The Professor and the Puzzle Page 5

Dr. Stone smiled. “Not with that mouth, you won’t.” Sophocles responded to this by bowing his head toward the professor.

  “He really loves you,” I observed.

  Dr. Stone nodded solemnly. “Sometimes I think he may be the only creature at this school who does,” she murmured, almost to herself.

  Stepping away from the cage, the professor dropped her papers and bag onto the desk and let herself sink into a plush chair, indicating that I should close the door. Curious, I did as I was told and then sat down in a chair across from her. After wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, she opened up her purse and pulled out an insulin pen from a plastic case and looked at me warily. “I don’t usually do this in front of people,” she said. “Correction, I never do this in front of people. But I just tested my glucose after class, and my levels are little low. . . .” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

  “Oh! Of course, I understand,” I said. “I have a friend in school who is diabetic; she has to have an injection once a day. Would you like some privacy?”

  Dr. Stone’s face relaxed. She seemed happy to be relieved of the burden of explaining her condition. “You can stay,” she said. “It will just take a moment.” I noticed that her hand was shaking slightly—she must have waited a little too long! She unsheathed the needle, and I felt my heartbeat quicken. I had never been a big fan of needles, and I always looked away when my friend gave herself the injection. But something about Dr. Stone’s decision to let me stay made me feel like I shouldn’t look away—shouldn’t even flinch. Was all that bluster downstairs some kind of test? I thought. With the syringe poised above the bare skin of her arm, I wondered if this was a test too.

  Dr. Stone didn’t so much as blink as she stuck herself with the needle and injected the insulin. I gulped and tried to keep my face impassive. Meanwhile, my stomach was turning in somersaults. When it was done, she rubbed her arm for a moment and readjusted her dress. “Well! That’s that,” she said brusquely, and pulled a bag of candies out of her desk drawer. “Lemon drop?” she asked, popping a candy into her mouth and offering the bag to me.

  “Sure, thanks,” I replied. For a few minutes we sat in companionable silence, each of us sucking on our lemon drop. I noticed Dr. Stone’s shaking hands become still, and her whole demeanor soften. “Your blood sugar was low at the gala, wasn’t it?” I said after a while. “That’s why you looked so unwell.”

  Dr. Stone cleared her throat. “I was foolish,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “I dashed straight from my evening class over to the gala, stopping just long enough to take my injection and change into my costume. But once I got to the mansion, I was so overwhelmed by the crowd and the noise . . . I just forgot to eat. I’ll admit, I’m notorious for forgetting to check my levels and administer injections. Sometimes my colleagues have to remind me on days when I’m particularly crabby!” She reddened slightly when she said this. “Anyway, when you saw me at the gala, the symptoms of hypoglycemia had started to hit me. The shakes, the dizziness—I should have gone straight to the buffet table, but I suddenly realized I was expected upstairs to prepare for my speech—”

  I had been listening passively to her story, but at those words I suddenly became focused. “Wait,” I interrupted her. “What do you mean, your speech? Bash was the one up on the balcony last night.”

  Dr. Stone sighed. “Yes,” she replied. “But it was my turn to give the address this year. However, when Bash saw me stagger upstairs in such a pitiful state, he was very concerned for my well-being.” She smiled a little at the memory and shook her head. “I had a glass of juice—that usually helps—but that night is just wasn’t enough. I was still pretty shaky when it was time for the speech, so Sebastian offered to give it instead. I was too weak to argue with him, so I just went back down to my table and sat to watch him speak.” She looked out of the window then, her lips pressed into a hard line. “In a way, that boy is in the hospital because of me.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for what happened,” I told her, my words coming out with more ferocity than I had intended. Dr. Stone looked over at me, eyebrows raised. “What I mean is,” I continued, more evenly this time, “if I blamed myself every time the people I love suffered because of my actions . . .” I opened and closed my mouth, uncertain how to end that sentence. “Well, let’s just say that I’d have a hard time sleeping at night. What happened to Bash is not your fault.”

  “Not your fault!” Sophocles squawked, startling us both. I stifled a giggle, and suddenly the tension in the room was lifted.

  “So you’re some kind of feathered philosopher now, are you?” Dr. Stone said to the parrot. “I suppose it’s only right that you live up to your name.” The professor sighed and turned back to me. “I guess you’re right, Nancy. I couldn’t possibly have predicted that passing off my speech would put Sebastian in danger. I just can’t help but wish it were me in that hospital bed, instead of him.”

  At that moment, something clicked in my brain. I stood up, my mind awhirl.

  “What is it?” Dr. Stone asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

  “ ‘The beginning is the most important part of the work,’ ” I said as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “I had it all wrong from the start.”

  “Nancy, what in the world are you going on about? What does Plato have to do with Sebastian’s accident?”

  “Everything,” I replied, and consulted the clock on my phone. “I’m sorry to leave so abruptly, Dr. Stone, but I’m late for a meeting. Perhaps we can continue this conversation later tonight, after your last class?”

  The professor barely had enough time to agree before I was out the door and dashing down the stairs and back into the front hallway of the building. Iris was standing near the front door, looking at her phone. She glanced up at me as I approached. “Finally!” she exclaimed. “I was just in the middle of texting you. Where have you been all this time? I have important information!”

  “Let me guess,” I replied, still catching my breath. “Mason can’t be our guy because he’s got an alibi for the time the balcony was sabotaged.”

  Iris’s eyes widened. “You are Sherlock Holmes! How did you know?”

  “Just a hunch,” I answered. “I already knew Mason wasn’t the one, so I figured you were coming to give me a reason why not. Iris, I’ve been wrong about everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bash wasn’t the target of the sabotage—he just ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dr. Stone was the one who was supposed to give the speech. That fall was meant for her.”

  Iris lifted her hand to her mouth in shock. “Oh my gosh,” she breathed. “So that means—”

  “It means it’s not over,” I said. “Until we find the person behind all this, Dr. Stone is still in danger.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Lightning Rod

  A MOMENT AFTER I UTTERED my revelation about Dr. Stone, the doors to the classics building opened and a wave of students began flowing in. Iris pulled me to the side to avoid the crush of people. “The next set of classes will be starting soon,” Iris said over the din. “Let’s go back to the mansion where we can at least hear ourselves think!” I nodded weakly. Suddenly I didn’t feel so well at all. The noise and the crowd were making my head spin. I hurried to follow Iris outside.

  Ten minutes later we were standing in the grand foyer of the president’s mansion. With no events happening in the house today, we were alone, and it was blissfully quiet. I began to breathe easy once more, though I still felt wretched.

  Iris plopped herself onto one of the upholstered armchairs placed in the center of the foyer, depositing her heavy book bag on the floor. “Nancy,” she said. “I’m your friend, so I’m going to be honest.”

  I cringed. She’s mad that I led her on a wild-goose chase after the wrong person, I thought. “I’m sorry,” I spluttered. “I know I screwed up. We’ve been going about this case all wrong, and it’s my fault.”

  Iris look
ed surprised. “Actually, I was going to say that salmon isn’t really your color”—she tipped her chin toward my blouse—“but wow. Girl, it was an honest mistake! Don’t be so hard on yourself! How were you supposed to know that Bash wasn’t the target? I sure didn’t.”

  I crossed my arms. “I should have spoken to the gala organizers right away. Any one of them could have told me that Bash doing the speech was a last-minute change.” I glanced over at Iris, who was rolling her eyes in that familiar oh Nancy sort of way. It was how she always looked when we were kids and I was fussing over some insignificant mistake I’d made, like overcooking the marshmallows over the fire, or coloring outside the lines. I sighed and threw up my hands. “All right. Fine. I guess it’s better that I figured this out now rather than even later. But still—I have a lot of catching up to do. Whoever sabotaged the balcony is probably already formulating a new plan to hurt Dr. Stone. We need suspects, and we need them now.”

  Suddenly a thunderous voice echoed through the room from above.

  “Suspects, eh?”

  Iris and I jumped at the sound, and I looked up to see a hulking figure standing in the shadows at the top of the staircase.

  “Daddy?” Iris said.

  Papa George emerged into the light, his expression stern. “Keeping secrets from your father, are you?” he boomed. “Never a wise choice.” He was no longer in his gala costume, but Papa George still gave off the air of a god descending from atop Mount Olympus as he came down the stairs toward us. If Zeus were ever to wear a three-piece suit, I expected that was how he would look. It was intimidating, to say the least.

  “Dr. Pappas—” I began once he was standing in front of me.

  “Don’t ‘Dr. Pappas’ me, Little Fox.” He stopped me short. “I am well aware of your amateur detective work, and I would appreciate being kept apprised of any alleged mysteries on my campus before you start sticking your nose where it may not belong. What happened to Sebastian was an accident—nothing more!”

  I cast my gaze toward Iris, who was attempting to make herself as small as possible—which, for a girl who was five foot eleven, was a real challenge. I set my jaw and tried to keep my voice level. “Papa George, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you about all this earlier, but I wanted to follow up on my hunches before saying anything. The balcony was sabotaged, of that I’m sure. But I think Bash’s involvement was the accidental part. I now have reason to believe that someone was planning to hurt Dr. Stone during the gala, as she was the one who was supposed to be standing on that balcony. Who did it or why, I have yet to discover, sir. But I intend to.”

  “How can you be so certain?” he asked.

  “Nothing is certain,” I replied carefully. “But if there’s even a slight chance that I’m right, then it means the safety of one of your professors is being threatened. Isn’t that worth the risk?”

  Papa George remained silent, his blue eyes boring into mine. I tried not to flinch. Finally he let out a long breath and relaxed. “You always were a tenacious little girl, Nancy,” he said, his voice softer now. “I see nothing has changed.” He pulled at his beard, his expression thoughtful. “Come into my office, both of you. Tell me everything you know, and I will be the judge of whether your ‘case’ has merit.”

  Papa George turned on his heel and began making his way down a hallway toward the back of the mansion. Iris, standing back up to her full height, gave me an approving wink before pulling me along with her in his wake. “Nice going, Drew,” she whispered in my ear. “I should keep you around for when I get caught staying out past curfew.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled. Little did Iris know how my heart was racing! Thank goodness Papa George decided to give me a chance. He could have easily sent me home packing, and then the case would never be solved. Now I just had to convince him.

  Papa George’s office was like a museum of Greek antiquity. The walls were covered with one painting after another of scenes from Greek mythology, and in one corner, a statue of Perseus fighting the gorgon Medusa stood on a wooden pedestal. The artist had sculpted the hero’s face to have an expression of courage laced with abject terror. I thought, at that moment, that I knew exactly how he felt!

  Papa George sat down in the maroon Queen Anne armchair behind his desk, filling every corner of it with his girth, and laced his fingers together over his chest before looking at me. “You may begin,” he said.

  I took a deep breath. Well, here goes nothing.

  Five minutes later, I finished my briefing of everything that had happened since the gala. Papa George’s lips were pursed as he mulled over all the evidence. “All right, Nancy,” he said. “Given all that you’ve told me, I’m willing to go along with this”—he paused—“investigation, but only to a point. You may talk to people to gather information, but you are not to mention your suspicions to anyone. If word gets out that I’m allowing a high schooler to play private eye on my campus, I’ll be a laughingstock. If you get a lead or find new evidence, let me know immediately. Do not, for any reason, put yourself in unnecessary danger. Is that understood?”

  “I understand,” I replied. After all, understanding something isn’t the same as promising not to do it. Given all my past experiences, promising to avoid dangerous situations was pretty much like a swimmer promising not to get wet.

  “If it’s all right, Papa George, I’d like to start with you,” I said.

  “Me?”

  “Of course. After all, you know more about the professors and students on this campus than anyone. Who do you think would have a reason to hurt Dr. Stone?”

  Papa George’s brows furrowed at this, and he cast his eyes around the room as he sat, deep in thought. He picked up the long silver lightning bolt he’d used as part of his costume from where it was leaning against his desk, studying it for a moment. “Agatha,” he began, “is a woman like no other. Unapologetically opinionated, fiercely bright; she storms into meetings and classrooms, questioning everything, uprooting the status quo, always questing for ways in which we can be better. For this, she has admirers, and I count myself as one of them. But unfortunately, her outspokenness and her constant demand for excellence has also made her many enemies. She is a real lightning rod, always attracting negative attention for her high standards.” Putting the walking stick back down, Papa George regarded me once more. “That is to say, you’ll have no shortage of suspects, Nancy. You’ve got your work cut out for you figuring out which one is your culprit.”

  Knowing what I already did of Dr. Stone, I’d been afraid of this. But I didn’t allow myself to get discouraged—I’d cracked tough cases like this before. “It’s one thing to be upset at a professor for something like a bad grade,” I said thoughtfully. “But to actually set out to hurt her? To create such a complex plan? What kind of person would go to such lengths, over something so trivial?”

  Iris snorted. “Trivial? Ha! You obviously haven’t been at Oracle long enough, Nance.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Oracle kids are intense—and I mean really intense—about their GPAs. A huge percentage of the students go on to places like Stanford and Princeton for their doctorates, so the stakes are very high and the competition is fierce. A bad grade—even one—is anything but trivial.”

  “Well,” I said, “then I think a visit to a couple of Dr. Stone’s classes may be in order.”

  “Fine,” Papa George said with a nod. “But remember, keep a low profile. With the classics chair still unfilled, the last thing I need is more dramatics around here.” As had happened yesterday when I’d first spoken to Papa George, the same dark clouds gathered in his expression as he said this.

  “Cameron Walsh’s post, you mean?” I asked, remembering the name Iris had mentioned, Papa George’s old friend who had died recently. I spoke softly, knowing I was treading on unstable ground.

  Papa George looked up at me, his eyes glistening. He cleared his throat and answered, “Yes—yes, that’s the one. Big shoes to fill, Came
ron’s are. Not an easy man to replace. Your Dr. Stone is at the top of the list, actually. Between her impressive credentials and her long history with Oracle, she certainly is qualified. But I’m just not ready to make the decision yet. Some of the faculty seems to think young Dr. Brown would be an excellent choice, but I’m not convinced of that. He certainly has charisma, and a brilliant mind, for sure—but without a significant publication or two under his belt, I simply don’t think he’s up to the task.” Papa George chuckled. “For all I know, Dr. Brown’s social calendar may be so busy that he wouldn’t have the time for such stuffy things as administrating. He seems to enjoy the spotlight of the classroom!” Hmm, I thought. Could the culprit be someone on the faculty who’d rather work for Dr. Brown than Dr. Stone? I filed the idea away for later consideration.

  Papa George glanced at his gold wristwatch and started. “Oh, look at the time! Well, Madam Detective, are you finished with me? There are some things that I need to attend to.”

  I smiled. “Yes, that’s good for now. Thank you for believing in me, Papa George.”

  The college president rose out of his chair and pointed a finger in my direction. “Don’t thank me yet, Little Fox. If you and that daughter of mine stir up trouble, you’ll be out on your tail faster than you can say ‘spanakopita.’ ”

  “Understood,” Iris and I said in unison.

  She snickered. “It’s like being in fifth grade all over again!” she whispered to me as her father made his way out.

  “Shh!” I hissed. Once he was gone, I added, “Can’t even wait until he’s out of the room to make a comment, can you?”

  Iris rolled her eyes. “Oh, pooh. You thought it was funny too. Listen, Dr. Stone has an ancient philosophy course starting in half an hour. One of my friends is in that class, and she’s always complaining about how hard it is. If we hurry, we might be able to make it there before the class starts!”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Do you think it’s possible that one of the faculty members might be our culprit? From what your dad said, it sounds like there might be people out there who wouldn’t want Dr. Stone as chair.”