The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

there any other suspects? There should be. So many people had it in for Keith Appleton.
    But who hated him so much they would kill him? No one I could think of.
    Rachel’s thinly veiled plea for help rang in my head. I hadn’t a clue how to assist a murder suspect, but my faith in her innocence was unshaken. For all her whining and complaining about Keith, I couldn’t recall ever seeing her angry. Certainly not angry enough to hurt someone. When she was upset, as she’d been yesterday, she tended to cry or withdraw. Rachel would rather quit than fight.
    I thought I was ready for more sustenance. I headed for the cheese plate, but still couldn’t bring myself to eat. None of the food in my house had been at the party, but what was to say that the person who poisoned Keith hadn’t snuck into my home and injected the contents of my fridge with whatever substance killed him?
    The realization that this fear was irrational didn’t stop me from emptying my food into the sink. I flushed it down the disposal, holding my nose against the odor of shredding apple and cheddar cheese.
    For some reason, they smelled of death.
     
     
    It took a while for me to collect myself enough to take some action. Finally, I picked up the phone. I had one and only one contact in the Henley PD, and it was once removed at that.
    I punched in the speed dial number for Bruce. I usually waited for him to call me when he was on duty, to avoid waking him from a nap or catching him mid-flight to an accident scene. Or in the middle of a serious poker game, as I had a couple of times.
    “I know you’re not calling to tell me you love me,” he said. “Pretty awful what happened, huh?”
    “You’ve already heard about Keith Appleton?”
    “I’m not best friends with a homicide detective for nothing, Soph.”
    Bruce had known Virgil Mitchell, of the small but very effective Henley Police Department, since college. I hoped to capitalize on that friendship for Rachel’s benefit.
    “Why didn’t you call to let me know?” I asked.
    “I was going to, as soon as I finished my second doughnut.”
    I laughed in spite of the gravity of the moment. I pictured Bruce lying on his cot, flight suit on the floor at the ready, in one of the tiny bedrooms in the company trailer. He’d be heedless of how his steel-toed boots were sullying the quilted bedspread I’d given him, purchased at a crafts fair Ariana had dragged me to. “Doughnuts,” I echoed. “You try so hard to be a cliché.”
    “But a well-informed one.”
    I heard the sounds of explosions in the background and hoped it was coming from the television set in the den and not from outside his window. If Bruce had his way, he’d keep the facility’s media cabinet stocked with old movies and cult films, but, alas, most of his colleagues preferred contemporary action flicks.
    “How much do you know about all this, Bruce? Rachel called me, but she wasn’t very forthcoming beyond that she thinks she’s a murder suspect, if you can believe that.”
    I wasn’t happy about the silence that followed. I’d expected an immediate and hearty, “No way.”
    “Bruce? Is there something I should know?”
    “Maybe you should talk to Virge.”
    My heart sank. “Can you set it up?”
    “Matter of fact, he’s on the way.”
    “What a guy. You knew I’d want to talk to him.”
    “Just go easy on him, okay?”
    “Of course.”
    Whatever that meant.
     
     
    While it was very handy to have a personal “in” with a cop, I tried not to abuse the privilege.
    Only one other time had I needed to call on Virgil about a police matter, shortly after he’d left the Boston PD to sign on in Henley. One of my students had been caught with a small stash of drugs, but not a small enough one to escape police notice. When Jessie, who’d been clean for more than a year, told me her former associates had set her up, I believed her. I’d enlisted Virgil’s help and he’d come through for her, investigating personally and having the charges dismissed. Jessie was now a successful businesswoman and hadn’t had a substance abuse problem since.
    Now Virgil would be investigating my assistant and friend for the murder of a colleague. I hoped there would be a similar happy ending—justice for Keith Appleton, and exoneration for Rachel Wheeler.
    When I thought of poor Keith, I wondered what his last moments were like, whether he knew he’d been poisoned and even suspected or knew who his killer was. Or maybe