Calamity Jayne Goes to College (14 page)

CHAPTER 12

Patrick had placed a travel alarm on the bedside table in the guest room, and I set it for six forty-five. I managed to crawl
out of bed around seven to find my clothes, clean and folded, on a chair in the corner. No question, the service was five-star.

I made my way to the bathroom, my eyes cranky, narrow slits until I splashed cold water on my face to wake up. I looked at
my hair. It looked like the inspiration for the country nightclub The Wild Side. I grabbed my brush and valiantly tried to
tame the beast, gave up, and quickly braided it into a thick, coarse rope.

I tiptoed to Patrick's door, put my ear to the door, and detected the sound of soft snoring, so I scratched out a brief thank-you
note and left it on the table propped on his dark brown trooper hat. I exited via the front door, finding the day chilly and
dreary. I yearned for the warmth of bright, happy spring sunshine.

I checked my purse to see if I had enough change for a cup of coffee and a doughnut, and after checking the seat cushions
and the floor, I managed to come up with enough for a medium coffee and a chocolate frosted donut. I stopped at the first
convenience store I came to and hurried in to get a cup of hot brew to keep me semialert during class,

I took the back way to Carson, finding myself on the gravel road where Dixie and I had played dodge-the-pickup-truck several
nights earlier. It occurred to me to wonder if Keith Gardner didn't also make a compelling suspect in the attempted sexual
assault of the night before. After all, he was a convicted sex offender, knew the victim, and was enrolled in the professor's
criminal justice class. That worked out to motive and opportunity, two elements that the crime shows hammered into our heads
as being crucial to case-building. Of course, the aforementioned applied to Professor Danbury, too.

My head still hurt this morning. I wished I'd had enough moolah for the jumbo jug of coffee.

I drove slowly past the small brown house I suspected was Keith Gardner's residence. No one was about, but cows congregated
in a pen behind the house. The barn looked in better shape than the house. I drove to a lane almost a mile down the road and
turned around. As I swung by a second time, someone came out of the house dressed in coveralls. He looked right at me and
I recognized his face from the printout Dixie had showed me. It was Keith Gardner.

We made eye contact, and although we were too far apart for me to read his lips, his body language screamed
hostility.
I frowned, confused. I slowed the car a tad bit, thinking maybe I was wrong about the hateful look. Maybe Keith was looking
murderous because his assault attempt last night had been unsuccessful. He would have no reason to hate me. The guy didn't
even know me.

To my dismayed surprise, Gardner suddenly raised a fist at me, shook it, and began to run across the front yard and toward
the car. I hit the accelerator, my bald tires slow to gain traction, and Gardner got way too close for comfort. I finally
sped away. Something struck the back of the car and I turned around to see Gardner pick up a second rock and hurl it after
me.

My hands had a death grip on the steering wheel and my spit had dried up. I seriously needed to talk to Patrick about what
kind of firearm he would recommend for the personal protection of a small-town girl with a big-time penchant for finding trouble.
I grimaced. I was sounding more and more like a certain Green Hornet wannabe and his blue-haired partner in crime.

What I really needed was a long vacation.

I drove to the college, parked, and made it to my class with seven-tenths of a second to spare. I really wanted to skip and
sneak into Professor Billings's class instead, but with my current grades I didn't dare. Besides, Frankie and Dixie could
fill me in later.

I dropped into the nearest seat, threw my book bag on the floor by my feet, and turned to find teacher's pet, Ramona, in the
seat next to me. She made a little foo-foo wave.

"Good morning, Tressa," she said, in that bubbly, effervescent, energetic, fakey way that makes you want to punch something.
"How are you? You look terrible. Do you want to borrow my concealer?"

Hold me back, Lord. Hold me back.

"Oh. Is your article not going well?" She stopped. "You didn't let the deadline pass without picking a topic, did you?" she
asked.

I shook my head. "I came up with a blockbuster article idea--thanks for asking, Quimby," I said with my own version of the
wide-eyed gush. "I'm sure Professor Stokes will be very impressed with my final project. By the way, how's that truck-stop-babes
story working out for you? Sure gives a whole new meaning to fill-'er-up, doesn't it?" I snorted.

That took the nice right out of Ramona. She picked up her books and moved to a seat across the lecture hall.

I smiled. Mission accomplished.

Professor Stokes entered a minute later, placing his briefcase on the long table at the front of the room. He looked over
at me and did a double take.

"Am I correct to assume that the events of last evening account for your bedraggled appearance this morning, Miss Turner?"
he said. "Considering your article topic."

I nodded, thinking I must look worse than I thought.

"You will endeavor to stay awake, though, won't you, Miss Turner? We'll be reviewing for Friday's quiz today," he added.

"I'll give it the ol' college try, Professor," I replied.

Great. A quiz. That meant actual studying.

Like I had a choice. Now that I was no longer employed at the Dairee Freeze, I was in serious need of the raise and benefits
that would come with collegiate success.

And if Stan reneged? Let's just say, hell hath no fury like a cowgirl who's been sold a blind horse.

I managed to not only remain awake during class but take respectable notes. I hurried out of the classroom to find Dixie and
Frankie waiting for me.

"What happened to you last night?" Frankie yelled as soon as he saw me. "Everyone was looking around you for, but it was like
you disappeared. We wanted to stay and hunt for you longer, but the cops told us to leave or we'd be arrested and hauled off
to jail. Where the devil did you run off to?"

I put a hand out. "Stop right there. I refuse to be yelled at on an empty stomach," I said.

"Isn't that the same outfit you had on last night?" Dixie asked me, and I put my hand up again.

"Ah- ah- ah. I refuse to be interrogated on an empty stomach, either," I said.

Dixie gave me a close look. "Isn't that chocolate on your lip?"

"I also refuse to be accused on a semiempty stomach," I said.

"My, we're touchy this morning," Dixie said, making a hissing cat sound.

"I could use some coffee and a bagel," Frankie admitted.

"And I need to know what went on in Billings's class this morning," I said. "Did she go ahead and teach? What did she say
about last night?" I pulled on Frankie's arm. "Coffee. I need more coffee," I said.

Once settled in an Internet coffee shop just off campus with a steaming cup of French vanilla cappuccino with whole milk not
skim (compliments of Frankie) in front of me, I briefed the two on the events of the previous evening.

"So Manny DeMarco threw you over his shoulder like a ripped caveman and rescued you?" Dixie asked, her eyes almost as big
as Frankie's.

I nodded. "He carried me out through the back and plopped me on his motorcycle and off we went to IHOP."

"IHOP?" Dixie said, and I remember how that had gone over with Townsend.

"Uh, what I meant to say was, 'off we went, too.' As in t-o-o, and I hoped everyone else got away, also."

Dixie gave me a who-are-you-kiddin' look.

"So, how did you end up back on campus?" Frankie asked.

"I figured while I was out and about, why not do a quick drive-through? Maybe I'd get lucky."

"That'll be the day," Dixie said.

I looked over at her. "Oh really? Then I guess that means I also didn't spend last night at the home of a certain blue-eyed,
hunky trooper. So of course there won't be any juicy details to share."

"Get outta here," Dixie said. "No way."

I shrugged. "Whatever you say, Dix. Whatever you say."

Dixie stared at me. "Prove it," she said.

A cell phone dropped on the middle of the table.

"You left your cell phone at my place."

Three pairs of eyes stared at the phone.

"It is your phone, isn't it, Tressa?" Patrick asked, pulling a chair from a nearby table. He had his civvies on and looked
a heckuva lot more rested than was right. "You need to charge it one of these days," he said. "No telling what calls you missed."

Frankie and Dixie continued to look at the phone.

"How did you find us?" I asked Patrick.

"I'm a cop. It's what I do," he said. "So, anything new since last night?" he asked.

Dixie finally snapped out of it. "Uh, do you two want some privacy?" she asked.

"He's talking about Professor Billings," I said with a disgusted look at Dixie.

"You were asking about her earlier." Frankie said. "What's the deal?"

Patrick and I filled the collegiate couple in on the attempted assault on Professor Billings and how, unfortunately, she couldn't
identify her assailant.

"So that's why she had that knot on her head," Dixie said.

"What knot?" asked Frankie, and I saw Patrick frown.

"The one the size of a Faberge egg," I said, wondering how on earth Frankie was going to be a cop if he missed details so
prominent they were displayed on people's foreheads. "So did she go ahead and lecture?" I asked.

Dixie nodded. "And cool as a cucumber considering what you just told us," she said. "One brave lady."

"Or a very foolish one," I said. "She's playing Russian roulette with the well-being of her students," I pointed out. "What
did she cover today? I don't imagine she took my advice and lectured on littering, loitering, and unlawful assembly?" I asked,
with a tiny glimmer of hope.

Frankie shook his head. "She covered a virtual smorgasbord of criminal acts. Assault. Aggravated assault. Assault with a deadly
weapon. Manslaughter. Pick a crime. Any crime," he said. "You know, maybe we are wrong about this. Maybe it all
is
just a big coincidence. With so many crimes on the menu for to-night, almost any criminal act will fit the pattern. Maybe
that's all there is to it. All there ever has been. Coincidence."

I gave Frankie an astonished look. He was backpedaling so fast that he had a hair part down the back of his head.

"Is it mere coincidence that the crimes introduced in a class taught by Professor Barbara Billings are being committed--or,
in some fortunate souls' cases, attempted--against students in that class on the very same day they were taught? Is it mere
coincidence one of those crimes involved a truck that almost flattened your beloved cousin--oh, uh, and your fiancee, too,
of course," I added quickly, "into a fine powder, and the truck is owned by a sex offender who is in the same class, the instructor
of which was very nearly sexually assaulted two evenings later? Is it mere coincidence that another professor in the same
department who was denied tenure by that very first professor was also seen on campus around the time of the attempted assault?
Is it coincidence that Keith Gardner gave me a 'dead meat' glare and ran after my car like a crazed pit bull, baseballing
rocks at me as I drove by a couple of hours ago? Is this, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, all mere happenstance?" I asked,
thinking I sounded just like those bigshot attorneys on
Law and Order.
Okay, in my case maybe
Law and Order
was reaching. "I think not, ladies and gentlemen. I think someone on this campus is bent on sticking it to Carson College
by sticking to Billings's lesson plan."

A lesson plan where the students were sitting ducks.

Frankie looked at Dixie. "What do you think?" he asked.

Dixie looked back at her fiance. "You weren't out there, Frankie. You didn't see that truck take aim and floor it right at
you. That was no coincidence," she said.

"What's this about you being chased by Keith Gardner?" Patrick asked.

I told Patrick, Frankie, and Dixie about Gardner's bizarre behavior when I'd driven by his house earlier.

"He must have recognized me from the other night," I said. "Or maybe he does that to everyone who drives past."

"The county and I will be having a chat with Mr. Gardner later today," Patrick said. "I'll ask him about it then. In the meantime,
are you two up for a workout at the obstacle course in about an hour? I can get you in to run through the paces then."

Frankie and Dixie eagerly nodded.

"You in, Tressa?" Patrick asked.

And miss seeing Dixie crawl on her belly on the cold, wet ground?

"I think I can spare the time," I said. "Besides, I think it would make a great article for the
Gazette."
I put my hand out. " Togetherness to the Max: Couple trains for Public Safety Nod.' Not bad, huh?" I asked.

"Does she really have to come?" Dixie asked.

"Now, you're not trying to screw with the freedom of the press, are you, Dixie?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I'm trying to screw with
you,"
she replied.

I put a hand to my mouth and gasped. "In front of your fiance?" I said. "And me his cousin? Shameful."

Dixie shook her head again. "Tell me again how we'll hardly ever see your cousin after we're married," she begged Frankie.

I grinned.
Whatever gets you through the day, Dixie. Whatever gets you through the day.

Patrick quickly briefed us on current security procedures in place at the Iowa National Guard State Area Command Armory facility,
Camp Dodge, where the Iowa Law Enforcement Academy was also located. The Department of Public Safety was housed within the
ILEA. Since the events of 9/11, security at these installations had understandably been ratcheted up, Patrick reminded us.

"You'll need photo identification to get past the checkpoint at the gate. I'll phone ahead and get your names added to the
visitor log at the gate. See you in about an hour," he said and took off.