by Diane Kelly
I started on the first floor, waiting until the hallway was clear before leaning down to whisper in her ear, issuing her the order to scent for illegal drugs. She put her nose to the ground and began sniffing around the bottoms of the doors as I led her down the hall. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly quiet as she sniffed. Snuffle-snuffle-snuffle. Snuffle-snuffle.
I was ten steps past a door when it whipped open behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see a shirtless boy sticking his head and shoulders out the door.
“That noise was a dog!” he called back to an unknown person inside the room.
“Sorry!” I said. “She likes to sniff. We’re new here and she’s checking everything out.”
He looked from Brigit to me, squinting as if trying to figure out what health issue I suffered from that allowed me to have a dog in the dorm. “Is that dog one of those emotional therapy dogs?”
“No,” I said. “She alerts me to impending seizures. I have epilepsy.”
“Oh,” he said. “Cool.” He raised a hand in good-bye before shutting his door.
We continued on. Brigit failed to alert at any of the doors. Looked like the first floor was clean.
I entered the stairwell and led Brigit up to the third floor, figured we’d tour our own floor last before heading back to our room. She alerted on two doors on the floor, sniffing around the threshold and sitting down in front of them. I made a quick note in my phone of the room numbers: 306 and 313. The fourth floor appeared clean, but she alerted to a door on the fifth: 518.
Rather than going back to the stairwell at the far end of the hall, I took the elevator down to the second floor, making my way up and down the hall with Brigit. Though she sniffed at each door along the hall, she alerted on none of them. I gave her a “good girl” and a liver treat and led her back to my room. As I ran the key through the skimmer, she sat and stared straight ahead. I glanced down at her, then did a double take when I realized she was giving her passive alert again. Holy crap! Could my rude roommate be the dealer?
EIGHTEEN
QUITTING TIME
Brigit
Brigit wasn’t sure why they seemed to be living in this large building now, sleeping in a different bed and eating their meals in a noisy dining hall rather than their quiet kitchen. But a change of scenery was always fun. There were lots of new things to hear and smell and see.
While she could scent drugs all the time, and sometimes alerted on them even without Megan specifically asking her to, she’d been too distracted by all the new things to give any alerts before. But after dinner, Megan had directed her to put her nose to work, so she had.
Mostly she’d smelled sweaty sheets, the scent of students having sex, and all kinds of fragrances intended to mask a human’s natural scent. Perfume. Cologne. Body wash. Shampoo. Deodorant. She’d never understand why humans fought their natural smells. You wouldn’t catch a dog trying to mask its scent. Dogs were a proud yet simple species.
When they’d returned to the room they now shared with the girl who had yet to pet Brigit, the dog gave her passive alert as asked. For some reason, though, Megan took her off task when they stepped inside the room.
The other girl was seated at her desk, working on her computer. She cast a glance at Brigit, and the dog noticed the flash of fear in her eyes. She could also smell the fear pheromones the girl was giving off. Poor thing. She was afraid of furry creatures. Brigit would have to show her that she had nothing to fear but fur itself.
NINETEEN
SHOPPING SPREE
The Dealer
That half million dollars wasn’t going to spend itself. He’d have to give it some help.
Of course he didn’t want his spending to be too obvious. People might start asking questions, poking around. But he’d been given that money for a reason, he’d taken a huge risk accepting it, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to put it to good use.
TWENTY
FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL MOLLY
Megan
Monday evening, my idle curiosity got the best of me and I got online and performed some quick personal research. I’d read between the lines of what Paige had said at lunch, that her parents knew Senator Sutton from their country club. I had an inkling their connection might have played a role in Paige’s landing the internship. Sure enough, I discovered that Richard and Suzanne McQuaid had contributed the maximum amount to each of Senator Sutton’s campaigns over the past years. They’d also contributed tens of thousands to political action committees, though none of those funds went into Sutton’s coffers. Unlike many politicians in Texas, whose largest contributors were oil and gas companies. Sutton refused contributions from special interests. It was one of the reasons he was so respected.
Though hiring the daughter of contributors seemed to fly in the face of his slogan—“The Best Representation Money Can’t Buy”—Alexa had a valid point. If the internship was unpaid, it was more like volunteering, right? For all I knew he had a whole slew of unpaid interns slogging away in his office and at his campaign headquarters. And if Paige had a high GPA and good job references, she shouldn’t be prevented from getting an internship just because her parents had donated money to Sutton’s campaign. She should simply be given the same consideration as any other applicant.
My roommate only left our room Monday night to brush her teeth and use the facilities in the adjoining bath, so I hadn’t been able to have Brigit search the room and show me where the drugs were hidden. But at least I’d finally learned my roommate’s name.
After I’d turned off my desk lamp around eleven, I’d said, “I know you aren’t happy about having a dog in the room, but we’re stuck with each other so we might as well do our best to get along.” At least until I have to possibly arrest you for selling drugs. “You haven’t even told me your name, you know.”
Still bent over her textbook and chemistry homework at her desk, her leg pumping up and down with nervous energy, she exhaled sharply. “It’s Emily.”
“All right,” I said. “That’s a start. Good night, Emily.”
A few seconds later she issued a reply, speaking so softly I could barely hear her. “Good night, Morgan.”
Tuesday morning, I woke a few minutes after six. It took me a few hazy seconds to realize the bed didn’t feel familiar. Also missing was the familiar warm, heavy body pressed up next to me.
I sat up in the dim dawn light peeking through the miniblinds and scanned the room. Brigit wasn’t lying on the rug. She wasn’t on the tile by the door, either. Nope, she was curled up on Emily’s bed, tucked in the V between my roommate’s legs, her head draped over Emily’s calf.
This isn’t good.
As quietly as I could, I slipped out from under my covers and stood. On hearing the movement, Brigit opened her eyes partway, but blatantly ignored my hand motioning for her to get down from the bed and closed them again. Darn dog!
What now? I couldn’t very well call her name or I’d risk waking Emily. The last thing I needed was her freaking out again.
I tiptoed across the rug, bent down, and puckered my lips, aiming a stream of breath at Brigit’s face to get her attention. She opened her eyes again, but unfortunately so did Emily.
My roommate sat bolt upright, jerked her covers up to her chin, and shrieked at the top of her lungs. “Aaaaaah!”
Brigit stood on her bed, took a moment to yawn and stretch, then hopped down.
“I’m so sorry!” I told Emily. “She must’ve climbed onto your bed during the night.”
Tears had formed in Emily’s eyes and she panted like a dog, her breathing loud in the otherwise quiet room. She doesn’t dislike dogs. She’s terrified of them. For a potential drug dealer, the girl was quite a wimp.
I clipped Brigit’s leash onto her collar and ordered her to sit. “Emily,” I said, kneeling next to her bed. “I promise you there’s nothing to be afraid of. Britney is a very well-behaved dog. She wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
It was true. Mostly because
I made sure she didn’t have fleas. Criminals, on the other hand? Heck, yeah, she’d go after those with incredible determination and ferocity. But I couldn’t very well tell Emily that, especially since she might be one of those criminals we’d be going after.
Emily gulped as a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. “Promise she’s nice?” she asked meekly.
“I promise. How about if I bring her over and you can pet her? Would that help?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
I’d learned from experience that the only way for a person to overcome her fears was to face them. “Can we try?”
Emily’s gaze went from me, to Brigit, and back again. Her eyes were still wet and wide, bloodshot, too, from lack of sleep, but, finally, she nodded.
“Come here, Brit,” I said, patting my leg.
Brigit came over and sat as instructed, wagging her tail as if to encourage Emily to trust her. Slowly, tentatively, Emily reached out a hand and gave Brigit’s head a single pat. Brigit responded by giving Emily’s hand a long lick with her tongue.
“See?” I said. “She’s not so bad.”
Emily held up her dog-slobber-moistened hand. “That was sweet and disgusting at the same time.”
“Sweet and disgusting,” I repeated. “That’s dogs in a nutshell.” With that, I threw a robe on over my pajamas and slid my feet into my slippers. “I need to take her out. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I rounded up the roll of poop bags and stuck them in the pocket of my robe along with my ID card and cell phone. As quietly as possible, I led Brigit out of the dorm and over to the far side of a green space so she could relieve herself. Fortunately, at this early hour, only a couple of maintenance workers were out and about on the campus, so I didn’t embarrass myself. I unclipped Brigit’s lead to give her some freedom, and took advantage of the moment to contact the university police department.
“She alerted on rooms 306, 313, and 518,” I told the male officer who answered. “She also alerted on the room I’ve been assigned, the one Miranda Hernandez lived in, but I haven’t had a chance to search it yet. My roommate hasn’t left the room since my partner alerted. As soon as we’re alone, I’ll see what we find and let you know.”
“Great,” he said. “In the meantime, I’ll get officers over to those rooms to see what they find.”
Brigit had gone number one, and was now popping a squat under a large live oak tree. Good. I wouldn’t have to worry about her needing to go in the middle of my morning class.
While my partner dropped her load, I left a voice mail on Detective Jackson’s phone at the police department, telling her what I’d told the campus police. With any luck, they’d find a huge stash of Molly in one of the rooms, identify the student as the dealer who’d sold to Miranda Hernandez and Ashleigh White, and Brigit and I could move back home. Of course, depending on what I found in my own dorm room, it could turn out that Miranda herself was the dealer and that she’d had a bad reaction to her own product. Still, despite the fact that all sorts of people were dealing drugs these days, I had a hard time believing a young woman with such an innocent face could be a drug dealer. Call it instinct. Or maybe call it naiveté. It was possible my instincts were nothing more than wishful thinking and that her face had looked so young and innocent only because she’d been unconscious.
Having finished her business, Brigit turned her attention to the tree, sniffing around its base and peering up into its branches, probably hoping to see a squirrel to chase. I whipped out the roll of bags, pulled one off the end, and scooped up her droppings, tying the bag closed.
“C’mon, Brigit!” I called, grimacing when I realized my blunder. Britney, I reminded myself. She’s Britney now.
I looked around for a trash can, but none caught my eye. Rather than take the bag of poop into the lobby to dispose of it, I figured the considerate thing to do would be to toss it into the big metal bin behind the dorm. I circled around the back of the building and tossed the poop onto the top of the bin, which was nearly full. The bag landed with a soft plup.
When I turned to go, I discovered the red-haired girl from the dining hall coming toward me, a white garbage bag in her hands. She looked down at her cell phone as she walked, multitasking. She looked up on hearing my footsteps, her feet faltering for a split second and her face showing surprise on seeing someone else out here so early. As she approached, she gave me the standard, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said in reply. It took everything in me not to ask, Were you the girl with Miranda Hernandez at Panther Pavilion?
Brigit and I returned to our room to find it empty. The sound of the shower running in the bath told me that Emily was bathing.
Now’s our chance.
I gave Brigit the order to search for drugs. She lifted her head and put her nose in the air, sniffing. Rather than moving to Emily’s side of the room, my partner stepped over to my bed and hopped up on it, still scenting the air, her nostrils twitching. She stepped from my bed onto the taller desk, her paws sliding on the flat surface. As I stepped over to make sure she wouldn’t slide off and hurt herself, she reared up onto the bookcase bolted to the wall over the desk and stretched her head up as high as she could. Sniff-sniff. She froze in that position.
Above the bookcase was a small metal slatted air vent held to the wall with screws. Are the drugs inside the vent? I had neither the time to remove the vent, nor the tools to do so at the moment. It would have to wait until later.
As I spooned canned food into a bowl for Brigit, the shower stopped running. I gathered up a pair of clean underwear and a bra so I could be next in the shower. When Emily returned to our room, I traded places with her, taking Brigit with me, instructing her to lie on the mat until I was done.
When I was finished, I returned to the room to find Emily dressed and checking e-mails on her computer, her knee bouncing up and down as usual. The girl had so much nervous energy, was wound so incredibly tight, it was a wonder she didn’t fly into a million little pieces. After sliding into a pair of jeans, sandals, and a short-sleeved peasant blouse, I applied my makeup and twisted part of my hair onto my head in a messy but stylish pile, holding it in place with a clip. Ready, I turned to my roommate. “Want to get breakfast?”
She glanced up from her computer. “Okay.”
I took my backpack with me so that I could head straight to class from the dining hall. Emily brought hers, as well. Downstairs, I rounded up a banana, a bowl of oatmeal, and a glass of orange juice. Emily met me at the table with a tray bearing three cups of coffee, along with greasy hash browns and bacon, early death on a plate.
I eyed the mugs. “Three cups of coffee?”
“And that’s just for starters,” she said, raising a mug and taking a gulp.
I sipped my juice. “Do you have an eight o’clock class, too?”
“Yeah. My other one is at three.”
Good to know. That would give me a couple of hours later this afternoon to look in the vent.
I eyed her across the table. Her eyes were puffy and she had huge, dark bags under them. Her skin seemed paler, too. She appeared not unlike some of the drug addicts I’d dealt with on the job. “Are you feeling okay, Emily?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little tired is all.” She tossed back a big gulp from one of the mugs. “I’m the first one in my family to go to college. I’m here on grants and an academic scholarship. I’m trying to maintain my 4.0 average, but these summer classes are killers.”
She spoke the truth. When professors had to cram a full semester’s worth of material into four or five weeks, the pace was nothing less than frantic. It was bad enough with my political science courses. I could hardly imagine what it would be like to take two chemistry classes with their required additional labs in a summer session.
Her comment about the grants and scholarship caught my attention, too. The fact that she qualified for grants meant she came from a family of modest means.
“Did you
get a full ride?” I asked.
“I wish,” she replied. “The scholarship pays for half, the grants cover some of the rest. I have a part-time job at the rec center on campus. But I’ve had to take out a student loan, too. I only hope I’m not still paying it off when I’m fifty.”
She wasn’t the only student with that concern. Still, her financial straits made me wonder. Just how far was she willing to go to finance her education? I’d heard about a college student in Florida who’d pocketed thirty grand a week from sales of MDMA. Several students at the University of California–Santa Cruz, including sorority girls, had also been busted for dealing the drug. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Would those worries about student loan debt cause Emily to resort to dealing Molly? Hmm … I’d keep an eye on her, see if any evidence presented itself.
“Alexa and Paige seem nice,” I said, changing the subject. “Do you know them well?”
“Not really,” she said. “Miranda used to hang with them some, but I’m not really the party-girl type.”
Yeah. I’d picked up on that when she’d stayed up studying until the wee hours of the night. But the fact that she was a serious student didn’t mean she wasn’t selling Molly. Smart dealers didn’t use their own product. It was a quick way to end up addicted and broke and in deep with people who wouldn’t think twice about breaking your kneecaps with a crowbar.
Still, I wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t using drugs of some sort. Maybe something she thought would give her a competitive edge, help her focus. She wouldn’t be the first college student to abuse Ritalin or Adderall. Short of searching through her things, I had no way of knowing if she had those types of drugs in our room. In order to maintain probable cause and avoid an unconstitutional search, Brigit was trained only to alert on illegal substances. In fact, when some states had legalized pot, dogs who’d been trained to sniff for marijuana had been rendered useless as drug detection dogs in those states.
