The Boreal Owl Murder by Jan Dunlap Page B

someone’s actions.”
    But Luce’s mention of jealousy as a motive had reminded me of something else. After my counseling sessions yesterday with Kim and Lindsay, I had tried to think of who might be jealous of Rahr, and why. Late last night, a possible answer to that question occurred to me.
    Jealousy isn’t always about relationships.
    In the academic world of research, the world in which Rahr moved, jealousy could be about reputation.
    Or the lack thereof.
    As a graduate student, I had observed both subtle and outright competition between professors. Research grants were hot commodities. Those who got them, got ahead in publications and positions. Those who didn’t, didn’t. In some cases, losing out on a grant was a bump in the road of academia. Professors got over it, put their egos aside and continued to work together. In other cases, it led to major career highway reconstruction, causing some professors to leave departments because they couldn’t abide their colleagues’ crowing.
    Grants weren’t the end of the competition, either. Say a junior professor did land some funding. Even though he or she might be the team leader, a senior professor with more credentials might be assigned as overseer of the project. Then, when results were finally published, guess what? The researcher who initiated the work had to share the credit—and the glory—with the senior staffer, who may have done little more than sign off on the text.
    Finally, to add insult to injury, tenure—job security—was typically awarded to faculty members with the most publications and research credits. Promising young teachers who were already spread thin between meeting the demands of their students and the requirements of research had a tough time making the cut. As a result, you get the “publish or perish” mentality that seems to plague the world of academia.
    So, I had to wonder. Could Rahr have had a professional opponent who had taken the “perish” part of the formula to a new high, or rather, low? Was there a researcher somewhere who was so desperate for an opportunity that he decided to create one by removing Rahr?
    “That,” Luce said, “sends chills up my spine.”
    “Mine, too,” I agreed.
    Luce checked her watch and grabbed her coat. “Got to go. Soup base waits for no woman.” She leaned toward me and kissed the corner of my mouth.
    Another chill chased up my spine.
    This chill I liked.
    A lot.
    I gathered up my papers and walked Luce out of the media center.
    “Looks like I’m on my own, then, for this weekend for chasing Boreals. While you’re sweating under the studio lights, I’ll be slogging through snow.” I held Luce’s coat for her while she shrugged into it. “The wages of birdwatching, I guess.”
    Luce patted my cheek. “Poor baby. Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you later.” She trailed her fingers slowly over my lips, her blue eyes wide and laughing.
    “Promises, promises,” I said. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered, “Get out of here before I drag you into the old choir room and have my way with you.”
    Luce laughed. “The choir room?”
    I nodded. “It’s the secret love-nest of choice this year. I surprised two couples there last week. They all had passes to see their counselors but never showed up, so I went exploring. Something to do with the risers in the room, I understand. Want to find out?”
    Luce punched me in the shoulder and left.
    I walked back to my office, filed the credit reviews and checked my daily calendar. I had two hours before I was expected in downtown Minneapolis for an MOU board meeting.
    “Mr. White.”
    It was Mr. Lenzen, the assistant principal.
    “I see you have deer hooves on your desk. I assume they are the ones you confiscated from Jason Bennett?”
    As always, Mr. Lenzen was impeccably dressed in his trademark three-piece suit, trousers creased and shoes shined. He stood just outside my door, as if he couldn’t bring himself to