The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

time of Keith’s murder. Some time between noon and four o’clock when Woody found him behind his desk. How clever of the police to ask Woody that question. They were so thorough, maybe I was wasting my time.
    On the other hand, here I was, standing between Keith’s full file drawers, a dolly full of empty boxes, and a mandate from the dean to an anonymous person who might as well be me. I needed to get to it.
    “I’m sure Dr. Appleton appreciated everything you did, Woody”—I pointed to the boxes—“and so do I.” A gentle dismissal.
    “Thanks, Dr. Knowles. Holler when you’re ready to take them to your car. Probably best if you drive them over to the delivery door of Admin ‘stead of pushing this dolly all across the campus.”
    “That’s just what I’ll do,” I said, not mentioning the little detour I’d planned to my garage. I could bring the boxes back any time over the weekend, once I’d gone through everything. It’s not like the dean needed anything inside them, or was hanging around waiting for the delivery.
    Woody brushed dust off his bony hands. “I don’t know who’s going to want to use this office now.”
    I hadn’t thought of that. And it occurred to me that Woody could be of even more use to me. I patted him on the hand. “I’ll bet you remember every detail of the scene and will remember it for a long time.” I cringed. I was such a hypocrite.
    “You betcha I remember, Dr. Knowles. Everything tossed around like that”—Woody waved his arms around to indicate chaos—“all the papers, and the lamp, and the food and all.”
    “Food?” Did Woody say food? “Did you say food?” The word seemed to have a life of its own.
    “Uh-huh, there was this pretty little paper plate with cake from the party downstairs, and a couple of cookies, and a can of cola”—he pointed to the chair tucked under the small desk—“right there.”
    I replayed my conversation with Virgil. No cake, no food, no drink he’d said. He’d flipped through his notes right there in my den and come up empty on edibles and potables. Rachel, on the other hand had claimed she left the cake outside the door. Now Woody was saying he saw the cake, but on a chair in the office. My head reeled.
    “And you’re sure, Woody—’cause I know that scene must be so clear in your head.”
    “You betcha.” Woody leaned over his barrel, his personal shield against the ill-fated office, and probably as close as he would venture for a while. “I got rid of it, you know, while I was waiting for the police to show up,” he whispered.
    I felt my heart beating up higher in my chest than it should have been. “You got rid of the food? Why did you do that, Woody?”
    You destroyed evidence , I wanted to shout. But it was more evidence that worked against Rachel, who’d told the police she never entered the office, and who’d told me she’d—very confusing. So was I glad Woody tossed it, or not?
    Why was this all so complicated? Why wasn’t it like one of those simple yet fascinating puzzles where all you had to do was fill in a grid of letters, given a few clues like P is next to L, which is above Q but below G?
    I looked at Woody. Apparently, although I hadn’t shouted, the old man picked up on my distress. He clutched the rim of his barrel.
    “I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I thought Dr. Appleton would have wanted me to take that food away. First off, he always gave me things like that when anyone brought him something.”
    Another point for Keith, feeding the help.
    “Did you eat the cake, then?” I asked without thinking.
    Woody looked horrified. “’Course not.”
    I chided myself: bad move, Sophie. “Of course you didn’t, Woody. I’m just a little upset, like you. I’m not myself today.”
    “Oh, I know what you mean, Dr. Knowles. See, Dr. Appleton, he never allowed dirty plates or leftover food in his office. He wouldn’t never leave cake or nothing just sitting around on a chair like that. Sometimes I’d see him right after he ate his lunch in there, carrying his bag of trash, and he’d toss it down the chute, and he’d say thanks to me even though he done it hisself. Like he knew I’m the one that takes it away in the end.”
    I could barely grasp this new Keith Appleton, who thanked people and gave them unsolicited presents.
    Woody wiped away the beginning of a tear and went on. “I couldn’t pick up all the stuff that was broke, but I figured I could at least take away