The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

face as she uttered a raspy “ ‘Scuse me, please,” but I doubted she was smiling.
    Thanks to support from Judith, my faculty friends indulged me in telling me how they’d spent the day on Friday. Of course not for an alibi, I told them, just to see if something useful surfaced.
    Nothing did.
    “Too bad Lucy left,” Fran said.
    “She’s new. She’s probably whacked out by all this,” Judith said.
    I snapped to. Or she’s the girlfriend, I thought. Bonnie, Annie, Lucy might all sound the same to elderly ears. And Lucy’s last name was Bronson. Both Bs, two syllables. Close enough.
    Lucy could be the name of Keith’s girlfriend.
    Or his killer.

CHAPTER 17
     
    I passed on joining the Ben Franklin faculty for lunch downtown. I felt I’d gotten all the information I could out of the group—that is, none—and I’d put off my meeting with the dean long enough. If I wanted to have lunch with anyone other than Bruce, it was Lucy Bronson. I made a note to make that happen.
    Like a good employee, I headed for the boss’s office. After one stop and one phone call, that is.
    The stop: I’d brought with me the manila envelope with the journal article I’d finished on Friday night before things fell apart. I stepped into the business office, two doors down from the assembly hall, said hello to Joey behind the desk, and slipped the envelope containing my twenty-first peer-reviewed research paper into the outgoing mail slot. Now I could say truthfully that I had more than twenty publications on my resume, should it come up. I wouldn’t mention the hundreds of puzzles and brainteasers.
    The phone call: I settled on a bench along the path between Franklin Hall and Dickinson Library. The heat from the concrete quickly penetrated my thin cotton dress and I shifted around to put more fabric between me and the cooking seat. I pulled out my cell and punched in Elteen’s number in Chicago, where it was mid-morning. I wasn’t proud of what I was about to do, but extraordinary circumstances, etc., as Winston Churchill, or someone of that ilk, once said.
    “Well, hello again,” Elteen said when she learned who was calling.
    “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “But I wonder if you could help with a little task.”
    “Anything I can do, surely,” she said.
    “It’s about the young woman Keith was seeing. Lucy, wasn’t it?”
    “Oh, yes, yes, I couldn’t think of her name, but yes, Lucy Brownson, something like that. What about her?”
    “Aha” nearly slipped from my lips.
    “Would it be all right if I gave her your address in case she wants to send a card to express her sympathy?” I looked up to the searing sun and hoped its rays wouldn’t turn into lightning bolts, set to chastise a sinner.
    “Oh surely. Do you have my address?”
    “I do have it, but I didn’t want to give it out without consulting you.”
    After a few more utterances from Elteen about how very sweet and thoughtful I was, I was nearly in tears and finally hung up the phone and hung my head in shame.
     
     
    “She should be back any minute,” Courtney said as I approached her desk. We both knew who “she” was. Courtney’s long, red hair was pulled back tight off her face, her short skirt dangerously close to the dean’s limit. She had a tall glass of lemon zinger iced tea ready for me. “Just in case,” she said.
    I thanked her and gave her a hug.
    “Oh, one little thing, Courtney. Lucy Bronson had to leave the meeting early and I’d like to get in touch with her. My faculty directory is in my office in Franklin.” I swung my arm in the direction of the faraway building, such a tough journey on a day like this. “Can you give me her numbers?”
    “You know, she’s so new, I don’t think she’s in the directory yet anyway.” I knew that. “But I’m sure I have it here.”
    “Thanks for being the only cooperative person on campus at the moment,” I said.
    Courtney gave me a knowing smile as she handed me a pink stickie. She probably thought I was referring only to her boss.
    I took up my post on the waiting bench. Any more of these summonses and I’d expect a plaque with my name on it nailed to the back. At least this seat wasn’t giving me a third-degree burn. I was itching to talk to Lucy and annoyed that the dean was taking my time.
    I dug in my briefcase for a small metal puzzle with interlocking rings. The idea was to unlock them, freeing them completely from each other.
    In a way I felt sorry for