The Case of the Red-Handed Rhesus (A Rue and Lakeland Mystery) by Jessie Bishop Powell

Lance and I had long ago agreed we were field researchers, not teachers to be trapped into semester schedules. I didn’t think he would like it when he found out I was applying.

C HAPTER 4
    Dear Nora:
    Why am I the only person who can do anything around here? My husband and kids will hardly lift a finger. Help!
    Worked to the Bone
    Dear Worked:
    Hire an expensive housekeeper and present the bill to your family. Then take yourself for a spa weekend. Repeat as necessary.
    Nora
    Half an hour later, I jerked at a knock on my open door.
    “Sorry.” Bryan, Travis’s partner, shifted from foot to foot in the hall.
    “No,
I’m
sorry. I’m jittery and distracted. Here, come in. I didn’t expect to see you so quickly.” I shifted some books encroaching on the couch. Because it had been here longer than the current doorway, that particular upholstered nightmare would only be coming out in pieces. It had automatic priority over my need for space. Natasha’s complete unwillingness to sleep on it was testament to its age and condition. If I got Art’s job, my first official act would be to evict both the sofa and my current officemate, even if the former had to be removed one axed-up piece at a time and the latter bribed with gourmet coffee.
    Bryan didn’t answer my implied question. Instead, he began reshelving titles. “Lance can’t keep those things in order, can he?”
    “I guess I’ve already made room for you one too many times. You know where all of them go.” Lance’s and my shared office at the old house worked because it was at least four times this size. Even at our old house, the room had been twice as big as this cramped hole in the university wall. But we were part-timers, and it was something of a coup to score Art’s old office, which was considered large by departmental standards. Technically, we were not entitled to the bigger spaces afforded our fulltime colleagues, but nobody else wanted to clean up Art’s mess or deal with his files. The tradeoff was Lance and me having to share
everything
here, even the desk, like a couple of teaching assistants. Still, there were certain tasks best accomplished at school, and completing syllabi and writing out assignments seemed to be among these, since paper was at a premium at the center and the department offered free printing in exchange for timely submission.
    I hated to come in after Lance had been here. He was untidy at best, downright sloppy at worst, and the desk brimmed with his stacks of papers and inexplicable notes. I always swore half the reason he and Art had gotten along so well was their mutual disregard for anything resembling organization. I’m hardly a neat freak myself, but I can keep a desk cleared. I can put away my books when I’m through using them.
    Bryan finished his work as my personal librarian. “Saw you on the news.” He didn’t quite manage to keep the curiosity out of his voice. “Pretty freaky stuff.” He sat.
    “And now the kid’s social worker wants to place the kid with
us
, but you may
not
print that.”
And why won’t that idea leave me alone?
Bryan was one of the two editors of the
Muscogen Free Press
, and the only reporter I would even consider talking to about this morning’s adventure. He had done wonders to keep the sanctuary’s name held in high regard, at least in the county.
    “With you and Lance?” His question held personal, not professional, interest.
    I resumed my work at the keyboard. “What is she
thinking
?”
And what am I thinking?
    “A couple of people she knew nothing about would be perfect for the kid because you happened to find him, naturally.”
    “She knows about us. Knows too
much
about us. She’s the one who wouldn’t leave us alone when we were taking classes for Natasha.”
    “The
Orangutan Lady
?”
    Bryan and Travis had listened to me rant about Merry for most of the summer. They were interested in our progress through social services because they were considering an adoption