The Square Root of Murder Read Free

Henley townsfolk who weren’t part of the college community. With a full load of classes, plus office hours, faculty meetings, and research, sometimes it was hard to get off campus until late in the evening. Bruce Granville, my dark-eyed boyfriend, kept even stranger hours. A former Air Force pilot, now flying a medevac helicopter, he worked seven days on, from nine to nine, and then had seven days off. We’d settled into a routine that excluded nearly everyone except my students, a few colleagues, and Ariana.
    “Your world is too small,” Ariana often told me. On those occasions, invariably, she’d form a circle—a planet, I figured—with her arms. “You need to get out more. And even if you don’t fall in love with everyone in the beading class, you’ll end up with something useful,” she’d added, appealing to my multitasking, goal-oriented personality. She’d held up, in turn, a beaded basket, a bead-fringed bookmark, and a ballpoint pen covered with multicolored seed beads. I thought it was a stretch to call them all useful .
    After a couple of classes I found I liked the craft and the crafters more than I’d expected. All the other stresses in my life disappeared when our conversation focused on the best gauge wire to use for each kind of bead. Or when I had to concentrate on picking up tiny beads with a needle and thread and keeping them from rolling off the other end. I was a novice at the hobby, however, and doubted I’d ever be as good at it as I was at making and solving puzzles.
    Ariana wasn’t finished with me this afternoon. As the six other women, all more advanced beaders than I was, turned in my direction, Ariana asked, “Were you engaged in some high-level mathematics, Professor? Or were you tied up in the backseat of a helicopter with a Colin Farrell lookalike?”
    I felt my face turn red, in spite of the comfortably air-conditioned shop. I was consoled by the fact that Bruce wasn’t around to hear the innuendo, though he was unlikely to blush the way I had. He’d probably be flattered at being compared to one of his favorite actors. Or was Colin only on my favorites list?
    The beader in the seat next to me, an older, graceful Indian woman, patted my hand and said, “She’s just trying to make you feel at home, dear.”
    I smiled at her and my other classmates and gave Ariana a look that said we’d settle this score later.

    Today’s workshop was not going well for me, in spite of my dipping often into one of the many small bowls of candy on the worktable. Ariana could never go too long without a sweet treat, and chocolate always had a prime spot wherever she held forth.
    I let out an aggravated grunt, annoyed at how fumblefingered I was, trying to attach a short beaded string to a jump ring to make a key chain. When my cell phone vibrated on the table in front of me, I was glad for the break.
    Until I saw the caller ID number. Courtney, the young administrative assistant in the academic dean’s office.
    I was pretty sure I wasn’t being notified of a raise in salary or a reduced class schedule, which would allow me more time for research. I was nearly positive that Dean Underwood had another complaint to lodge against me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was ready to blame me for encouraging the sprites dancing in the water fountain.
    I clicked my phone on and said “Hello” to Courtney, at the same time walking outside into the back alley, where a blast of heat assaulted my face.
    “She wants to see you,” Courtney said, sounding apologetic.
    It wasn’t Courtney’s fault the dean spent her days thinking of ways to annoy the Henley faculty. Especially me.
    I’d forgotten to take my sunglasses from my purse when I exited the shop. I squinted against the intense sunlight and entertained ugly thoughts about Dean Underwood. First Keith Appleton, and now the dean was upsetting my day. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I should try to earn a living making beaded key chains.