Calamity Jayne Goes to College (6 page)

"You want us to jog around campus?" she asked.

"Well, you do need to be getting in shape for the academy," he said. "They run three times a day, you know."

Three times a day? If I was lucky, I'd run three times all last year--and two of those times I'd run from people who were
no longer among the living and couldn't even chase me.

"I am
not
about to run around campus at night at the same time I'm trying to keep an eye out for a psychopathic criminal bent on mayhem,"
Dixie said.

"The Destructor's right," I said, thinking that was probably the first and last time those words would ever spring from my
lips. "What if we spot the culprit in the act and we're so worn out from running that we're too pooped to pursue him and too
winded to call for help?"

"Yeah, what about that?" Dixie asked.

"Oh, all right. Power-walk for crying out loud."

I looked over at Frankie. "You have got to be kidding," I said. "You mean, go out there and walk like one of those spastic
automatons who march and swing their arms like soldiers in the robot army? No friggin' way. We'd draw way more attention than
we want given the circumstances."

Frankie put a hand through his hair. I was glad to see that it stuck up like my own did. Ah, family ties.

"All right, all right. Jeez. Then just walk. But step out so that it looks like you're out here to walk, not snoop. We don't
want to be too obvious."

"I still don't know why I get stuck with her," Dixie pointed to me. "Why can't she drive the Suburban and you and I do the
walking?"

"Because my dad threatened me within an inch of my life if I let her behind the wheel," he said.

Tsk-tsk. Would Uncle Frank ever let bygones be bygones? After all, the Dairee Freeze looked ever so much better after the
remodeling project. Honest.

"Dixie could drive the Suburban and you could walk with me," I suggested. Frankie shook his head.

"What would she do if she came upon the bad guy?"

"Scare him off?" I suggested with a snort.

"No. I don't feel comfortable with either of you on your own." Frankie pulled up in front of the campus security office. "Why
don't you let me handle the security people?" he said, looking at me, not Dixie. "After all, I'm enrolled in Criminal Justice
courses and looking to go to the DPS Academy next year. That ought to gain me a little credibility."

I felt my lip curl. "Be my guest, Mr. Big Shot," I said.

"I'll just catch a few z's waiting for you to impress the fuzz with your credentials." I was finding this new take-charge
Frankie as annoying as old lady stockings on my shower rod.

"You comin', Dix?" my cousin asked when he realized the slight to his sweetie.

"Naw. You go on. I'd better keep an eye on Ms. Calamity here," she said. I became slightly nauseated when Frankie leaned back
to give Dixie a quick kiss.

"Do you two mind?" I said. "Jeesch."

Frankie exited the vehicle and entered the security office, and I searched through the CD case for a decent tune. Uncle Frank's
taste ran to songs from the fifties and sixties, with an eclectic mix that included Buddy Holly, The Beach Boys, Chicago,
and some classic country legends like Johnny Cash, Alabama, and The Oak Ridge Boys. While I was cool with these oldies but
goodies, I found I wasn't in the mood for any of them. I slid behind the wheel, turned the key to accessory, and switched
on the radio. A caller was whining about her mother-in-law's meddling, and Dr. Laura was chewing her a new one for not letting
her children see their grandmother. How depressing.

"Here." Dixie handed me a CD. It was Carly Simon's Greatest Hits. I was pleasantly surprised. I'm always in the mood for Carly.
Isn't everyone?

"Cool," I said, sticking the CD in and sitting back to wait for Carly to work her magic.

We took turns selecting songs. I started with "Anticipation." Dixie picked "Haven't Got Time for the Pain." I went with "You're
So Vain" next. Dixie countered with "Legend in Your Own Time." At "Mockingbird," we'd started to sing along, and by the time
we got to "Let the River Run," we were belting it out right along with Carly.

"'Let the river run--!"' I was really getting into it when Dixie reached up and cut the music.

"Uh, what's the problem?" I asked.

"Besides that caterwauling? Look!" Dixie pointed to a parking lot adjacent to where we sat in the suburban.

"What?" I looked around.

"Not what! Who. It's Keith Gardner!"

"Keith Gardner, the weenie waver?"

"One and the same. What do we do?"

I watched Gardner get in an older model, dark blue pickup and back out. "We follow," I said, starting the SUV. I put it in
reverse and backed out.

"But the Suburban! Your uncle Frank! Frankie!"

"It's okay," I reassured her. "I've had experience tailing a suspect before."

"In a thirty-thousand-dollar automobile?"

I blanched. My first home probably wouldn't cost that much. "Would you rather drive?" I asked. I swung out of the lot and
slid in behind Gardner's pickup, staying three car lengths back.

"What will Frankie think when he comes out to find you've taken off with the Suburban?"

I picked up on the you part right away.

"I'll tell him you made me do it, of course," I told her. "After all, it was you who pointed Keith out. I was perfectly content
with my Carly sing-along till you sounded the perv alarm."

"We seriously can't get a scratch on this car," Dixie said. "Seriously, Turner. Frank would never forgive me. And he'd never
let Frankie hear the end of it. As it is, he's none too thrilled with the prospect of a Daggett becoming his daughter-in-law.
Wrecking his Suburban would be the kiss of death to him ever welcoming me into his family."

I reached into my backpack for my digital camera and pulled it out.

"What are you doing?" Dixie asked as the Suburban made contact with the gravel shoulder and she fell to the side.

I turned the camera on, waited for the green light to appear, and pointed it in her direction.

"I'm recording this moment for posterity," I said. Pressing the button I added, "The first documented occasion of Dixie the
Destructor sniveling and whining like a little girl. Well, except for that time you were drunk as a skunk, but we won't go
there. Smile!" I snapped a picture.

"Why am I not surprised at your insensitivity?" she asked as we continued our leisurely pursuit. "And you're hardly an expert
on relationships. Frankie tells me you haven't had a real date in over a year."

I looked over at her. "Why, that little pipsqueak! Did he also tell you I had to swear an oath to Lacey Simon that Taylor
would tutor her in Algebra Two if she went to the senior prom with Frankie? Or that I used to catch him practicing how to
kiss in the mirror at the Dairee Freeze? By the way, he doesn't still do that, does he?" I asked. "Or how about the fact that
the guy is twenty-five and you're the first girl he's ever brought home to meet his parents?"

Dixie looked over at me. "I am?" she asked, and I could swear her eyes were beginning to water. "Honest?"

Great. First a whiney Dixie Daggett and now? Now I was looking at a barrel about to runneth over with teardrops. Big ones.
How do you spell "hormonal"?

I shrugged. "My point is, if I've being going through a bit of a dry spell in the romance department, my dear cousin, by contrast,
pitched a freakin' tent in the Sahara for most of his life," I said.

"Until I came along," Dixie said. The dreamy look on her face made me want to whack her one. "Where's Keith going, do ya think?"
she asked, as we both watched the taillights ahead of us.

"I dunno. The crimes we're dealing with pertain to automobiles, right?" I said. "So, if the pattern holds true and if Mr.
Gardner is our guy, then he should try to do something vehicular."

"Holy shit! I knew it. We're gonna crash Frank's SUV," she said.

"Relax. We're only going twenty miles per hour. What could happen?" I assured her.

"That's what you said before you found yourself elbow deep in some dead guy's brain," Dixie reminded me. I shuddered. I'd
been trying to get that picture of the morgue out of my head, but thanks to Unibrow it was back, playing front and center
on the big screen of my subconscious. In living color. Or maybe not. Thanks, Dix.

The truck in front of us suddenly sped up and took a fast left.

"What now?" I said.

"He's speeding up!"

"Oh, really? Ya think?" I shook my head and increased my speed proportionately.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"I guess you could say we're in pursuit," I said.

"Oh no, we're not!" she snapped.

"Oh yes, we are," I said.

"Shit!"

"Nice language," I commented, keeping my attention on the truck in front of us. "Do you talk like that around Uncle Frank?"
I asked. " 'Cause I'm pretty sure that might be one reason he hasn't welcomed you with open arms. Not everyone likes the idea
of a gal who swears like a truck driver raising his grandkids. I can see it now. Everyone in eager anticipation of Baby Bar-lowe's
first word. Cameras at the ready to record the joyous event. And out of the mouth of Baby Barlowe comes... 'Shit!' Yep, one
for the DVD collection for sure."

"Well, according to your brother, your first word was 'poo,' so you don't have much room to talk," Dixie countered.

"Oh? Didn't you know? My brother, the poor, sick, delusional dear, was sent away as a child for a rather long stay in a mental
hospital. He wasn't around much when we were growing up," I lied. "Besides, if I did say 'poo'--and I'm not saying I did--it
was because my favorite teddy toy was Winnie the Pooh, so that's the 'Pooh' I was talking about."

The dark truck in front of us had really picked up the pace. I responded appropriately.

"Wow, this vehicle of Uncle Frank's really has some torque to it," I said as I tromped the accelerator. Keith Gardner's truck
ran a stop sign ahead and pulled out onto the county road that ran adjacent to the college. "Lots of power under the hood,"
I noted as I made one of those rolling stops that always made my driver's ed instructor grab the dashboard and stomp on the
extra brake pedal. I tromped on the gas and left behind a teensy bit of rubber as I made the turn a wee bit too fast.

"Holy shit!" I heard again from the backseat, and out of the corner of my eye saw Dixie roll from one end of the Suburban
to the other.

"I guess I should have suggested you buckle up," I said, trying unsuccessfully to find her reflection in the mirror. "But,
like, who knew?"

The vehicle in front of us increased both its speed and its lead.

"He's made us," I told the Humpty Dumptyette in the backseat attempting to right herself. "And he's trying his best to lose
us." I floored the Suburban and continued the chase. The Suburban was soon going eighty-five, but it felt like nothing at
all. What a sweet ride. My Plymouth would have been losing crucial component parts like doors and quarter panels and hubcaps
if by some fluke I ever managed to get it going this fast.

We came to a sudden curve in the road and the pickup's brakelights were a warning beacon for me to slow down before I entered
the curve. And I did. Just not enough to prevent Dixie from spinning out of control again. She flew from one side of the car
to the other, across the flat interior where the seat back would have been had it not been folded down for easy transport
of buns and other Dairee Freeze food items. She rolled across the interior of the vehicle again once I'd negotiated the curve.

"Sorry!" I said, taking a quick look into the rearview mirror and seeing only her behind.

Keith suddenly veered off to the left and onto a gravel road.

I prepared to follow.

"Oh no, you don't!" Dixie said, trying to gain a handhold on the back of the driver seat. "You are not going to take this
vehicle on a high-speed chase down a dark gravel road you've never been on in your life!" she said, and somehow managed to
haul her body over the back and into the front seat beside me. "The madness ends here," she said. "Back off, sister, or I
pick up the phone and call your uncle Frank," she added, holding up Frankie's cell phone. "Just ease off the accelerator and
nobody gets hurt. Do it!"

I saw the taillights of Keith's pickup grow dimmer and dimmer, and I turned onto the gravel road, slowing my speed somewhat.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, it's just a bunch of itty-bitty rocks," I said. "This is a Chevy truck. You know. Built tough."

"That's Ford tough, you maniac!" she said. "Now slow down or I make the call," she threatened holding out the phone.

"Jeesch. Excuse me for wanting to catch the bad guy," I growled, no longer even able to follow the dust trail of the long-gone
Chevy. I peered out at the dark road.

"Look out!"

I saw the big, butt-ugly, had-no-business-being-in-the-center-of-the-road opossum a tenth of a second before I slammed on
the brakes and we went careening sideways down the gravel road. Someone screamed, but I wasn't exactly equipped at the moment
to figure out who it was. For all I knew, it coulda been the possum. I turned the wheel in the direction of the skid and let
off the brakes. We flew past the fat opossum--one at least twice the size of my gramma's spoiled, chubby cat, Hermione--narrowly
missing the nocturnal creature. I saw the glare of the headlights reflected in his dark eyes as we veered past him and headed
for a rather deep ditch.

"Turn! Turn!" Dixie yelled, and she grabbed the steering wheel. If too many cooks spoiled the stew, you can imagine what too
many drivers did to a sideways slide down a dark gravel road. Uh, and no cracks about women drivers, you hear?

"Get your hands off the wheel!" I yelled, wishing Dixie was still rolling about in the backseat. "I've got it! I've got it!
Let go!"

The Suburban's tires bit into the gravel, sending it spitting out in all directions. I winced when I heard a rock fly up and
ding the doors, but I had my hands full trying to avoid the opposite dark ditch.