The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

the way to chapel.
    Those were the days when the faculty ruled the school. I thought of a stickie Fran had on the edge of her computer: “When it gets to be your turn, the rules change.
    I would have bet that students back then didn’t question the choice of textbook, whereas on a routine basis I heard, “Why did you pick this book, Dr. Knowles? There aren’t enough graphics,” or “The quizzes are too close together. We need more time to study.” Neither would early twentieth century students have dared to negotiate grades.
    It would have been a paradise for the dean. I wondered how I’d have fit in.
    I took a seat near the back of the auditorium, not caring to be chatty with any of my colleagues today. They’d situated themselves mostly by department, in groups of two and three, which was about the only way you could interact in rows of seats that were bolted together straight across.
    I saw Hal and Lucy in front of me to my right. Lucy looked despondent. It couldn’t have been easy for her to learn that her brand new boss was murdered in the middle of the day while she was partying. Lucy had pulled back her shiny black hair today and held it with a pale blue scrunchie to match her spaghetti-strap dress. The effect was to make her look even younger than the late twenties I guessed she was.
    We all waved, but solemnly.
    It was nearly ten o’clock, almost time for President Aldridge to convene the meeting. I had no good story for the dean, post-assembly, and no idea where the boxes were.
    Fran Emerson, in flowing, pale green, gauzy fabric, slipped into the seat next to me.
    “They should excuse department chairs from attending these meetings,” she said.
    “Really, all mathematicians.”
    “I’m sure Aldridge is going to announce a memorial service for Keith. Do you know when the real funeral is?”
    “Me? No. Probably he’ll be sent to his family in Chicago.” I’d forgotten again how I was the one in the know as far as the deceased was concerned. “Oh, by the way, did you try to get me on the phone a couple of times on Saturday afternoon?”
    Frown lines, a pause, then “Let’s see. Saturday? No, it was soccer day. Why?”
    “Just wondering.”
    “How do they do that?”
    “Do what?”
    “Send dead bodies across the country.”
    Another misconception: the girlfriend of an emergency worker was in the know when it came to transporting the dead.
    “I have no idea.”
    Whiiiiiiiiiiine. Whiiiiiiiiiiine. Whiiiiiiiiiiine.
    The microphone whined its way through feedback, getting our attention more than a bell would have.
    President Aldridge, a fiftysomething woman with a physique like Fran’s, tall and imposing, stepped to the microphone at the center of the stage, between the American flag and the flag of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. She wore a dark suit with a loose jacket, and managed to make it look classy rather than stodgy.
    Behind her the college vice presidents and deans sat in a row. I couldn’t see Dean Underwood’s expression from this distance, but her posture was the stiffest on the stage. Heavy blue drapes hung behind them all.
    The assembly began.
    “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I’m sure you know why I asked you to gather here this morning.” A pregnant pause. “Henley College has lost one of its most distinguished professors. We are all the more shocked at his violent death.”
    There was no mention of Apep , Keith’s nickname, after the god of darkness, the destroyer of dreams.
    The room was hushed, the audience attentive, although any one of us could have given the sincere if uninspired speech—a wish that the perpetrator be brought to justice and heartfelt condolences to Dr. Appleton’s family. The president treaded lightly on the security issue, warning us all to be extra cautious on campus though certainly nothing like this had ever happened in Henley College’s history and we had no reason to think it would ever happen again. She was working on a brand new security program for the campus, most of which would be in place by the time school reopened for fall classes. She closed with a reminder that we should continue to cooperate fully with the Henley police department.
    That last I assumed was directed at me.
    As for the new security program, that was probably directed at parents, alums, and the press as much as anyone. I hadn’t thought what a PR nightmare this must be for the administration.
    As for our teacherly duties, we were to work