Free Angel Food and Devil Dogs by Liz Bradbury Page B

pattern seems more like a wide slash than a blow out. I took out my laptop and rested it on Connie's not too dirty desk. I made a few notes about events leading up to the explosion. I also noted that Miranda didn't have an alibi for Carl's death and that according to her, Jimmy Harmon had tried to punch Bart. Miranda was a fount of information, maybe I should have quizzed her about Kathryn Anthony... So Miranda, does Dr. Anthony live with anyone? But then, Jesse Wiggins voice echoed in my mind, Why don't you ask her?
    When I returned the keys to Miranda, I noticed that half the pile of Bart's papers on the floor was gone. It was nearly 11:00 AM.

Chapter 6
    Since Leo Getty had rescheduled, my next appointment was with Daniel Cohen at 2:00 PM. Plenty of time to walk home, check some things in my office, look over my notes, then hop in the car and speed over to Sears to replace my dearly departed jacket. I wore the new parka to the meeting with Cohen.
    I was a little early, so I darted over to the Student Union and snagged a pre-made sandwich of Swiss cheese and lettuce on a hard roll. Not many choices left by nearly 1:50 PM. I mused that my choice for a meeting beverage would probably be a Stewart's Root Beer in a glass bottle. Stewart's would always win my vote in a blind taste test. I thought again about Carl Rasmus. He'd had such a promising future... he died too soon. At that moment, I made a promise to Carl. I would solve the case and ring out justice, in his name. It sounded like a folk song, but I meant it.
    Daniel Cohen's building was on the other side of Washington Street facing the Administration Building. The Environmental Safety Building had soaring angles, projecting cantilevers, and all the outside surfaces were mirrored glass or polished steel. I liked the irregular negative space it created. The inside lobby felt vast, because there was a spectacular outdoor view in every direction. Pipes running along the ceiling were polished sculptural bronze. There were bright lights and splashy colors, with giant posters and even some neon. It had the feel of a high style mall, which must have made many teenaged students feel at home.
    Professor Cohen's office door was painted red. Inside the secretary ducked her head into the door behind her desk when I explained who I was, then said genially, "Go on in." She seemed happy and enthusiastic. Maybe it was a reflection of the way Cohen ran the department.
    "Nice office," I said taking in the glass wall view, then eyeing a shaped canvas painting by Frank Stella on the wall by the door.
    "Yeah, it is isn't it?" he smiled. "The painting's part of the College's permanent collection. I don't even want to know what it's worth. More than my house, probably. Have a seat." The chair was a museum reproduction of Le Corbusier's "Wassily" chair, made of steel tubing and leather.
    Cohen was casually dressed in a sport jacket. He was the kind of guy you instantly thought of as a dad who'd fix your car or hang up a basketball hoop in the driveway. There were playful models of 1940s trucks on a shelf and neat piles of papers, folders and documents on almost every other surface in the room. A photograph of two attractive women, probably his wife and daughter, was on the desk. There was also a large computer with a huge monitor.
    Daniel Cohen's ruddy round face broke into a warm smile, he reached out with one of his large meaty hands. He and I suddenly felt a comradeship that neither of us expected. We'd faced death as a team just the day before. It was like we were part of the Justice League. I smiled too, gripping his hand for a moment with both of mine.
    "You were at a two day conference on fire safety in Virginia at the time Carl fell from the balcony?"
    Cohen chuckled, "I guess giving a keynote address in front of 500 people is a pretty good alibi."
    I said directly, "I think the explosion had something to do with one or more of the bottles that were on the back table of the conference