The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

complaint?”
    “I think so, yes.”
    “Did she say who’d made the complaint?”
    “No, she didn’t.”
    “Did you have any guesses?”
    “No.” I’d crossed my fingers by now.
    “And you saw Dr. Appleton where?”
    I gritted my teeth. “Coming out of the dean’s office.” “But you didn’t assume he was the one who’d made the complaint about your noisy parties?”
    “They weren’t . . .” I paused and took a breath. “No.”
    “Because?”
    “Well, she’d already sent for me long before he would have been in her office.”
    A victory, but a small, short one.
    “You’re close to your assistant, Ms. Wheeler?” Archie asked, a knowing look in his eyes.
    “It’s not like we go to movies together or anything, but yes, I consider her a friend.”
    “And yesterday, can you tell me what your interaction with Ms. Wheeler was?”
    “I had a class in the morning that she had set up, and then she came at the end to take it down, before the party.”
    Archie checked his notes. “That would be the party for Dr. Bartholomew. And that was an actual party, not a seminar.”
    Smart aleck cop. “Yes.”
    “I’m curious. What’s involved in setting up for a math class? Don’t you usually just use a blackboard?”
    I heard the hint of a jocular air, but no way was I letting down my guard. By now my lips were like chalk, dry enough to make a scratching sound on that blackboard he brought up.
    “I’m in charge of a program to make students more comfortable with everyday math, giving them problemsolving skills especially. It’s a hands-on way of teaching math. We use a lot of manipulatives.”
    “You mean blocks and balls, that kind of thing?”
    I smiled and tried to strike a tone between informative and condescending. “These days we use videos, online graphing calculators, interactive websites, that kind of thing.”
    “It’s not the math I remember.”
    “It’s not your father’s math class,” I said, with immediate regret.
    He laughed. I sighed with relief.
    “Thanks for coming in, Sophie. You can go now.”
    “I can?”
    He nodded and gave me a genuine smile for the first time. “Thanks for your cooperation. Sorry to put you through this, but you know I had to.”
    Not really, but I knew I should count my blessings and split immediately. So, why didn’t I?
    “Do you have any leads in the case?” I asked, astonished that I hadn’t dashed for the safety of my car already. I took one more stab at shifting police attention from Rachel. “I’d be happy to share with you what I’ve observed about Dr. Appleton’s dealings with the students, the other faculty—”
    “We’ll let you know if we need you,” Archie said, back to his serious cop tone.
    I left without another word.
     
     
    I replayed the entire interrogation over in my head a number of times on the way home. It seemed clear to me that Archie and/or Virgil had interviewed Dean Underwood before they got to me. I could think of no other way that Archie would have known to quiz me on promotions and on the summons to her office. I wondered what their approach to the dean had been, antagonistic or deferential. Was she an informant or a suspect? After all, if it weren’t for Keith’s support of the change to a coeducational institution, Dean Underwood might have been able to keep her ladies’ academy fantasy.
    In my mind, everyone was a suspect, except Rachel and me.
    The clock on my dashboard, not the most accurate, read five twenty-five. I’d hoped to have enough time before Ariana arrived with herbs and lotions to get a decent start on Keith’s files. I wasn’t completely satisfied that the police had eliminated me from their list. I counted on something concrete to point to the actual murderer.
    I turned into my driveway, pressing the garage door opener from a few yards away. The door rolled up and I headed in, between my treadmill and my workbench.
    The treadmill was in its place, if forlorn for lack of use this summer.
    The workbench was empty.

CHAPTER 11
     
    It took some time for me to fully accept that my garage had been burglarized and my plan for a big breakthrough had been thwarted.
    My gardening tools were in place, hanging from a pegboard; my fire extinguisher and two wooden ladders, one long, one short, were in their usual spots against a wall. Small items on racks here and there seemed unmoved. Besides the boxes, the only things that appeared to be missing were the shopping bags with clothing and odds