Calamity Jayne Goes to College (11 page)

"How did you know we were here?" I asked.

"I heard you talking about it on the phone," my gammy said.

"I called everyone from work," I told her. Just to keep her from eavesdropping.

"You musta doodled it on a notepad, then."

"I chewed that note up and swallowed it," I said.

"Then again I mighta heard it from Taylor," Gram said, and I turned a dark look on my baby sister.

"Isn't it past your bedtimes?" I asked the couple, glancing back. "Don't your dentures have to soak for at least ten hours?"
I asked.

"Funny lady," Joe Townsend said. "You sure you're not in the wrong place? This isn't one of those comedy clubs, you know."

Good thing. The last thing I felt inclined to do was laugh.

"Isn't this the place with the bull you can ride?" Gram asked. " 'Cause that's one thing I've never tried and I'm thinking
that time may be running out," she added.

"The bull broke down," I lied. "The last rider weighed three hundred fifty pounds. You should have seen the crucial internal
parts start shooting out the bum hole."

"The rider's?" Gram asked with a troubled look on her face.

"The bull's, Gram," I said. "The bull's."

"Well, shoot. I guess we'll just have to wait for another day for that," she said. "I'll have to be content with having a
handsome cowboy sashay around the dance floor with me."

"Good luck luring him away from Taylor," I said, gaining a dark look from Joe.

"Let's find a nice secluded table," he suggested, taking my grandma's arm. I looked down at her feet. She had a pair of hot-pink
Tony Llamas on. A very familiar pair.

"Nice boots, Gram," I growled. "Was it very taxing or inconvenient for you to have to go into my closet and pick them out?"
I asked, my voice thick with sarcasm.

"Oh no, dear," Gram said. "It gave me a chance to try on all your shoes."

I shook my head, excused myself, and headed to the restroom where I could bang my head on the stall wall in relative privacy.

I returned to the table with Kari and her other attendants. Taylor had joined the group. The current topic was which diet
plans worked the best (like I wanted to talk about this) and how much weight the bridesmaids had collectively lost so they
would look like sticks in the front of the church. As far as I was concerned, I figured it was part of the maid of honor's
official duty to look as bad as she possibly could so that the bride would look breathtaking in comparison. Just doin' my
part for wedded bliss.

I shook my head and found myself playing with the delicate silver chain around my neck. When I realized what I was doing,
I grabbed the offending hand with my other and yanked it away from the necklace.

"That's a beautiful chain, Tressa," Kari's teacher friend, Courtney, commented a few minutes later. I realized I was clutching
Manny's necklace again. "Where did you get it?"

I dropped the chain like it was one of Ranger Rick's reptilian pets.

"It is lovely. Do tell, Tressa," Kari's other bridesmaid, Simone, chimed in.

"Pffftt." I made a raspberry sound. "It's nothing," I said. "Bargain City's luxury jewelry. Twenty bucks tops with my discount,"
I added.

Kari reached out and lifted the necklace from beneath my blouse. She stared at the sparkling stone that dangled from it. Her
eyes grew big as the gem.

"Oh my Gawd!" she said, her mouth flying open. "It's an engagement ring! And it's to die for!" she screamed and hugged me
around the neck. "I can't believe it! Why didn't you say anything?" She stopped. Her arms slid from my neck and she looked
at me. "Why
didn't
you say anything?" she repeated, her inflection noticeably altered.

"It's not exactly an engagement ring," I said, surprised at how unexpectedly nice it felt to finally be included in the gushing,
giggly, girlish goings-on. "It's more like a promise ring, really," I elaborated, seeing a tight frown spread across Taylor's
face.

"Whose promise ring?" Kari asked.

"Did I say 'promise ring'?" I asked. "I meant friendship ring."

Kari's eyes grew big. "Ohmigawd, it's Townsend's, isn't it? Rick Townsend gave it to you, didn't he?"

A strangling sound erupted from me and I looked down to see I'd twisted the chain tight around my throat like a noose.

"I'm really not at liberty to say more," I told the gaping gaggle of hens. I'd already said way too much. "I'd appreciate
your discretion," I said. And a roll of duct tape to go.

My cell phone began to play "Roll out the Barrel" and I pulled it out, glad for the distraction.

"Tressa Jayne Turner,
Grandville Gazette"
I said. After all, it was the
Gazette's
cell phone and they were picking up the tab.

"Oh, puh-leaze," I heard on the other end. "Let me pull over a second so I can get out at the side of the road and retch."

"Who is this?" I asked.

"It's Dixie."

"Where are you?" I asked. "Did you get lost, or were you afraid someone might stick a spigot in you?"

"Good one. I take it, then, you're not interested in getting more information for that story of yours," she said.

I stood and moved away from the table.

"Go on," I said.

"A bunch of the guys from Professor Billings's class are going out for a drink at a bar in the county," she said. "They convinced
Billings to join them. Apparently she likes fraternizing with students on occasion. You still need to talk to her, right?"

As fate would have it, I did have questions for the ex-cop-turned-collegian.

"So, you up for a little process of elimination?" Dixie asked.

"What does Frankie think?" I said.

"He wasn't there. He ditched the last half of the class to head to Brian's party," she explained.

"Did you try to call him?" I asked, not totally comfortable pairing up with Dixie again without Frankie's okay.

"I have his cell phone," she said. "But I think this will give us a chance to chat with a bunch of the people, and maybe we
can whittle our list down to size."

I thought about it. It was a golden opportunity to make a major dent in our investigative reporting. And I had planned to
take our little hen party on the road.

"I'm in," I said. "So what's the name of this bar?" I asked.

"It's called Big Burl's," Dixie said.

"Big Burl's?" I winced.

With a name like Big Burl's, my guess was that before the hens went home to roost, more than a few feathers would be ruffled.

Bawk, bawk.

CHAPTER 9

I gathered the chicks together and told them it was time to take our little gaggle on the road. I didn't tell them where we
were headed--the name of the place didn't exactly inspire confidence--but, instead, told them Dixie had discovered the place
(wicked little Tressa) and it was a surprise, and to follow me.

I got directions from Dixie and told her we'd be heading that way shortly, and asked her to wait in the parking lot for us.
With good reason. The last time Dixie ventured into a bar she'd ended up onstage with a microphone in her hand and interesting
food combos in her hair. Trooper Dawkins and I had to carry her out of the establishment before the crowd turned violent.

While the girls were using the restroom, I stopped to let Gram and Joe know we were heading out.

"Young folk these days don't have the stamina our generation did, do they, Joe?" Gram said. "When I was your age, Tressa,
I could dance till dawn."

"We're not done, Gram. We're just doing a little bar hopping. Checking out other hot spots for fun," I explained.

"Where you off to?" Joe asked. "Another country-western club? Sports bar? Jazz club? Or you plannin' to take in one of those
male strip joints? I hear that's a popular activity for brides to do these days."

I could see the whites of my gammy's eyes increase and her nostrils flare in the dim light of the bar.

"It is?" she said, her eyes unnaturally bright. "Male strippers? You gonna go see one of them Chip-and-Dale dancers, Tressa?"
she asked, and I got a so-not-sexy picture of two naked little furry rodents grinding and thrusting for all they were worth.
Ugh.

"No, Gram," I said. "No male strippers. No Chips. No Dales. Just some harmless clubbing."

"Oh, hi, Hannah! Hi, Joe!" Kari joined me at the seniors' table. "I didn't know you were here. Do you come here often?" she
asked.

Joe shook his head. "First time. But we'll be back."

"You two are just the cutest couple," Kari went on, and I suspected the two beers she'd consumed had already gone to her head.
"You look so darling in your little costumes," she said. "You should hang with us. We're taking this party on the road, aren't
we, Tressa?"

I applied pressure to Kari's instep.

"Uh, you two will be able to find your way home from here, right?" I asked. "And don't make too late a night of it, hear?"

"We're hardly children, Tressa Jayne," Gram scolded. "We should be the ones saying that to you."

"You're right, Gram," I said. "Sorry."

Gram reached out to pat my hand. "Not to worry, dear. You run along now with your friends and have a good time. We'll head
out shortly."

"Let's go, Tressa!" Kari grabbed my arm. "So many bars. So little time. Where are we going again?"

I shoved her out the door.

We pulled out of the parking lot. I was in the lead with my white Plymouth, and Taylor followed in my Paw Paw Will's full-size
Buick. The Buick had undergone a makeover after some lowlife had trashed it-- unfortunately while in my possession--and my
sister had never really forgiven me. I guess I can understand; every time she gets behind the wheel I'm sure she recalls the
obscene renderings in red spray paint scrawled across the dashboard the dubious artiste left behind.

I'd jotted down the directions to the bar on a napkin, and we headed north out of Des Moines and into the county. I checked
the outside rearview mirror from time to time to make sure Taylor was still with us.

"What's the name of this place?" Kari asked as we passed several shady-looking dives. "Have you been there before?"

"Relax, Kari," I said. "You're gonna love it. Trust me."

We drove north another mile or so when off to the right the world seemed to glow like one of those used car lots with the
strings of amber lights blinking off and on. Off and on.

Nah. Couldn't be. I took another look at the napkin directions. Please, God. No.

I took a right turn and there, according to a big, bright, blinkin' sign, was Big Burl's. The sign was shaped like a pair
of sexy legs.

"Big Burl's? This is it?" Kari asked.

I shrugged. "Guess so. There's Dixie's car."

"What kind of place is this, anyway?" Courtney spoke up from the backseat. "It looks kind of sleazy."

Sleazy was putting it mildly. The place made The Wild Thing look like Trump Tower.

"Maybe we should take a pass on this place," I said, getting a bad feeling. "There's a really fun group of college hangouts
up by Carson College we could check out," I told Kari.

"Are you kidding? When am I ever going to get another opportunity to check out a place called Big Burl's?" the bride-to-be
asked. "This is my last hurrah. I'm in," she said.

"Me too," Courtney said. "In the interest of broadening my sphere of knowledge."

I shook my head. She even
sounded
like a teacher. "I'm not sure--"

"I am!" Kari said, and jumped out of the car. I slid across the front seat of the Plymouth and got out after her. (With the
driver's door having a tendency to stick, you need the shoulders of a Viking lineman or the Jaws of Life to open it.)

Taylor pulled in beside us, and her passengers got out. They stared at Big Burl's with the same sick fascination that I reserve
for the State Fair sideshow that features the dog-faced boy and the bearded lady.

Taylor gave me an "are you nuts?" look, which I ignored.

"It's about time," Dixie said, joining us and staring at the collection of cluckers with me. "You brought
them
with you?" she whispered. "Here?"

"What was I supposed to do with them?" I asked. "Besides, I gave them a chance to bail, but they want to check it out. In
the interest of broadening their knowledge base and stepping out of their comfort zone," I explained.

"Then this is the place," Dixie said with a grunt.

We approached the establishment entrance, where we were all carded--well, except for Dixie--and we paid the cover charge and
received our sexy leg stamp along with some curious looks from the doorman.

"Cool," Kari said, putting her hand up in front of her face to stare at the stamp on the back of her hand.

We moved into the dark interior of the bar, a tight cluster of precautious poultry--what is the correct name for a group of
hens, anyway?--that moved as a single unit. Some funky music played in the background as we made our way past oval tables
forming semicircles around a long stage that featured three poles, one center stage with the other two flanking it. Thankfully,
no one was currently performing.

Our odd little assortment of stag-ettes received a lot of attention as we made our way to a couple of tables at the far end
of the stage and on the middle tier of seating. I'd hoped for a door closer to the exit--and farther from the stage--but Big
Burl's was a packed house tonight. Just my luck.

We took our seats, and a waitress who looked like something from the movie
Underworld
came to take our orders.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," she said, "but are you all lost? You're not our usual clientele," she added.

"I'm getting married Saturday," Kari explained, "and this is my last fling as a single woman. So I'm living a little dangerously,"
she said.

The waitress nodded. "You got that right," she said. We gave her our orders and once we spotted Professor Billings with a
group of her students in the back near the exit, Dixie and I excused ourselves. As we made our way across the smoky bar, it
occurred to me somewhat odd that the professor would choose to pass her free time with college students at a strip joint called
Big Burl's. Different strokes, I guessed.

We walked up to the group from Carson College.

"Hello, Professor Billings. Hey, guys!" Dixie greeted the group of ten or so--all males, with the exception of the professor.

"Dixie?" Professor Billings seemed surprised to see us.

"You remember Frankie's cousin Tressa," Dixie said, nodding at me. "From the other night."

The professor nodded. "Of course. Hello again, Tressa," she said, putting her hand out. Unlike her colleague's, her handshake
was like putting your appendage in a vise grip.

"Hey," I said, resisting the temptation to rub the cramps out of my fingers.

"What brings you ladies to Big Burl's?" she asked. "Can't be the ambience. Or the entertainment." She gave Dixie a second
look. "Can it?"

I shook my head. "We just wanted to touch base with you. I'm using the campus crime spree as the topic for my investigative
reporting project, and a question or two came up that required some clarification. I was hoping to have a second or two of
your time," I told her.

She looked at the other occupants at her table and shrugged. "I suppose I could give you some time. Shall we step outside?
I could use a breath of fresh air." She stood and I was again struck by how tall she was. Cop material for sure.

I checked out her outfit: a short denim jacket teamed with a midcalf denim skirt cinched at the waist with a brown leather
belt that featured a handmade silver buckle with what looked to me like genuine turquoise. I had relatives near Flagstaff
and had spent some time admiring just such craftsmanship at the souvenir shops in Sedona. This buckle was beaucoup bucks.

Dixie stayed behind to write down a list of names of students present just in case something happened on campus that evening.
We'd at least be able to account for their whereabouts, possibly eliminating them.

I followed Professor Billings out the door. She towered over me. I looked down at her feet to discover more Blahniks--this
time a pair of Italian-made, chocolate leather, two-tone western boots with four-inch heels and a price tag heftier than my
tuition bill.

I shook my head to clear it of boot envy. Another couple was just entering Big Burl's as we exited, but Billings's torso blocked
them from my view.

"D'ya mind?" Professor Billings asked, holding up a cigarette and lighter once we got outside. I shook my head and she lit
up and took a long drag. "So, what's on your mind, Miss Turner?" she asked, which, if one knows me, also knows is one dangerous
question to ask. I wished I'd brought a list along.

"A number of things," I said. "First off, I'm curious as to whether you've given any more thought to our theory that the individual
who has been committing the campus crimes has been using your classroom instruction as a sort of crime playbook," I said.

She expelled a lungful of smoke in the cool night air. "It just sounds so preposterous," she said. "And what would be the
point?"

"Surely with your experience in law enforcement you know that sometimes only the criminal is privy to the point. That the
motive is only clear to him," I expanded.

"Or her," Professor Billings said, and I nodded.

"Are there any students in your class that stand out as being somewhat strange? Behaving oddly? You know, where your cop radar
begins to hum and ping?" I asked. "Uh--apart from Frankie and Dixie, of course," I added as a second thought.

"I don't really know all that much about many of my students, but, no, no alarm bells go off with the exception, of course,
of Keith Gardner, and you already know his history," she said.

"About that," I said. "Have you been in contact with Gardner since the incident the other night?"

She shook her head. "He hasn't been in class. I did call my friend, the attorney who employs him, and he said Keith hadn't
been able to get to work as the county impounded his truck. Makes sense."

"I understand you kept to the script, so to speak, and went on with the lecture material as scheduled," I said. "Didn't you
consider maybe substituting some crime like littering or public intoxication for sexual assault? You know. Just in case?"
I asked. "To buy some time for law enforcement to investigate?"

The professor took a final drag and dropped her ciggy and stepped on it, grinding it out. "I'm employed by the university
to present very specific course information to my students and I'm obligated to do that," she said. "These students are paying
good money to receive this information. Besides, there's no clear and convincing evidence that my class has anything to do
with these crimes at all."

"What about the break-in at your office?" I asked.

"How do you explain that an outline of your upcoming lectures was taken?" I said.

"Ah, but didn't you and Miss Daggett interrupt the crime in progress? So we have no idea of what else may have been taken
had the culprit not been caught in the act. Correct?"

She and Hector had obviously been conferring.

"What about you personally?" I said, deciding that I wasn't cut out for pussy-footing. Besides, felines and I have issues.
"Is there anyone you can think of who might have it out for you, who might have some reason to want to get back at you and
they're using your class, your curriculum, and your students to do it?" I asked.

The professor straightened. "Enemies, you mean?" she said. "I'm an ex-cop. I arrested people for a living. I deprived them
of their freedom. My testimony put them behind bars. What do you think?"

"I was thinking of something more... recent," I said. "With a colleague maybe?"

Professor Billings pulled a pack of smokes from her pocket, offered the pack to me, and I shook my head. She pulled another
cigarette out and lit it.

"Why do I get the feeling you already have someone in mind?" she said.

"It's just something I heard," I replied.

"And what is that?" she asked, a hard edge to her voice.

"I heard that Professor Danbury was denied tenure with the department, and that you were on the committee that made the recommendation
to withhold it," I said, making up most of what I'd just shared. In cop talk it's known as playing a hunch. We cowgirl types
call it feeding someone a line of horseshit. You take the seed of a story, invent the rest, and proceed to lie through your
teeth. They do it on the cop shows all the time to get confessions. And it works.

"You heard, did you now?" Professor Billings responded.