The Kingdom of Dog by Neil S. Plakcy

list of the guests who were here last night?” Tony asked. “I need to cross-reference it against the names we collected at the door.”
    â€œAbout that list,” I said. “You won’t make too much of a fuss with those people, will you? I realize you have to find out who killed Joe, but those donors and friends are all very important to us.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I just have some routine questions. We save the spotlight and the water boarding for later in the investigation.”
    I thought he smiled briefly.
    As we walked into my office, the phone rang again. “Busy today,” he said.
    â€œYou get a crazy little thing called murder and everything changes,” I quoted back to him. He sat down across from my desk and waited for me to finish my conversation. Rochester sprawled next to him, and Tony even scratched behind the dog’s ears.
    When I hung up, he pulled out his yellow legal pad again and said, “I’d like you to tell me exactly what you did and said last night.” He took notes as I recreated the evening, in minute detail.
    â€œSo the first people you saw coming in from outside were these kids from the singing group?”
    â€œThe Rising Sons. All except Ike Arumba. He’s the leader. He didn’t come back in for a few minutes after the rest of them.”
    â€œIke Arumba? That his real name? Or some kind of Desi Arnaz Babalu alias?”
    â€œFar as I know it’s his real name.”
    He made another note. “How long was he outside after the rest of them had come in?”
    I frowned. “Can’t say for sure. I saw a reporter I’d been looking for, and we had a conversation. Maybe ten minutes?”
    â€œAnd how long after he came in did Norah Leedom follow him?”
    â€œThat was a while,” I said. “The Rising Sons sang a couple of numbers. At least fifteen or twenty minutes.”
    We sat silently for a minute while he finished his notes. He stood and I saw the holster slung low around his hips, the billy club and the handcuffs that hung from one side.
    â€œI’ll be in touch.” He picked up his hat and slung his coat over his shoulder. He jangled as he walked out the door, and I had a crazy urge to salute him, which I am pleased to say I held back.
    He must have gone down the hall to speak to Sally after he left me, because around one o’clock she came into my office beaming. “I’m officially not a suspect,” she said. “Thank god. I spoke to that police detective, and it looks like I can prove that I was inside during the whole party.”
    â€œCongratulations. What do you say we grab some sandwiches and celebrate?”
    Sally agreed, so I got my coat and met her in the lobby. As we walked outside, I said, “So have you planned any major changes in admissions yet?”
    â€œWell, for starters, I sent an acceptance letter to Marty Moran. I don’t have the balls Joe had to argue with President Babson and Mike MacCormac. After that, I’m thinking of a few things.” Sally stuffed her hands in her pockets and leaned forward as we walked down the hill to Main Street in Leighville. “You know Joe never let me change anything around here. Well, I’ve been talking to Babson for a while now. He was hoping Joe would retire in a year or two and I’d get his position then. Joe getting killed just sort of speeds up the agenda.”
    We stopped at the Sunrise Deli, where we ordered sandwiches at the counter. As we ate, we talked about life at Eastern, trading the kind of gossip and griping that co-workers always do. Who was mad at who, whose office was in trouble. Oh, and who might have murdered Joe. “I just can’t imagine somebody killing him,” Sally said. She shivered.
    â€œI know what you mean. But Tony’s a good guy. I trust him to figure things out.”
    I picked up an extra couple of slices of roast beef for Rochester. When I got into