The Kingdom of Dog by Neil S. Plakcy Page B

murder weapon was found,” I said. I wasn’t about to say that my dog found it.
    â€œSuspects?” Babson asked.
    Once again I paused. I wasn’t sure how much of what I had spoken about with Tony I should be passing on to Babson and Mike, even though they were my bosses. What if one of them was Joe’s murderer? “He hasn’t told me.”
    â€œI always go for the ex-wife in situations like this,” Mike said. “Believe me, I know.”
    He grimaced. I knew that Mike’s wife had left him two years before for a coach at a big ten college, and figured that was mostly why he suspected Norah Leedom. Or was he the killer, and trying to deflect suspicion from himself?
    â€œI heard them arguing that night and I saw her go outside,” Mike continued. “I don’t know the woman personally, but it seems pretty obvious. Maybe the police are too dense to see it.”
    â€œI’m sure the police will interview her,” I said. “Either of you need anything else from me? The phone has been ringing off the wall.”
    Babson sat down in the chair across from Mike’s desk and steepled his fingers. “No, if we need anything we’ll call you,” he said to me. He turned to Mike. “I hope you’re right about the positive publicity we can get out of Joe’s death. I’d hate to have to kill this campaign just as it’s getting started.”
    I couldn’t help shuddering every time somebody mentioned death. Poor Joe, I thought. Dead, and no one to mourn him. I started to shiver out there in the hallway, and when I got back to my office I turned the heat up and swiveled my chair around, watching the French doors fog up and block my view of the distant hills.
    Rochester came over to sit next to me on his hind legs, so I could pet his head and scratch behind his ears. “You know anything more about who killed Joe?” I asked.
    He shook his head and the metal chain around his neck clanked.

7 – Owing Joe
    Â 
    Dezhanne came in to my office a few minutes later. “I’ve got a class at two,” she said. “I left your messages on your desk.”
    â€œThanks, Dezhanne.”
    I returned a couple of class, then wrote a statement that regretted Joe’s death, but gave most emphasis to the capital campaign. What the hell, I thought, Joe would have wanted it that way. He was that devoted to Eastern. It was hard to concentrate because so many calls came in, many from newspapers I’d never heard of. I kept thinking about Joe getting killed, and worrying about what Tony would uncover. I knew there were secrets all around the college, and if too many of them came to light it would make my job a lot harder.
    I was just printing the release when Norah Leedom appeared in my office door. Rochester jumped up and rushed toward her.
    She was obviously upset. Her hair had fallen out of its bun, and grey-brown strands fell loosely across her face. Her eyes were red and puffy. But she managed a smile as she reached down to pat Rochester.
    â€œYou have such good light here,” she said, looking around. “A poet needs good light. At least I do. I can’t write a thing when it’s dark and gloomy.”
    She didn’t strike me as a woman who needed airiness and light in order to write. She was a strong, no-nonsense sort of woman and if I didn’t know her I’d expect her to dismiss poetry with a wave of one callused hand. She was about five-six, slim and athletic, with short brown hair going to grey and cut severely just below her chin line. She had well-chiseled features and a piercing gaze.
    â€œI’ve just been interrogated. The police think I killed him,” she said, standing in the doorway. “But I didn’t. You believe me, don’t you Steve?”
    I didn’t know what to say. I hardly knew Norah. She had been a colleague when I was an adjunct in the English department, but we’d only