The Square Root of Murder (Professor Sophie Knowles)

last few days.
    “We’ll call you if we need anything else from you,” Archie said, all business now, nearly pushing me over the threshold, back into the waiting area.
    I guessed he wanted to join the conversation—I hoped not another interrogation—with Rachel.
    Walking past the bench I’d waited on and past the busy telephone desk, it dawned on me. Archie didn’t have a prescribed, alarm-triggered need for meds or coffee. He’d come out here to tell his cronies to pick up Rachel Wheeler. How dumb was I? I felt betrayed, for no good reason, since deep in my heart I knew Archie was just doing his job. Why else would he want everyone’s names? I was lucky he hadn’t charged me.
    I couldn’t see why Archie couldn’t at least have been honest with me. So what if I hadn’t been completely forthcoming with him right away. Sworn officers of the law should be held to a higher standard. It was low and tacky to fake a timer alarm on your watch.
    I made a note to see if I could pull that same trick with my watch, should an occasion warrant it.
    On the whole, I was back to not liking Archie.

CHAPTER 19
     
    I drove toward home, defeated. I felt I should have been smarter, quicker, more persistent in my role in Henley’s first murder investigation in at least a decade, and three floors above my own campus office to boot. Ask me to construct a crossword puzzle or a brainteaser and I was on the job. I managed to meet a rigid schedule of producing original puzzles and mindbenders for several publications. But when it came to something really important, like helping a friend out of deep trouble, I was a failure, plain and simple.
    I wondered where Rachel could have been that they found her so quickly. On the threshold of coming in to the station herself, I hoped. And the other girls? I’d thought all along they weren’t taking their actions seriously enough, but did I really want them grilled by Archie? I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d been well within my rights to have kept all the names to myself. Something to check, if I thought I’d ever again need to know.
    The image of Rachel, slump-shouldered, walking in front of Virgil came back to me. The fact that I’d brought it on with my oh-so-spectacular timeline made everything worse. I called myself every name I could think of from ratfink to snitch to stoolie to the good old-fashioned tattletale, and variations thereof.
    I wished I were one of those special television characters who could sneak into a building, plant a bug, and listen in on all conversations from an unmarked, well-equipped van. Or better still, that I’d been able to find a clue, a giant clue, that would have led us to the true killer.
    Rachel’s freedom was out of my hands. I hoped her aunt’s lawyer would do better by her than I had.
    Letting go of the idea that I could help left me free for what I should be doing. I had a mountain of work to do at home, what with reading student papers from last week, scheduling my summer students, and creating next month’s puzzles for my editor, but Bruce hadn’t called and I knew he would as soon as he woke up.
    I selected number one in my CD player, Tim McGraw, and hummed along. Just be still . . .
    I needed another comfort destination, other than my home. As luck would have it, Ariana’s shop was only a few blocks away. I made a quick right and headed for A Hill of Beads.
    I found Ariana starting to close up. I thought she was quitting early until I realized it was after five o’clock. The day flew by when you screwed it up.
    My friend took one look at me and said, “Sweetie, what happened?”
    Either Ariana had the special powers I’d always suspected, or I looked much worse than I felt. Visiting the heavenly-smelling shop was the best choice I could have made. I entered the world of beads and charms and faceted stones, none of which had done me wrong, and vice versa. I helped Ariana put away stray beads that customers looked at but didn’t return to their proper trays. I breathed in the calming aroma of incense as I opened cartons of new products and ran off flyers for upcoming demonstrations and classes, including one on handwriting analysis. I wondered if she’d planned to teach it herself or bring in an expert. I supposed there were such people.
    After I sprayed all the counters and wiped them down, I dragged the vacuum cleaner from behind the heavy beaded curtain that hid the kitchen and workshop area.
    “You don’t have to do