Free Formula for Murder by JUDITH MEHL Page B

complained to Nick he hated being absent during the murder investigation. He also relayed how strongly he felt the symposium was a breakthrough in international relations on the educational front. Nick knew his being named chairman was the biggest honor of his career, but the man was deeply concerned about the impact of the murder on his faculty and students and wanted it solved soon.
    After thanking Louise profusely, Kat and Nick strolled back to their offices, casually conversing, enjoying the interlude together. Kat found a growing sense of joy in his company, and wondered if he felt it, too. She didn’t want to read anything too personal into their time together, yet. His eyes smiled at her with more intensity than one would expect for a colleague, she thought. Kat decided she wasn’t ready to explore further and said, “What do you think of Simon Santora?”
    “What do I think of him as a person? A professor? An administrator? Or as a murderer?”
    “Whichever comes to mind first.”
    Pausing to think it through, Nick said, “He appears to be a good administrator. We had a meeting the other day about the visiting speaker’s arrival. And I got decent vibes from him as a person. Don’t know him as a professor, and have no clue why he’d be a murderer. I do sense some friction between him and a few of the other administrators.”
    She sensed he was waiting for an explanation, or at least an opinion. She stopped walking and contemplated an answer for a minute while he waited patiently. “He’s one of those professors who can step through the shifting sands of administration without leaving a footprint to mar his personnel file or his scruples as a professor. He is known for being less than diplomatic at times, yet he is also loved.”
    “How’s that?” Nick queried.
    “His forthrightness is generally appreciated, and mixed with a true love for the university, teaching, and his work,” she said.
    “OK, and at the age of 40 he seems especially fit, considering the sedentary life of a professor,” Nick added. He hoped 40 was too old to catch Kat’s interest despite the professor’s good physique. He eyed her closely, trying to note a spark of interest, but if there, it was well hidden.
    “He’s indulged in a quiet sense of arrogance that for him grew not only from his age and position but from a life well led,” Kat continued, not really answering his unspoken question.
    Nick decided to put Santora on the list of subjects to bring up with Burrows. He would consider why later.
    Back in the office Nick asked to see the news releases she’d edited for him. He waited at her door while she searched the piles of papers strewn on her desk and shook his head in dismay. He couldn’t understand how she could always bring orderliness out of chaos, but she inevitably did. He laughed at the mug that on most writers’ desks held pens. Kat’s tumbled over with peppermint lozenges for the lame and feeble that always wandered in her door with one complaint or another. While giving her a moment to unearth his news stories, he noticed the huge cork bulletin board scattered with torn scraps of messages and outdated memorandum. Glancing towards her desk he saw his article. From that distance it looked blood splattered, definitely on the dead side. Consternated, he actually blushed.
    “That bad?”
    “Sorry, it’s not as bad as it looks.”
    Kat contemplated his rough-hewn look while he concentrated on the draft before him. She enjoyed each frown, and savored the sparkle in his eye as he studied her comments.
    “Most of it is questions,” she mollified. “Seeking clarification.”
    “Killer questions from the look of it.” He raised his right eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
    She leapt at the chance to supply one. “It’s just that it reads like a report—a well-written one, but . . .” Her voice trailed off when she noticed the smile twitching his lips. “You’re not mad at me?”
    “It’s OK. I get the