Calamity Jayne Goes to College (18 page)

When I returned to the kitchen, Joe and Gram were at the table snarfing my pizza.

"Hey!" I said. "That's my supper!"

"But it's a large," Joe declared.

I gave him a hard stare. "And your point is?"

He seemed to think better of what he'd originally planned to say. "Good choice," he said instead.

I went to the refrigerator to grab a light beer. Secured to the refrigerator by a magnet for prescription calcium supplements
was the fair photo of Patrick and me I'd discovered in his patrol car.

"Where did this come from?" I asked.

"The pharmacist gave it to me when I refilled my prescription," Gram said.

"Not the magnet," I said. "This picture." I tapped the snapshot.

"Oh, that. I found it on the floor of your room," she said.

I turned to look at her. "What were you doing in my room?"

"I was returning your pink boots. By the way, if you're looking for your tan Dingo slouch boots, I have them," she warned
me.

Nice.

I opened the fridge, grabbed my beer, and sat down at the table. I put a slice of pizza on a paper plate. "I must've forgotten
to put the photo back on Dawkins's patrol car visor, and instead dropped it into my book bag."

"P.D. Dawkins carries a picture of you in his squad car?" Joe asked, giving me a sharp look.

"Not anymore," I said with a forced laugh. How do I get myself in these fixes?

We ate in silence for several minutes. Frankly, that's as long as either my grandma or I can last.

"So, are you two getting serious?" I asked.

Gram looked up at me. "About what?" she asked.

I blinked. "Each other, of course," I said. "From that little demonstration I walked in on, it looks like things are heating
up. I hope you're using protection." I snorted.

"Isn't this bass-ackwards? Shouldn't I be saying that to you instead?" Gram asked. I sobered, suddenly sorry I brought it
up.

We continued eating until one last triangle of pizza remained. All three of us stared at the solitary slice, and at each other
in turn. It felt like the three of us were in some high-stakes poker game. I saw Gram's fingers twitch. I could tell she wanted
the pizza. Bad.

I looked past Gram's left shoulder.

"Ranger Rick?" I blurted. "My God! You're naked!"

Gram's head whirled around so quickly I could feel a breeze on my face. I took advantage of the opportunity and snatched the
slice from under her nose.

Once Gram discovered no sexy nude ranger behind her, she stood, harrumphed, and left the room.

"Sneaky girl," Joe said with a grin. "But I would love to see your face if my grandson
did
happen to walk into your kitchen wearing nothing but a smile," he said.

"Not gonna happen." I laughed, shaking my head to clear it of the tantalizing image.

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"I very much doubt if Ranger Rick Townsend walked into my kitchen buck naked that you would be there to witness it," I told
Joe. At least I hoped the heck not.

"I don't know. I could go back out and shuck my clothes and come in again," I heard from the doorway. Looking up I saw Rick
Townsend standing just inside my kitchen. (Uh, our kitchen.) His dark eyes skewered me like a cherry tomato on a shish kebab.

"Well, hello there, Rick." Joe got up to greet his grandson. "How'd you get in?"

"Hi, Pops," he said, his eyes slowly leaving me to greet his granddad. "Hannah was on the front porch when I drove up. Did
one of the mutts have an accident?" he asked. "Because she was muttering something to the dogs about dirty tricks when I walked
up."

Joe gave me a curt look. "I'd better get out there and cajole her back inside before she contracts pneumonia."

"Grab a jacket in case she gets stubborn," I told him.

I held out the much desired slice of pizza to Rick, a sort of peace offering. "Last piece. Going, going, gone," I warned.

"Not hungry," he said, taking the seat Joe had vacated. Townsend was wearing blue jeans, a Hawkeyes football T-shirt, and
a brown bomber jacket. He looked like he'd just stepped out of the shower. And smelled like it. I resisted the temptation
to reach over and sniff his neck. I am, like, so needy. "We have some catching up to do," he went on.

I let the pizza drop to my plate. I wasn't sure how much I was willing to share with Townsend. How much was safe.

"It's this college journalism paper," I told him. "It's snowballed into this really exciting but kind of scary assignment
that is shooting off in all directions. And the stakes are high here. My future career aspirations could hinge on how well
I perform on this task." I was proud. I sounded like I had my head screwed on straight for a change. Now, that was scary.

"Frankie and Dixie filled me in on the story you're chasing," he said. "All the usual suspects," he added with a disgusted
shake of his head.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Let's see. We've got multiple crimes including but not limited to hit-and-run, assault, burglary. We have multiple suspects,
including as I understand it a registered sex offender. We have possibly targeted hits focusing on students in a specific
college class. And we have two sidekicks who want to make a big splash in the law enforcement community," Townsend said. "How
am I doing so far?"

I cocked a noncommittal eyebrow. "Go on," I said.

"It's like a remake of a bad movie," he said. "The Keystone Kop Campus Caper, maybe. Tressa, they have professionals who investigate
this kind of thing for a living," he said. "They don't need to rely on rank amateurs."

"Rank?"

"As in complete or absolute," he clarified. "Not smelly."

I nodded. "Glad you cleared that up, Mr. Ranger, sir," I said. "I might have taken oh-fense if you'd implied I oh-fended.
And the authorities are on it. I'm merely observing and recording."

Townsend shook his head at my defense. "Observing means look but don't touch, Tressa," he said, clearly getting frustrated.
"My point is that you seem to always be in the middle of some drama--and recently those are dangerous dramas. And the evidence
seems to indicate that you put yourself there deliberately."

"We're back to the death-wish blonde again," I said. "You forget that an investigative reporter, by definition, has to investigate,"
I pointed out.

"Some reporters let others investigate and then they report," he argued.

"I'm not 'some' reporters," I told him. "I'm trying to learn a marketable skill here. Isn't that what you've been hounding
me to do since high school?"

Townsend looked at me. "Oh, I see. I made you put yourself in danger because I thought it was time you grew up and got a decent
job? That's a stretch even for you."

I downed the rest of my beer and pulled a face at the lukewarm contents. I gathered up the pizza box and carried it to the
counter.

"You didn't come home last night," he said, and I paused in the act of annihilating the cardboard.

"I know. I'm sorry I worried everyone," I said. "Things happened. Time just got away from me. Thanks for seeing that Gram
and Joe got home okay. I appreciate it."

I began to shred the box again, but Townsend's hands stilled mine.

"I was damned near sick with worry," he said, and I looked up at him.

"Huh?"

"When no one could reach you. I don't like feeling that way," he said.

"I'm sorry," I said again, unsure of what to say, what he expected me to say.

"So, where were you? You mentioned a friend you went to eat with. Did you spend the night with your friend?"

I shook my head. "No. I ate breakfast before I took a drive through the campus and discovered there had been another attack,"
I said. "And by the time Patrick and I left the security office it was nearly four."

"Patrick? You mean Dawkins was there?"

I nodded. "He's helping out on the investigation. The State Department of Health has a building on campus, and that's why
the state is involved," I explained. "Plus, you recall, there was the hit-and-run."

"How could I forget?" he said.

"So, it didn't make sense to drive home just to turn around and drive back up to class in a couple of hours, and the way my
grades are, I can't afford to miss any more classes, anyway."

"So where did you stay?" he asked. "You didn't stay with Dixie."

I could've slapped myself. Why hadn't I thought of that?

"You know how it is with Dixie and me. We usually require a third party to referee," I said, skirting his real question.

"Where did you stay, then?" he asked, more doggedly determined than my gammy when she's trying to find out what everyone got
her for Christmas.

I debated lying, telling him I slept in my car, but deception didn't come easy for me. And for some reason I could never bring
myself to lie to Rick Townsend. Oh, I could deny I ate three powdered sugar creme flips at one sitting or that I snuck the
dogs into the city pool one night, but I could never seem to lie about the big things. The things one thinks really matter.

I was just about to tell him the truth when the phone rang.

I went to answer it.

It was Patrick.

"Hi, Tressa. I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay," he said.

I looked over at Townsend, who had moved to stand beside the refrigerator.

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"I just got a call from Hector," Patrick went on.

"Hector Moldonado?" I asked.

"How many Hectors do you know, Tressa?" he said. "Anyway, he just wanted to let me know that they were being dispatched to
a report of a possible shooting," he added.

"Oh my God. Do they know who the victim is? Is it someone in Billings's class? Is it Billings?"

"I don't have any more details yet, but I just wanted to see if you were all right and let you know that the pattern continues.
I've got to go. I'll be in touch."

He ended the call and I stood for a second recognizing that there was no satisfaction in having our theory confirmed. Someone
else had been hurt. Maybe even killed.

I suddenly felt in the mood for a big, tight warm hug from a certain ranger, and I turned only to find Townsend was no longer
in the kitchen.

"Townsend?"

I walked over to where he'd been standing and caught the scent of his cologne. I looked up and right into the smiling faces
of Patrick and me.

I ran through the living room and out the front door just in time to see the taillights of Townsend's candy-apple-red 4x4
disappear into the foggy night.

I settled for warm hugs from two slightly damp but very affectionate beasties. A girl's best friend is her doggies.

CHAPTER 15

I awoke to someone rummaging through my closet, a maroon-covered fanny the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes the next
morning.

"Why are these boots damp?" Gram asked, picking up the boots I'd worn to wade through the water hazard at the obstacle course.
"I wanted to wear them today."

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and sat up. "What time is it?"

"Half past six," she said. "Where's that pair of short black boots?"

"They're around here somewhere," I said. "Why?"

"Never mind. We'll be doing quite a bit of walking. I better wear my New Balance."

I brushed the hair out of my face. "What do you mean we'll be doing a lot of walking? Where will 'we' be walking?"

"You did promise to take me shopping for a dress to wear to Kari's wedding," she reminded me. "I have a hair appointment tomorrow,
so today is the day."

I groaned and dropped to my bed and put my arm over my eyes.

"Don't you have an extra backpack somewhere?" Gram asked.

"Why do you need a backpack?" I grunted, sitting up again.

"Well, I will be on the Carson College campus, and I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb."

"And how will a backpack prevent that?" I asked.

"I'll look like I have a reason to be there. Like I'm taking classes."

I smiled. It was kind of sweet really.

"We'll just hit that new mall on the west side," she went on. "It has the hippest stores. And lunch is on me. I thought maybe
that cheesecake place."

"Godiva chocolate cheesecake," I whispered. My mouth began to water.

"Or that Tiara-miss-you cheesecake," Gram said.

"That's Tira-misu, Gram. And you win," I added. "But we'll have to boogie. You can't hit every mall in Polk County and try
on every dress you take a fancy to. I have to get you home and then get back for my night class this evening."

"Then you'd better get up and moving," she said.

"I have a few more minutes before I need to get up." I yawned. "We won't have to leave for about an hour."

Gram turned to look at me. "Oh, by the way, you had a phone call yesterday. With all the brouhaha last night, I forgot to
tell you."

"Who was it?"

"It was that 'Mo' person. Said she was trying to get in touch with you. She asked for directions out here. I think she planned
to stop by this morning," Gram announced.

I flew off the mattress like I'd discovered bedbugs. "Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes!" I yelled.

"What about that backpack?" she asked.

"Hall closet," I told her, grabbing underwear, jeans, T-shirt and a red hoodie, and flying into the bathroom.

I took a quick shower, swiped a razor over my legs, and was out, dried, and dressed in seven minutes. I pulled my wet hair
back and hurriedly braided it, then applied my makeup with a swift hand. At seven sharp, I was out in the driveway honking
for Gram, checking behind me every ten seconds. Gram finally walked to the car, the black backpack over her bent shoulders.

"What do you have in that backpack?" I asked. "It looks heavy."

"Well, I had to have a binder and some writing utensils, didn't I?" she said. "What kind of college student would I be without
pencils and paper?"

I started the car and we headed off to the big city.

"I could do with a sausage biscuit," Gram said.

"We'll stop and get one as soon as we're out of Knox County," I said.

"What's up? How come you're in such a hurry to get out of town?" she asked.

"Hurry? What says I'm in a hurry?" I tried to look innocent.

"That trooper car with the spinning top lights that's behind us," Gram said, and I checked the outside mirror.

I cursed.

"Tressa," Gram scolded. "I thought Oprah had cleaned up your act."

I had taken a pledge to cut out swearing some time back when Oprah did a show on getting rid of those bad habits. I'd done
a decent job under some pretty tense situations. But revolving lights in my mirror? Now, that was what they called adequate
provocation. I pulled over to the side of the road, and the patrol car pulled in behind me.

"I don't suppose you could hold this up while the officer is talking?" I asked, showing her the rearview mirror that had fallen
off the front windshield.

Gram gave it a dubious look. "I know how you like to talk. I don't think I can hold it up that long, Tressa," she said. "But
I can try."

"That's all right. Gram," I said. "Maybe he won't notice it."

I watched a tan trooper leg appear in my side mirror. Soon the trooper was heading in my direction. I cranked my window down.

"Morning, Officer," I greeted the policeman.

"Morning, Miss Turner," the trooper said, and I did a double take, sticking my head out the narrow opening to gawk up at the
officer. He looked vaguely familiar.

"You are Tressa Turner, correct?" the trooper asked.

I nodded. "How did you know?"

"Well, besides your vehicle registration, I remember you from the Iowa State Fair," he said, bending down, eyes moving across
the seat of my car, narrowing, and then moving back to me.

"I remember," I said, thinking for once I'd lucked out. "You were partnered with Patrick Dawkins."

"That's right. I'm Devin Harris." Another quick glance shot over to Gram for a brief moment. Cops had to keep their eyes moving,
it appeared.

"I wasn't speeding, was I, Trooper Harris?" I asked.

"The reason I stopped you this morning, Miss Turner, is that I have an urgent message for you from Trooper Dawkins." The trooper
frowned down at me, and handed over a sheet of paper. I looked away to scan the message.

"How did you track me down?" I asked.

"I was on my way to headquarters and Dawkins had dispatch contact me to call in. Dawkins called dispatch, and they patched
him through. He asked me to get a message to you as he couldn't get you at home or on your cell. He provided your probable
route of travel and your departure time. And the vehicle description, of course. It sounds like they had a break in your hit-and-run
case," Trooper Harris said. "Hope things go well."

The trooper gave one last, long look at Gram. "Uh, be careful when you pull out," he cautioned.

I wiped the sweat that had pooled on my upper lip during the encounter. "I will absolutely do that, Officer. And thank you.
Thank you very much!"

The trooper hesitated for a second as if to say more but decided against it, straightened, and walked back to the patrol car.
I let out a long sigh of relief. The trooper pulled out first and sped past us.

"Well, I guess that worked like a charm," Gram said while I read Patrick's message through a second time.

"Uh, what worked?" I asked, looking over at her. She was in the process of buttoning a blouse that was unbuttoned almost to
her belly button.

"What did you do?"
I enunciated.

"Just a little diversion," she said. "Ain't no man alive that don't appreciate a little bit of cleavage," she said. "You ought
to try it sometime, Tressa. I'll have you know that trooper didn't look once at the mirror," she said.

228 KATHLEEN BACUS

I could believe that.

"Uh, Gram, there's something I think you should know," I said.

"What's that, dear?"

"That trooper... was a woman," I said.

Gram's fingers slowed as they finished buttoning her blouse. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Pretty."

She was quiet for a minute.

"This don't make me a lesbian, does it?" she asked, and I fought to hide my grin.

"I don't think so, Gram," I said.

"One of them bisexuals?" she asked.

"Probably not," I told her.

"It'll still be something to talk about," she decided. "Won't it?" She turned a hopeful eye in my direction.

"You'll have the tongues waggin' at the senior center for weeks," I assured her.

She smiled. "Won't I, though?"

At Carson College, the campus was abuzz with talk of the shooting the night before. While the incident hadn't actually occurred
on campus, but rather on a bike path between the campus and an apartment complex not far from the school, it was still too
close for comfort. And for coincidence. TV satellite vans from the metro news stations as well as news radio were on campus
and asking questions.

I didn't care how this coverage might impact my article. I just wanted public awareness of the problem so citizens and students
could adequately protect themselves.

Gram insisted on sitting in on my journalism class. She behaved herself--mostly because I'd bribed her with a latte and a
jumbo cinnamon roll from the coffee shop off-campus. I had to hand it to Gram; she took copious notes. All I had to do was
sit and pretend I was listening. Which wasn't that hard to do since my mind was busy trying to nail the campus criminal before
he made his next move.

Patrick's message was encouraging. Preliminary tests on Keith Gardner's pickup truck indicated that his truck was, indeed,
the vehicle that had hit Uncle Frank's Suburban and nearly made roadkill of Dixie and me. Although Gardner still denied he
was the person behind the wheel, the fact that Dixie and I had followed him from the campus and the incident had taken place
minutes later left little doubt of his guilt. And if he was the hit-and-run driver, it was a safe bet he was also responsible
for the rash of other criminal acts committed on campus. Court documents were being drawn up, Patrick's note had said, and
an arrest would likely be made that day in the hit-and-run case.

I made a mental note to let Uncle Frank know what was going on. I'd need to find out if Gardner carried insurance on his truck,
too. I sure hoped so. For my sake.

Class was dismissed and Gram excused herself to use the facilities before we headed to the mall. I fidgeted outside in the
lobby and wondered how Frankie was dealing with his substandard performance on the obstacle course. He'd finally discovered
what he wanted to do with his life only to come up lacking. I knew exactly how he felt.

"I want a word with you, Miss Turner." I was jolted out of my sympathy pangs by Sherman "STD" Danbury. His expression indicated
he wanted more than a word.

"What a coincidence," I said, thinking that this guy was still a viable suspect--at least in my book--and I wasn't about to
let the opportunity to probe a little deeper into his possible motive for professitorial payback pass without getting my feelers
out and poking around. "I have some questions for you as well."

His eyes shut to mere slits.

"I understand you were harassing a student of mine the other day," he said. "Making all kinds of wild accusations, speculating
on things that aren't any of your business or germane to the incidents you claim to be investigating. I want it to stop. Or
I will have no other choice than to report you for disciplinary action."

Uh-huh. Like I'd never heard this from a teacher before.

"Ever heard of the First Amendment, Professor?" I asked. "Freedom of speech. Freedom of the press. Either of these ring a
bell?"

"Just what is it you hope to gain by your prying, Miss Turner? More sensational headlines? Your face on the front page? An
impressive byline?" the professor probed with a rather unattractive sneer.

"How about truth, justice, and the good ol' American way?" I asked. He stared at me.

"This isn't comic book fiction, Miss Turner. This is real life. Real people's lives you are screwing with," he said.

"Real people are being more than screwed with, Professor," I shot back. "People are being robbed, beaten, assaulted, almost
run down, and now shot at. I have to question why you fail to see the greater harm here. Is it because, when it comes to motives,
you are at the head of the class, Professor? That if anyone has a reason to get back at Professor Billings, it's you? After
all, she was responsible for you not being offered tenure. At least in your eyes. It probably had nothing whatsoever to do
with the fact that you showed up late to lectures hungover and reeking of alcohol. Right? Or that you may be involved in an
improper relationship with a student? It has nothing to do with either of those things, right? It's all someone else's fault.
Someone else is to blame. Frankly, Professor, that's what we cowgirl types call a load of horseshit. And we shovel enough
of it to know it when we see it."

Danbury looked flustered. "You can't think I had anything to do with what happened to Barbara Billings," he said. "That I
am responsible for what's been going on here at Carson. That's absurd."

"About as absurd as fraternizing with a student at three in the morning--and on a school night at that," I said. "Tsk-tsk."

The professor's face was now approximately the same color as my gammy's maroon polyester slacks.

"Trevor Childers doesn't know anything. Stay away from him," he said. "Or I will see that you are one sorry little snoop."
He turned on his heel and left.

Yeah, right. Like I was gonna be scared off by a guy with a Michael Jackson handshake.

"Who was that pencil-neck?" Gram asked, joining me. "He important to know?"

I shook my head.

"Only in his own mind, Gram," I said. "Only in his own mind.

We arrived at the mall close to eleven and decided to eat first--just in case we ran out of time. We do have our priorities.
I kept telling myself that I needed to eat either the chocolate cheesecake or the Tons of Fun burger (with fries) but not
both, as Kari's wedding was just two days off. However, given Gram was picking up the tab--almost as rare an occurrence as
a solar eclipse--I gave myself permission to eat hearty.

We left the restaurant an hour later, stuffed to the gills.

"I should never have ordered the fries," I said, letting my belt out two notches as we walked through the mall. "My gut feels
like it's about to explode."

"It was probably the double patties, double cheese, triple bun, and top-secret sauce on that Tons of Fun burger," Gram said.
"You really should've had a salad, dear. You promised Kari you'd fit into that dress. When's the last time you had it on?"