Calamity Jayne Goes to College (12 page)

"I also hear that tenure is very coveted and that, once denied, a professor is usually forced to move on down the road," I
added. "That would cause hard feelings, wouldn't it?" I asked. "Anger? Maybe even hate? It's not hard to make the leap from
that to an act of revenge," I told Billings.

She shook her head and blinked. "You think Sherman Danbury is committing these crimes to get back at me for not recommending
him for tenure?" she asked. "That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

I shrugged. "About as much of a stretch as the idea that it is completely coincidental that the campus crimes parrot your
lectures," I pointed out.

Billings raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. I just can't see Sherman sneaking, stealing, and stalking just to stick it to me.
Besides, I thought you'd pegged Keith Gardner as the culprit after the hit-and-run incident the other night. So where does
Professor Danbury fit in?" she asked. "Or are you just playing the drive-by media game and stirring the pot to see what rises
to the top?"

"I'm investigating every possible avenue," I replied.

"I think you've just hit a dead end, Miss Turner." The professor finished her second cigarette and discarded it in a nearby
wastebasket.

Dead end, huh? Story of my life.

"I spent twenty years as a peace officer," Billings went on. "And you expect me to believe I've worked alongside a fellow
professor for five years and, with all my expertise, never suspected that colleague was capable of unspeakable acts against
my students?" Billings shook her head. "I'm sorry, Miss Turner, but I just can't accept that," she said. She turned to leave.
"Now, if there's nothing else?"

"There is one more thing," I asked. "Why was Dan-bury denied tenure? Was his classroom instruction inferior? Was he not published
enough? Insufficient student service time? Improper servicing of students?" I asked.

"I have to hand it to you, Miss Turner," Billings said with a shake of her head. "You receive high marks for persistence.
Good night," she added, and headed for the parking lot.

I watched her get in her vehicle and drive away. Guess I'd spoiled her night out with the boys.

I'd reentered Big Burl's more than ready to gather my flock and head for the barn when I stopped in my tracks and stared,
my gaze coming to rest on two very familiar--and very conspicuous--black Stetsons on two customers at a table well away from
the hens.

Why, the duplicitous little bird turds! I'd underestimated Hopalong Cassidy and his comical sidekick, Hellion Hannah, for
the last time. I straightened my spine. It was time for the last roundup.

I'd just taken a step toward the cockamamie cow-pokes when a ruckus broke out near the table where Kari and her friends and
attendants were sitting. I looked up to see a heavy, middle-aged patron pull himself up onto the stage, shove a scantily clad
dancer aside, and grab hold of the pole nearest our table.

"This is for the purty blonde who's gettin' married this weekend," he said, his speech slurred and slow. "Enjoy!" he said,
and I watched as he began to dance

around the pole, sliding it between his legs in a really perverted way.

I looked at the table of hens and had never seen so many mouths fly open at the same time--with the exception of that time
when my gammy referred to Abigail Winegardner as "that ol' slut" and was unaware the church choir microphone was on.

I wanted to cover my eyes when the guy reached up and loosened up his black tie and twirled it, then began to unbutton his
white shirt. Honest, I really wanted to look away, but it was just like one of those shock scenes in a scary movie where you
end up peeking through the fingers over your eyes. You want to look away but, try as you might, you just can't.

The drunk continued to jiggle around the dance pole. He wiggled out of his shirt and tossed it at the table. Dixie caught
it and cast a
what do I do?
look at the group, which clearly demonstrated she was out of her element.

Meanwhile, the crowd was getting riled up. The men in the audience who had come to see toned, tanned, busty, naked women were
clearly not thrilled with the pasty, sweaty, fleshy white tubbo currently performing an unrehearsed and unpolished pole dance
center stage. The dancer began to unzip his dark pants and shimmy out of them. I wanted to scratch my eyes out.

"Get that porker off the stage!" someone yelled.

"Get Big Burl in here!" someone else suggested. "He'll kick his ass!"

"Take it off, take it off, take it all off!" someone yelled and clapped. I recognized my gammy's voice.

The guy disrobed and pranced on the stage, clad only in his black tie, a pair of white briefs, dark socks, and shiny black
shoes. The reflection of the lights off all that pale white skin was very nearly blinding. Unfortunately, only very nearly.

More patrons had entered Big Burl's, but my eyes-- damn them--remained focused on the stage.

A shrill whistle sounded and I was bettin' it was from Joe, followed by more "Take it off!" from the same general area.

The dancer pulled off his tie, held it overhead, and twirled it like a lasso.

"This is for the little blond bride!" he said, and I looked on in disbelief as he tossed it to Kari.

"Kari?" I heard off to my right, and I turned to see Kari's fiance, Brian, standing not ten feet away from me. "Kari?" he
said again.

"Brian?" I heard Kari say, her voice taking on the shrill tones of a wounded soprano.

"What the hell?" Brian said, just as the dancer turned and flashed a doughy white butt cheek in Kari's direction. Kari's flesh
was the color of cement. "You son of a bitch!" Brian snarled.

One minute Brian was at ground level, the next he was onstage with the almost naked male performer getting ready to kick some
lily white behind. Screams erupted throughout the bar. Patrons jumped out of their seats and started pushing and yelling at
each other. My feet finally remembered how to move, and my first thought was to get my gammy and Joe out of harm's way. I
ran over to their table and grabbed both their hands and yanked them out of their chairs.

"We're leaving," I said, pulling them through the mass of bodies and toward the exit. I caught a look at the stage. A huge
fellow had a hold of Brian while two skinny but big-breasted dancers looked on.

"That's Big Burl," Gram said.

I made my way through the tangled bodies, stepping over those on the floor and around overturned tables, and was about to
sidestep two tall men standing near the front, staring at the melee.

"Hannah?"

"Frankie?"

"Rick?"

"Granddad?"

"Tressa?"

"I can explain!"

The sudden and unmistakable sound of police sirens could be heard above the bump-and-grind music and the grunts, groans, and
smacks of a good old-fashioned brawl.

I shoved the old folks at Townsend. "Hurry! Get them out of here!" I yelled.

"But we haven't said good night to Big Burl," Gram complained.

I caught Townsend's eye. He hesitated and then nodded.

"Come on, Hannah. Gramps," he said. "Let's get you to your car."

I watched as Townsend bustled them out the door and turned to gather the hens and get them the hell out of Dodge.

Frankie had located Dixie, and she was trying to explain why she was holding the fat dancer's pants. Kari had joined Brian
onstage and was sobbing. Taylor, Simone, and Courtney were nowhere to be seen.

Revolving lights filled the parking lot. I found my feet unable to move, stuck to the gooey, wet floor beneath them. I bit
my lip and waited for the cops to storm into the place with their riot helmets and long, black batons and haul this foolish
cowgirl's ass to jail.

All of a sudden I was literally picked up and hauled over a strong shoulder like a sack of horse grain and carried behind
the bar and out a back door. My mouth popped open and my teeth made painful contact with a muscular back.

The thought occurred to me that I was being either saved or abducted. I started to get really scared when a hand touched my
backside.

"Barbie sure knows how to throw a hen party," my rescuer said with a soft spank.

Tressa had been a bad, baadd, baaaddd girl.

CHAPTER 10

I sat across from Manny at an IHOP restaurant, a country omelet, hash browns, and a side of buttermilk cakes in front of me.
Manny had ordered a skillet breakfast but had gone with whole wheat pancakes as the healthful alternative of side. I myself
had ordered whole wheat cakes once. It was like chewing a potholder.

Manny had hauled me out of Big Burl's, plopped me on the back of his Harley, and we were outta there.

"I am in such trouble," I said, finding the fact that I was now public enemy number one hadn't made even a slight dent in
my appetite. What a rip-off. And with Kari's wedding three days away, a heavy breakfast at 1:00 a.m. was probably not a smart
choice. Provided there still was a wedding. That thought made me put my fork down and take a breather. "I've done a bad, bad
thing," I said.

Manny took a long drink of his orange juice and looked over at me. He took up a good three-quarters of his booth. "Barbie
has a nose for finding trouble," he agreed. "Manny likes that in a woman," he added with a sexy wink.

"This is not a joke, Manny!" I said. "For all I know the police have hauled my family and friends to jail, and at this very
moment my gammy may be sharing a cell with a whacked-out meth head or a streetwise hooker from down on the block."

Manny shrugged. "That the case, Barbie's gram be havin' the time of her life," he said.

Which was no doubt true. Knowing my gammy, she'd probably demand to be cuffed and stuffed and hauled to the pokey.

"I'm in deep voodoo here, Manny," I said. "Two senior citizens were placed at risk, my sister will never bond with me, and
when I left, the couple scheduled to be united in holy matrimony in three days' time were on a strip club stage arguing over
a chubby Chippendale wannabe." I sighed. "I am so screwed."

"Big Burl's don't get many bridal parties," Manny admitted.

"And you'd know that how?" I asked.

Manny ignored my question. "How'd you come to pick that bar?"

I explained about the campus crime wave, my deficient grade report, the class assignment, and our theory that the crimes were
related to Professor Billings and her class.

"Billings? She a woman?" Manny asked.

"Yeah. Why? Do you know her?"

Manny shook his head. "Know of her."

I sat up in my seat. "Oh? How so?" I asked.

Manny shrugged. "Manny hears a lot of stuff," he said.

Manny always seems to know things. I don't know how; he just does. That fact always made me wonder just how Manny earned a
living and how he spent his time.

"What kind of stuff? In regards to Barbara Billings, that is." I put my elbows on the table.

Manny kept chewing his pancake. I should've warned him against the whole wheat kind.

"Spill it, Manny."

Another almost-smile made his lips twitch. Manny had nice lips. I gave my cheek a mental slap.
Focus, Tressa. Focus.

"Billings was a Des Moines cop. One of the first women cops."

"Tell me something I don't already know," I said.

Manny picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth, then sat back against the booth. "Oh. A challenge. Hmm. Did Barbie know the
professor had to either quit or be fired?" he asked.

I stared at him. "Go on," I urged, grabbing a clean napkin from the dispenser and preparing to take notes.

"She had problems with authority," Manny said.

I mulled that over for a second. "She was a cop," I finally said. "How could she have a problem with authority?"

"She didn't like to take orders," he answered.

Ah, something I could relate to.

"So, how did this lead to being asked to resign?" I asked.

"Insubordination," he said. "Multiple counts."

"So she had to resign. Wonder why Dawkins didn't mention that."

"P.D.?"

I looked at Manny. "You know him, too?" I asked.

Manny shrugged. "Maybe. Manny knows a lot of people," he said.

"Uh, I've never asked this before, but what exactly do you do, Manny?" I asked. "You know. As a job. To pay the bills. Bring
home the bacon."

Manny smiled. "Manny has several jobs," he said.

"Name one," I challenged.

"Handyman," he replied.

"Name another," I told him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Barbie already forget where nosiness got her?" he asked. I bit my lip.

"Well, excuse me for being harmlessly inquisitive," I said, thinking the less I knew was probably better--at least in Manny's
case. "So, the Professor didn't like being bossed around. Who does? Why is that cause for termination?"

"Might have something to do with cussing out the chief when she didn't get promoted to sergeant," he said.

Ouch. Not your smartest career move.

"So she left the force and became a college professor. That's making lemonade out of lemons," I said, very familiar with being
handed the fruit if not in producing the resulting beverage.

"Guess it worked out, then," Manny said.

"Do you think we're wrong about the crimes and a link to Billings?" I asked Manny.

"Someone is behind the crimes," Manny said. "Is it the same person? Guess that's the question Barbie needs to answer to make
the grade."

"If I survive the fallout from Big Burl's," I said. "You never did say how you came to be there."

Manny drained the last of his juice in one long swallow. I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down with way too much fascination.
He ignored my last comment.

"Barbie better get a hard hat," he said instead.

I nodded. A suit of armor was more like it.

Manny delivered me back to my car via his Harley. I was shivering by the time we got there. Thank goodness it wasn't far.
As it was, I was almost a Popsicle.

Since I'd left Big Burl's in a bit of a hurry, Manny phoned Burl to get me back in to retrieve my purse. I checked my cell
phone as soon as I got in my car. Five voice mails. One each from Frankie, Kari, and Taylor. Two from Townsend.

I checked the messages, relieved that no one needed to be bailed out of the pokey, but not liking Townsend's second, terse
"Where the hell are you? Call me!" message.

I checked the time. Almost three. Way too late to call the ranger. He'd be in bed, sound asleep.

My cell phone began to play and I looked at the number. Then again, I could be wrong.

I was tempted to ignore the call, but sucked it up and answered.

"I really can explain," I blurted right off the bat. "You see, I had a tip that someone I needed to interview was going to
be at Big Burl's--"

"Where are you?"

I looked at the still-blinking lights on the still-sexy legs on Big Burl's still-surreal sign.

"I'm just leaving Des Moines," I said.

"Where the hell did you disappear to?" Townsend asked. "We were looking for you everywhere."

"A, uh, friend helped me get out the back door," I said. "We went for breakfast."

I was pretty sure the muffled words I heard were of the naughty variety.

"We were worried sick about you, and the whole time you were at Denny's eating breakfast?" Townsend's tone was thick with
an "I don't believe I'm hearing this" sentiment.

"No. We were at IHOP," I said, foolish female that I am.

"We? Who is 'we'?"

"My friend," I said, wanting to pull my tongue out and wrap it around my neck.

"What friend?"

"You're cutting out," I said, using my old trick of playing radio static to end a conversation I didn't want to have. "I must
be in a hole," I said.

"Turn off the radio, Tressa," Townsend said. "I'm on to you."

Damn clever, cheeky ranger.

My phone began to beep and I saw the low battery indicator flash.
Thank you, God!

"Listen. You hear that beep? It's my phone battery. I'm losing power," I told him. "Glad everyone is okay. Gotta go before
I'm dead," I said and winced. "Heading home. Sleep well. Bye. Bye. Bye." I hit the End button and let out a long sigh. The
cowardly lion had nothin' on me.

I decided while I was so close to Carson College, I'd take a quick drive through the campus and drop by the Campus Security
office to see if all was quiet. I hoped they'd beefed up patrols and that the string of crimes had been broken.

I drove through the campus slowly, my eyes alert for anything out of the usual. I passed the medical examiner's office just
as someone exited. I frowned. What would someone be doing this late? I shrugged. Maybe they had twenty-four hour slice and
dice shifts.

I watched the figure, who was dressed in black pants, shoes, and sweatshirt, and when he walked under a nearby streetlight,
I recognized Professor STD-- uh, Danbury. What on earth could be so important that the professor had to work this late? His
pace was hurried as he jogged to a tan sedan and jumped in the passenger side.

I tried to get a glimpse at the driver as they passed, but it was too dark. I felt a certain affinity for the car's owner
when I noticed the car was missing a rear hubcap. My car only had one hubcap left. I considered following the professor but
thought I'd probably gotten in enough trouble for one day. Instead, I drove to Campus Security headquarters.

The place was lit up like a Christmas tree. Patrick's patrol car was in the parking lot along with a county cruiser. I got
a sick feeling in my stomach. And no, it wasn't due to the omelet, hash browns, and cakes, but thanks for asking.

I entered the security office. Patrick was at the front desk. He saw me and walked over, a grave look on his handsome face.

"Oh no," I said.

He nodded. "Campus Security got the report an hour ago," he said.

"Was it--a rape?" I asked, shaken at the thought that this day's criminal justice lecture had become someone's nightmare.

"Attempted sexual assault," Patrick told me.

My eyes filled with tears. "Oh no," I said again, feeling absolutely no desire to say
I told you so.

"It gets worse," he said, and I looked up at him. "The victim is Barbara Billings."

Security Chief Hector Maldonado threw me a dark look as he, Patrick, and a Polk County deputy emerged from a room down the
hall and assembled at the front desk. I got up from a chair in the waiting area and hurried over to them.

"How is she?" I asked. "Is she hurt?"

Patrick rubbed the back of his neck. "She's roughed up a bit," he said, "but she refuses medical attention. You know how cops
are."

I supposed that included ex-cops.

"Did she see her attacker?" I asked.

He shook his head. "She was jumped from behind."

"You said 'attempted sexual assault.' Does that mean it was an unsuccessful attempt?" I asked, hoping for at least a small
mercy here.

This time he nodded. "She fought back," he told me. "With her past training, she knew what to do. She said she also screamed
bloody murder," he said. "The guy took off."

"And she didn't see him at all?"

He shook his head. "He jumped her as she was unlocking her car door and smacked her head against the car. She's got a good-sized
goose egg on her forehead."

I said a sincere thanks that the professor hadn't been seriously injured. I also breathed a sigh of relief. Now that our theory
appeared to be confirmed, steps could be taken to prevent further incidents.

"At least maybe this will bring an end to the chronic crime wave this campus has experienced," I commented. "Once the perpetrator
sees the increased security on campus and Professor Billings fails to present her lecture material, maybe he'll just call
it good."

Patrick picked up his Smokey Bear hat. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid that's not the way it's going to play out," he said.

I raised my eyebrows. "Come again?"

Patrick stuck his hat on his head. "Professor Billings is going to operate business as usual," he said. "She plans to present
her lectures as scheduled."

I know my mouth flew open. I couldn't for the life of me stop it. I was stunned. "What?"

" 'The show must go on,' she said," Patrick told me. "Said she wouldn't be intimidated by a two-bit wannabe thug with a criminal
agenda."

I looked at Patrick's somber face and took off down the hall in the direction of the room the officers had just vacated. I
threw the door open. The professor sat at a table, a cigarette at her lips. She saw me in the doorway.

"Miss Turner, please," Hector said, coming down the hall to me. "Leave Professor Billings alone. She's been through a lot
tonight."

"It's okay, Hector," the Professor said, waving him off. "Well, I guess you got your story, Miss Turner," she said. "I suppose
you want to interview me." She took a long puff. Her hand shook as she drew the cigarette away and blew smoke into the air.

I approached the table. "Actually, I just wanted to know if you were okay, Professor," I said. "How did this happen?"

She took another hit. "I stopped by my office on the way home from the bar. I'd left my laptop there," she said, motioning
at a silver Dell laptop on the table. "It has all my grades backed up, and with that earlier break-in I didn't want to take
a chance of losing the data. I was just getting back to the car when I got blindsided. Perp came up from behind me and smacked
my head against my car. I dropped my laptop and I went down like a ton of bricks," she told me, rubbing her forehead. She
had a humongous lump on her upper forehead. "Pretty hard to swallow for a cop. To let someone get the upper hand like that,"
she added, shaking her head.

"But Dawkins said you fought him off," I insisted. "And sent him running. That has to feel good. Not every woman would have
been able to defend herself after that kind of attack," I said.

She put her cigarette out in an ashtray. The butt joined five others. Nervous smoker.

"I should have seen it coming," Billings said. "I know better than to drop my guard. Especially with all that's going on right
now at Carson," she added.

"How did you get him off you?" I asked.

"He was wearing latex gloves, but I managed to get hold of his thumb and I bent it back as far as I could and he finally got
off me. I thought I was dead then," she said, "but he surprised the hell out of me by taking off. I was so stunned, I just
lay there like a defenseless victim instead of getting up and chasing after him."