That’s the one thing that keeps me from putting my foot down and telling her to send all this expensive stuff back. We don’t need it, but Mother can afford it, and if it’s helping keep local businesses going, I can live with it.”
    Randall nodded. He still looked troubled. He glanced over at his cousin.
    “Hobart,” he said. “You mind if I talk to Mrs. Waterston in private for a moment?”
    “Sure thing, Randall. I’ll go get some more pie.” Hobart nodded to me and shuffled out the door.
    Randall followed him to the door and shut it. I sighed and looked around for someplace to sit, or at least something Icould lean against. Randall seemed to guess my intent and fetched a stool with soft green upholstery.
    “Here,” he said. “We haven’t assembled the matching rocker yet, but this is better than nothing.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “What’s up, Randall?”
    “Got something I want to run by you,” he said.
    “Okay,” I said.
    “It’s about the library.”
    “I told you before, we’re just not ready to do the library,” I said. “Actually, we’re ready, but our bank account isn’t. When we can swing it, we’ll definitely give you first crack at bidding on it.”
    “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I know you’re not ready to do the whole library yet, but I thought maybe I’d work up a plan for how you could do it in stages. Get a plan in place, and maybe I could start keeping my eyes out for good deals on the supplies. And yeah, I was hoping if I could come up with a good price, maybe you’d be willing to start the first stage. I could use the work. Work from a client who actually pays, that is.”
    “I can understand that,” I said. “We probably won’t be ready to go forward until we find out about Michael’s tenure.”
    “Which isn’t all that long, right?” Randall said. “That’s what I was figuring. So anyway, while your mother was showing her plans to Michael earlier today, I slipped down to the library with my camera and my tape measure. Figured I’d take a few measurements, a few photos. Get what I needed to do some sketches and estimates. Only when I went into the library, she was there.”
    “She? You mean Dr. Wright?”
    “The dead lady, whatever her name was.”
    “But she wasn’t dead then, was she?”
    “How should I know?” he said, with an exaggerated shrug. “She had her head down on the desk. I walked in, looked around, saw her, and said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but do you mind if I take a few measurements of the room?’ ”
    “And did she answer?”
    Randall shook his head.
    “I figured she must be fast asleep, so I said, ‘Sorry to disturb you’—real soft like—and headed back for the door. I was almost out of the room when that other jerk showed up. Blanco.”
    I noticed that with Blanco gone, he didn’t pretend to mispronounce the name.
    “Dr. Blanco was in the library?” I asked. I winced at the eager sound of my own voice. Even though I’d mellowed toward him, I hadn’t grown so fond that I would object to having him turn out to be a suspect.
    “No, he was banging on one of