The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

that’s what he meant. He said everything I’ve done so far is worthless.” Rachel bent over double and blew out her breath, as if she’d just finished running the Boston marathon and couldn’t take another step.
    I reached down and rubbed Rachel’s narrow shoulders, helping set her upright at the same time. I thought how young she seemed sometimes, young enough to be my daughter, if I’d taken that path. On hot days like this she tied her long many-shades-of-blond hair into a ponytail, taking another four or five years off her age.
    “He can’t mean it,” I said. “You’ve been working day and night on those—what are they again?”
    “Proteins,” Rachel said, coming back to life at the mention of her passion. “I’m purifying proteins. It’s just a matter of separating the different types of proteins that exist in a mixture, so—”
    “Right.” I was at my limit of understanding Rachel’s biochemical specialty. In my mind, numbers were already pure, thus eliminating a lot of complicated chemical processes.
    “Sorry,” Rachel said. “I can get carried away.”
    “No, no. Someone has to do it.” I glanced at the hot, clear sky. “God knows, those proteins need purifying.” I got the smile I wanted and pushed ahead to ease Rachel’s mind. “Maybe Dr. Appleton was just in one of his moods,” I suggested.
    “Or maybe I’m not cut out for graduate work, let alone making it through med school.”
    “Of course you are.”
    I held back the diatribe that was on the tip of my tongue. Keith Appleton was the only Henley faculty member who didn’t command my utmost respect. He seemed to thrive on making his students’ lives as difficult as possible, considering it a great achievement when the majority of his class failed his midterm. And he didn’t stop at students. His record of supporting faculty rights was dismal.
    “Also, I did something stupid.”
    “Which was?”
    “I sent him an email right after he made those comments. I should have waited until I cooled down.”
    Always a good idea. “What did you say in the email?”
    “I kind of told him he shouldn’t even be teaching.”
    Never a good idea. “In those words?”
    “Maybe even worse. I can’t remember exactly. After I wrote it, I decided not to send it, but I hit send accidentally. I couldn’t believe it whooshed off and there was nothing I could do.”
    “Let’s hope it doesn’t come across to him as harshly as you meant it.”
    “Would you talk to him?” Rachel asked as we continued on to the parking lot. “You know, professor to professor. Pretend I didn’t tell you anything and try to find out what he really thinks of me and my work.” Rachel stopped again and put her hands to her ring-laden ears, a minimum of six silver baubles on each. “No, wait. I don’t want to hear it.”
    I looped my arm in Rachel’s, glad to see that she’d kept a sense of humor about her situation. “I’ll give it a try, but we’re not exactly best friends.”
    “If Dr. Appleton had any friends at all, you’d be it.”
    “Ouch. I’m not sure I like that distinction.”
    “He always says how you’re the only one who remembers his birthday.”
    “That’s because it’s the same day as Lamarck’s, August 1.”
    “How do you do that? Remember dates? Like for some eighteenth-century biologist?”
    “For Lamarck and Dr. Appleton, I make the association that both of them developed theories that don’t work.”
    “I like that. Dr. Appleton’s theory is that if you torture your students, they’ll learn better,” Rachel said.
    “And Lamarck’s is that if you keep frowning, the lines on your forehead will deepen and your kids will inherit deep frown marks.”
    Rachel gave me a broad smile that smoothed out her forehead. “I get it.”
    “Much better,” I said.
    When we arrived at my car, Rachel turned to me. “If you don’t feel comfortable talking to him, don’t worry. I’ll be okay.” She gave me a reassuring grin. “If I don’t make it to med school, well, doctors don’t make the money they used to, anyway.”
    “And we all know that’s what matters most to you.”
    I gave Rachel a playful nudge, and waved good-bye from the front seat of my smokestone metallic Fusion. Strange name for a color, but today the interior felt like I imagined a smoking stone would. I could barely turn the key in the ignition, very hot to my touch. I cranked the A/C to max.
    I couldn’t let Rachel down, but I didn’t look