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

up with all their stuff, expecting to move into your room. And no one much argues when it comes from admin services because you never get a straight answer—they blameit on the system. Even when they’re talking to the people who design and run the system; they don’t care, because if you push them too hard, they can make the same bad stuff happen to you.”
    “And since Blanco’s from admin services, he must be to blame?”
    “Well, that plus it all started happening a few months after he came. I figured he and Dr. Wright . . . you know.”
    “You could be right,” I said. Not about the romantic relationship—I’d seen the two of them together and hadn’t noticed the slightest spark of chemistry between them. If they were romantically involved, Michael should have recruited both of them to teach acting classes. The besotted Danny clearly had romance on the brain.
    But as allies in university politics—yes, that made a lot of sense. It explained how Dr. Wright could get away with her abuse of drama students. Any of them who tried to protest would fall victim to the dirty-tricks campaign.
    And why was Blanco helping Dr. Wright? If he shared her irrational hatred of the drama curriculum, the persecution would probably continue. But it was looking increasingly likely that his actions were just part of his campaign to ingratiate himself with as many powerful people as possible. He probably played golf with The Face, tennis with the dean of the business school, and bridge with the chair of the math department. And in between singing madrigals with the chair of the history department and hymns with the dean of the religious studies program, he helpedDr. Wright persecute drama students. If that was the case, his opposition to Ramon’s play and degree would probably evaporate overnight. Or at a minimum, he’d scramble to stay neutral on all theater issues until the dust settled and he knew how Dr. Wright’s eventual replacement felt about the subject.
    Which gave us—Abe, Art, and Michael, that is—a priceless opportunity to convince Blanco that it was in his self-interest to support the concept of an independent drama department.
    Of course, how could we do that without stooping to his level?
    “Anyway, I have this,” Danny said, bringing me back to the present. A small sheaf of papers. “I can work on it some more when I get a chance. That kind of depends on whether they put me in jail or not.”
    If that was a plea for help, at least it was subtle enough that I could ignore it.
    “May I see that?” the chief said, stepping forward and holding out his hand for the papers.
    “Sure,” Danny said. “I made two copies, ’cause I figured you’d want one. It would be great if someone would look into what they did. Maybe clean up some people’s lives.”
    The chief took the papers and did a rapid but thorough comparison between the two sets. Apparently both contained the same things and neither had any secret messages for me. He handed me one copy and tucked the other under his arm.
    “Thanks,” I said to the chief. “And to you, too,” I added, to Danny.
    Danny mumbled something that might have been “You’re welcome,” and slouched out. I could see the tall deputy escorting him down the hall.
    The chief stood scribbling in his notebook.
    “You said you were arresting Kathy Borgstrom, too,” I said. “What about her?”
    He sighed and closed his eyes. I waited him out.

Chapter 26
     
    “The DA wants me to hold Ms. Borgstrom as a material witness in Mr. Oh’s case,” he said finally.
    “Not murder?” I asked.
    “He’s probably going to want me to arrest her for the murder once the tox results come back. This way we can make sure she doesn’t disappear before then.”
    “If you think she’s a flight risk, you must think she did it.”
    “Your daddy would quote Sherlock Holmes at you,” he said with a faint smile. “And tell you it was a capital mistake to theorize before you have data.”
    “But you have some data,” I said.
    “Yes, and what I have doesn’t look good for your friend,” he said. “We found some belongings of hers in your library, near the desk.”
    “She’s been out here before,” I said. “She must have seen two or three rehearsals this week alone.”
    “And did you know she was once a graduate drama student?” he asked. “Gave up in the middle of her doctoral program, about ten years ago.”
    “Here at Caerphilly?”
    He nodded.
    I hadn’t